When Jeanne opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the blurry image of the same red-haired woman who had visited her prison earlier and mocked her so cruelly.
She found herself lying in a compromised, vulnerable position, her head resting on the woman's soft lap while gentle fingers slowly, rhythmically stroked through her tangled blonde hair.
Those golden eyes looked at her with an unexpected warmth and gentleness that felt completely at odds with the cold condescension and casual cruelty the woman had displayed in the prison cell.
The harsh, mocking edge from before was nowhere to be seen.
Only smooth, almost motherly concern remained in that beautiful face.
"Awake, little girl?"
Jeanne shifted her head uncomfortably, acutely aware of the intimacy of her position but lacking the strength to pull away.
"I'm not a little girl, Miss Devil. And what you did was terrible. You forced me into a position where I either become a warlord… or abandon those people to fend for themselves. Both options are terrible."
Makima hummed softly as she continued the soothing motion of her fingers through Jeanne's hair, completely unbothered by the accusation.
"I gifted you a military force, a fortified castle, and an entire population loyal to no one but you. How can any of that be considered terrible?"
"Do you have any idea how many desperate people in this world would kill for what I just handed you on a silver platter… yet can never obtain it no matter how hard they try?"
Jeanne closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the strangely comforting movement of those soft fingers through her hair, and let out a long, weary sigh.
"They're being controlled by you… not acting according to their own free will. Their loyalty is a lie. Their obedience is an illusion. How can I lead people who have no choice but to follow?"
"Not entirely," Makima shrugged with casual indifference. "I believe they will thrive and be far happier under you than they ever were under those petty nobles who cared so little about them. The people's hearts are already leaning toward you. They have heard of your feats. As Frenchmen, they feel pride in you. That sentiment is genuine, girl."
"I merely… removed some of the obstacles that would have prevented them from acting on those feelings."
"Then release them," Jeanne said firmly, her voice gaining strength despite her exhaustion.
"If you truly believe their feelings are genuine and their loyalty is real, then there is absolutely no need to keep them under your control. Let them choose freely. Let them prove their devotion through their own will rather than your compulsion."
Makima's voice dropped into a low, soothing, almost hypnotic whisper as she leaned closer.
"Sometimes children still need the guidance of an adult, don't you think, my little lamb? Consider your own life. You always listened to God's voice. You fought entirely under His divine will… and you fell from grace, even knowing how perilous and deadly the end would be."
"You followed anyway, because you trusted the guidance you were given. This situation is exactly the same. These people need to listen to you, and in return, you will lead them to victory and salvation. This is God's will working through us both."
"God's will…" Jeanne murmured, her voice distant and stunned.
The twisted logic was infuriating, but she found herself unable to completely deny its insidious appeal.
It echoed too closely to the justification she had always used for her own actions. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "So if I deliver them victory… will you truly let them go? Will you release them from your control?"
Makima smiled softly at the question, her golden eyes warm and reassuring.
"Of course, my little lamb. They will be freed. But since they are still children, they still need guidance. They still need your hand. Once you have delivered them victory, they will no longer need you. They will no longer need us. It may be painful at first, but that is the path of growth. As parents, it is our responsibility to set them on the right path…"
Jeanne closed her eyes, absorbing the honeyed words in heavy silence.
Then, slowly, she pushed herself upright and rose to her feet, stumbling slightly before finding her balance.
She let out a quiet, humorless chuckle that carried no warmth.
"Miss Devil… you're funny. I may not be the smartest person, but that kind of logic is disgusting. It's insulting to anyone with even a shred of intelligence."
"You dress up slavery in the language of parenthood and expect me to accept it as kindness."
Makima continued smiling, completely unbothered by the sharp rejection. "Haven't you already been following this exact same logic ever since you first left your tiny village?"
"You followed God's commands without question. You marched to war at His word. You accepted His guidance even when it led you to the pyre. How is my guidance any different?"
Jeanne began pacing back and forth restlessly, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.
She couldn't quite explain why those particular words dug so deeply under her skin, why they unsettled her so profoundly.
She wanted to argue, to refute, to point out the obvious difference between divine inspiration and demonic manipulation.
But the words wouldn't come.
And so she gave no answer at all.
Jeanne decided to change the subject.
"Did I lose against that witch?"
"No, you won, little lamb." Makima chuckled softly, her golden eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "She intended to finish you off after you drove your sword into her. I intervened… and then you collapsed, only to find yourself once again in a devil's arms."
Jeanne let out a long, weary sigh, her shoulders slumping. "So what is your real agenda, Miss Devil? You want me to break away from the Church and from my monarch completely… But for what ultimate purpose? What do you gain from all of this?"
Makima shrugged with casual indifference, as if the question barely mattered.
"You already broke away from them long ago,the moment they decided to burn you while your king didn't even attempt to save you or buy your freedom. I'm simply helping you cut away the remaining threads of that hypocrisy so you can finally see the truth clearly."
Jeanne immediately rose to defend her king, her voice carrying the fierce loyalty of a soldier defending her sovereign.
"Most people would react exactly the same way if they were placed in his position! King Charles cannot save me because his hands are completely tied. He knows how terrible and impossible a military rescue mission would be."
"Our remaining forces would be slaughtered, and our efforts would amount to nothing. England is simply too powerful right now. He has no choice but to leave me to my fate!"
Makima's expression shifted in an instant from warm amusement to something ice-cold and utterly terrifying.
In a flash of movement too fast for Jeanne's exhausted body to track, she slammed the saintess hard against the stone wall and wrapped her slender fingers tightly around Jeanne's throat.
Her golden eyes blazed with cold fury.
"Don't play games with me, Maid of Orléans. Not now. Not ever." Her voice was a low, dangerous whisper that cut through the air like a blade. "You said it yourself only moments ago, didn't you? You admitted that my twisted logic is an insult to anyone with even a shred of intelligence."
"So don't you dare parrot that pathetic excuse at me and expect me to swallow it. That kind of weak, cowardly statement might deceive naive children and desperate peasants, but it will never deceive me. Never, Jeanne d'Arc!"
Jeanne coughed violently, her hands instinctively rising to claw at the iron grip around her throat.
Her lungs burned.
Her vision swam.
Only when Makima finally released her did she slide down the wall slightly, gasping desperately for air and looking up with tear-filled eyes.
"I…" she started, her voice hoarse and broken.
But the words wouldn't come.
She turned her head away and said nothing more, unable to meet that cold, disappointed gaze.
Makima let out a quiet, disappointed sigh that somehow hurt more than the physical violence.
"I hate your stupidity and your excessive kindness sometimes. You would rather die defending a king who abandoned you than face the truth about his cowardice. It's infuriating."
She straightened her dress and turned toward the door. "I'm leaving now. Don't ever hope that I will come back again. You have deeply disappointed me, Jeanne d'Arc."
With those final, cutting words, she turned and walked away without looking back.
Her footsteps echoed through the room and faded down the corridor.
For reasons Jeanne could not possibly understand or explain, a sharp, aching pain spread through her chest, a pain that had nothing to do with her physical wounds.
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
She touched her cheek subconsciously and found it wet.
"I'm… crying?" she whispered to herself in confusion. "Why am I crying for her?"
When she looked back toward the doorway through her blurred vision, Makima was already gone.
The corridor was empty.
The room was silent.
No one knew if she would ever return.
And Jeanne was started to realize that the thought of never seeing that cruel and strangely gentle devil again filled her with a desolation she could not name.
Strip away the religious fanaticism, the warrior's resolve, the saint's conviction, and what's left?
A teenage girl who has never had a friend.
Jeanne d'Arc has been alone her entire life. And for one brief, confusing, painful moment, Makima made her feel like she wasn't.
She's been revered and worshipped and followed and betrayed, but she's never had anyone she could just... talk to.
Anyone who would listen without judgment. Anyone who would challenge her without condemning her.
Makima, for all her faults, cruelty, and manipulation gave Jeanne something she's never had before: a genuine conversation.
Two people who disagree about everything, arguing honestly about things that matter.
No pretense.
No performance.
No masks.
That's the real tragedy of the tears.
Jeanne isn't crying for the devil who mocked her.
She's crying for the only person who ever treated her like an equal.
And that person just walked away.