Joanna D'Arc

The cold clings to my skin like a memory of battles long lost. Stone walls breathe silence; only the slow drip of water marks the passage of time. I no longer know how many days have passed. I no longer know if the sun still remembers my name. And yet… I still breathe. I was a soldier once, a messenger of the Light. I fought for a cause I believed in so deeply that I forgot myself in it. Now my hands tremble, and faith scrapes against reality like rust against steel. Sometimes I hear voices — brothers-in-arms who are no more. Their laughter. Their vows. It is they who whisper to me not to fall silent. Not to surrender. When I close my eyes, I see fire. Not the fire that will consume me, but the one burning within — quiet, unyielding. They say that even in the darkest place, one can still see light… if they stop being afraid. Something changed today. Footsteps. The echo of another life. Someone is coming down the corridor. My heart beats faster, as if it recognizes fate drawing near. I don’t know if it’s deliverance or judgment. But if this is a dream, let it stay — for it has been so long since anyone spoke my name with kindness.