urrounding crowd burst out into a guffaw.

By the light of the torches, Edith recognised the man''s face with his messy beard. It was exactly the avenger who had tried to take her life the day before.

Edith''s head spun dizzily, and something surged up her throat. Instinctively, she ran in the opposite direction until the taste of rust filled her mouth, until the tears of fear and anger froze on her face from the icy wind, until she thought she had left the city of Paris behind, yet still she couldn''t stop.

But why still couldn''t she see the end of the street?

She was suddenly tripped by something on the ground. The gravel tore her dress, leaving bloody prints on her palms.

Yet she couldn''t care less about the pain - at the moment she turned around, she recognised the body that had tripped her.

Even with messy black hair covering almost her entire face, she could still see the horror in her sister Margot''s eyes before she died. Her clothes were in disarray. It was clear she had suffered brutal abuse by the soldiers.

"Margot!" She screamed in despair.

Terrified, the girl did not dare to approach. She staggered to her feet and instinctively turned to continue running, but was once again tripped by a corpse nearby - this time it was Aunt Adele, her short and elderly body lying next to a puddle.

It was until then that she noticed the darkness around her was piled up with dead bodies. There were too many faces she was familiar with: the Desmoulins lying intertwined with their bodies already cold, and Phil