I, Joan of Arc, do now transmit my last thoughts to paper by the grace of God. They have only now begun to light the kindling at the base of the pyre. But alas! I do believe I may not be saved after all. My, my, my…Fire always travels much faster than you might imagine. My feet are extremely warm.
Dear, dear Alice. How I will miss our time together. I cannot imaginer plus pleasure with another. Naked, legs intertwined. Truly unimaginable experiences. I knew from the first that I would never return aux garcons jeunes. Do you remember Jean-Pierre? He always joked that he would be me if he were a woman, name slightly altered bien sur. I do believe he may be a homosexual. To think, a man! I cannot comprendre how someone might desire to burn me before that sly fool. Do you recall the time he showered with us?
Oh my, I have just now noticed that the skin on my legs is gone. And that smell! Merde! I wonder who drank the last of the coffee the morning I was captured by those English fools. Mon dieu! Speaking of Jean-Pierre, my nethers are burning more than that time he gave the entire encampment the nether-sickness. That was a terrible year for all of us. Sacred bleu, my lips are mel
Unfortunately, that was the last thought that poor Joan was able to have. Incomplete, just as her life was.