|Author:||La Reina (Authenticated as La Reina)|
|Date:||August 19, 2012 at 7:40:39 AM|
|Reply to:||Build-a-Story: Round Three! by Viola Eponine|
I hear voices.
They were incessant, and they came to me not in turns, but in a motley mixture, twisting in my mind like colourful swirls of paint. One voice dominated, cutting through the chaos: Sadie’s voice, singing her little story-song of the dark knight in red armour who came to rescue the damsel from the palace. I still remember what I thought when I first heard that song. I thought that Sadie had been mistaken, that the knight in red was only a replacement, and that the real hero stands far beyond the veil.
A face emerged before my eyes, a face equally vivid as it was ethereal; I had never seen that face before, and yet I knew whose it was. It was a man’s face, albeit with features so soft so as to be more beautiful than handsome, like a marble Apollo and not a mortal. Blue eyes looked at me from beneath thick lids, and the lips murmured a single word in my ear in precise, confident tones: “Liberty.”
I smiled at the vision. This. This is the real hero. Not the red knight who now stands, wasting, flickering.
Another voice asserted itself above the rest. A weak, tinkling, voice with a timbre that reminded me of a glass flute. With it came the image of a small girl, with a round face and a porcelain doll complexion. And like the porcelain doll she resembled, when she shatters, her pieces cut and bleed us. Margot Carey. Fragile, flinching, frightened Margot; shrill, screeching, screaming Margot. She had seemed so helpless, so innocent. Even her tempers were fleeting, and she would return to the terrified girl she always seemed to be.
We should never have told her. Traitresse, traitresse, traitresse.
She is not only a traitor to me, to us. She is a traitor to Freedom, to Liberty, to our Cause and our Right, to our banner and our hymn, to Aqila and Coralie; to our Revolution.
I see Margot standing behind Madame, cowering, too ashamed to meet my eyes; I do not look at her either, the traitor. She had yielded, had betrayed us to the tyrant. Madame had launched at us like a rocket unleashed, accusing and wildly demanding our deaths. It was useless to reason with her. She is a bigot, who thinks she is always correct, and that her Order and her Laws were vital. But while Laws are good, they must be just; the Law should be an expression of the People’s will. To the will of the people – a la volonté du peuple. But her Laws do not listen to her People, to her citizens; to us. Her Laws suppress and oppress. She orders for our heads to be brought to her.
No; hers is the head that must roll. The razor is sharp and ready. In my mind’s eye, in my phantasmal visions, I see Madame and Margot, in pastel satin gowns and with powdered wigs on their heads, kneeling before their deaths.
I shake my head, forcing the thoughts to scatter. What am I doing? The good must be innocent; ah, but they deserve punishment. We must be better than them – but to tolerate such deeds would be foolish – they were inhumane; we must be humane – they showed no compassion to me, to us – we must be just and wise – one does not make revolutions by halves – this is not a revolution, and you are not insurgents – but you fight in the name of Freedom; what else could you be? – dreamer girl, foolish girl – cold as ice and as bold as fire. Persevere, never give up - you must know when to fold -
You have paid the price you must pay for Freedom; you have passed the point of no return.
An omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.
This message was edited by the author on August 23, 2012 at 9:17:32 AM
|Because this message is archived you cannot respond to it.|
|Messages in this thread:|