Every group of nuns walked to the scaffold the same way. Singing. Praying. Some of them smiling. They prayed for their guards. They prayed for their judges. They prayed for the men who swung the blade.
The executioners had killed hundreds of people. Most went in terror. Most went in tears.
These women went in joy.
One observer wrote it down in words that survived two centuries: “Those silly girls all die laughing.”
Another said: “These women are all dying with laughter.”
It was not laughter the way the world understands laughter. It was peace. The kind of peace that comes from knowing exactly where you are going.
The bodies of all thirty-two nuns were thrown into mass graves four kilometers from town. Dumped alongside three hundred other victims like they were nothing.
Then two days changed everything.
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