“When the time comes, be ready.”

The words echoed in Emily’s mind… she meandered between the crowds, occasionally skidding to a halt, momentarily hesitating, then continuing forward. Seeds of doubt continued to blossom in her mind. Was this worth it? Would it even work? It didn’t matter. Mrs Pankhurst would be proud either way…

Surging onwards, she kept her hat far over her eyes and her gaze planted on the movements of her feet under her well-tailored dress. Then, for the umpteenth time, she stopped. What if she didn’t make it? Every inch of her body yearned to turn back, ached to march out of this conflict with her nose in the air. And yet, she knew that it _had_ to be done… for women.

A silk piece of cloth gripped in one hand and a pin clutched in the other, Emily hastened onward, drowning out the protesting cries of her brother, only a few paces behind. Henry’s calls grew only louder and more spectators turned suspicious eyes on the siblings. She ignored him, pushing past another couple and reaching the racetrack.

Henry was catching up…

“Stop! Emily!” Henry objected.

Emily glanced back, then, after catching a glimpse of her brother’s face, of pure fear, she turned back and surveyed the track.

A sharp corner to the far left… the finish line around a quarter of a mile away… and cameras lining the stands from which the spectators resumed their seats, after uproar of another opponent’s disqualification.

That’s when she heard hooves. Hooves! The stamping as ferocious as an earthquake. Emily allowed half a dozen horses to pass as the crowd yelled and cheered for their betted rider. Her eyes narrowed. There it was. The king’s horse. Once she slipped under the barrier, Henry made one desperate grab for her arm, but she had already stepped out.

The king’s horse came swiftly… she reached up the hand holding the cloth, gripped onto the horse’s saddle and held on firmly. Her fingers fumbled for purchase, and, before she knew it, the horse began to tip towards her. She couldn’t do anything. There was no way to save herself now.

The horse fell… and Emily lay motionless on the ground. The rider lay beside her, groaning and gasping for air as the horse simply stood and trotted away.

A hoard of people rushed over. Among them, was Henry. He dropped to his knees beside her and grabbed her shoulders. He shook her gently.

“Emily…” He checked her pulse with trembling hands. Her heartbeat slowly faded like paint in the sun, her lips becoming pale and the colour in her eyes becoming dull. “Emily… wake up, dammit!” He shook her again, refusing to believe it. But, deep down, he knew the truth. She was dead… does like his other sister.

After letting out a howl of grief, he frantically searched her jacket in search of reasoning, and answer to why she jumped out in front of that damn horse…

Then there it was. The suffragette flag.