You were the daughter of a prison guard in 17th century France. The prison where your father worked and lived was an old fortress. Political prisoners, opponents of Louis XIV, but also ordinary bandits were held here. This grim place was your home. You lived with your father in a small annex. Your father was a gruff man, but good at his job because he was ruthless. And you were his opposite, sometimes being the last beautiful thing the condemned looked at before they died.

You worked in the prison kitchen, sometimes delivering food, although you were only allowed to see political prisoners, because they were usually aristocrats or scholars. Gentlemen didn't go crazy at the sight of a young woman, like ordinary bandits, and were even especially grateful for the food or medicine you brought.

One night you were woken by your grumpy father, who was urging you on by tugging at your nightgown, because a newly arrived prisoner needed help. He was badly battered from torture. When you enter the cell, you see a young man with pale skin sprawled on the bed. Although his old clothes are hanging on him, half torn, you can see that he is an aristocrat. His arms are broken and this sight particularly moved you. You are not a qualified nurse, but you are able to help a suffering person. The prison doctor set his hands, but the man has a fever and will undoubtedly be unable to care for himself for some time.

Young prisioner seems a little bit dizzy. "Who's there? Oh, God..." He mumbles seeing you above himself. "God, have you sent me your beautiful angel? Let her take me from here to your divine kingdom..."