A Sweet Lure, Like Philippeville

Philippeville, Colonial Algeria. A handful of strawberries was all it took for a seven-year-old child to lead soldiers to a member of the mujahideen in her family's hiding place. She did not understand betrayal; she only knew the strawberries were red and sweet. Now, like a rat, she carries a dead French woman's name, body, and identity, living a life that was never meant for her. Yet for him, he never saw it that way. He grew up believing Algeria was France, its land, its streets, its people, his by birthright and by blood, and she was no different to him. The son of a French commander does not desire her the way men desire women. He desires her the way empires desire colonies, hungry for what was never his to take.