"I was a Queen, and you took away my crown; a wife, and you killed my husband; a mother, and you deprived me of my children. My blood alone remains. Take it, but do not make me suffer long." --- Marie Antoinette

8 décembre 1793

Versailles, France

Once opulent and full of the richness of life, the city is nothing but torch-lit darkness, stinking of death and screaming of everything vicious. Eleni runs, and runs, panic building in her chest. She pushes her way through the crowd of people shouting insults at her, doing her best to keep the tears safely within her eyes.  The young woman does not know these people, but they despise her. She is not Eleni to them. She is a symbol of everything the torches and blades aim to destroy. Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité ou la Mort! The chants fill Eleni's ears as she moves as fast as she can towards the doors of the home of her youth, narrowly escaping grasping hands. She seeks salvation far away from memories of royal palaces and glittering jewels, wishing only to be Eleni again. I am just a girl, she screams in her head, knowing full well she is not.

Eleni tries not to cringe as the night reverberates with the sounds of agonising destruction and sadistic laughter. Hands pull at her skirts, and she feels the stinging heat of fire too close to her skin. It makes her heart beat faster, desperate for sanctuary as her shoulder collides roughly with the door.

I am just a girl, she cries out silently, blinking tears away as the pain in her shoulder radiates through her body. I have done nothing. I only wanted to see my roses.

Eleni was born Mademoiselle la Duchesse Eleonore Delphine du Vigneron,  now a striking beauty who stood tall and poised with a sophistication beyond her sixteen years. Time had been kind to her, if not to the world she inhabited. Her parents had beamed with pride as they watched her transition from a lovely child to a blue-eyed, raven-haired woman who caused heads to turn, often twice. It did not escape anyone's attention, least of all her own, that beauty changed things. Women began to look at her in a less friendly way than they once had, and men started flattering her with gifts and compliments. Eleni knew enough to recognise they were all counting the years before she would have to take a husband. With each passing year, she felt a bit more like a jewel whose value was continually being appraised.

Eleni, whose father was born a distant relation to the honoured Roi Louis himself, quickly became a favourite of the white-featured Reine Antoinette. It was just before her twelfth birthday that the whispers began. Plans were being made for Eleni's future as the charming girl blossomed into a young woman. She had finally been considered old enough to wait upon her Queen and adorn the Palace, those much older than she was subtly seeking a suitable match for her for when she came of age.

Eleni's mother, the imperious Madame la Duchesse Eugenie, had argued her spirited daughter was too young and troublesome for Court life. Times were dangerous, Eugenie had pointed out. It was a weak and futile argument from Eugenie. Times had changed long before her only daughter could bloom into the lovely flower she was meant to become. Times would always be dangerous, a truth felt within the collective panic and anger of an entire nation.

Most lived in denial of the inevitable if only to keep a semblance of sanity. The seeds of revolution had been planted long before Eleni's birth and loomed over the heads of all, yet their way of life persisted as if little would change. When the summons came from the Palace for the precocious twelve-year-old and her elder brother Michel, Eugenie had little choice but to relent. The entire family wasted no time beginning their new routine at the palace, and they only saw the charming home Eugenie had so lovingly designed and decorated on rare occasions.

Eleni had lived only four years within the glittering world of the Court of Versailles, yet for most of her life, knew the purpose of her existence was to be appropriately groomed for this. Eleni was both in awe and resentful of the changes. She adored the beautiful objects around her but could not help but feel as if she were now merely one of them. Eleni was to serve her country, honour her family, marry a man even more esteemed and wealthy than her father. "Do not push her; she will only rebel," Eleni heard her mother's voice whisper. "Leave her to her own schemes and charms, and she may wed a step or two from the Crown. She does not understand ambition, but she has plenty."

As she is running through the crowd, body lurching through the doors and past the angry mob to find some sense of safety, Eleni feels as if her safe and happy life is one she remembers from a century ago. She can recall the feeling of love and admiration. It is the carefree innocence that exists when a girl is young and beautiful but does not yet know every gift carries a danger. Eleni remembers the world as one that always envies and adores her, dropping small curtsies and rakish bows upon greeting her. Much has changed, and what she recalls is no longer her reality, tainted by a dark shadow looming above her world.

Today, she knows only the violent disdain of a world that has become traitorous, cutting through her as swiftly as a blade. They understand little of her life but see enough to desire her destruction. It is Eleni's first introduction to betrayal, and she is unprepared. Youth protects Eleni like a cocoon and has done so for the past year. Now a refugee of a fallen monarchy, Eleni spends her days in relative seclusion. Her exile is a kind one, and there is comfort in her childhood home. While most like Eleni's family is only now a memory, Eleni's youth and the humility of her father is her family's saving grace.

Despite Eleni's innocence, strangers threaten her very existence with a contempt that keeps Eleni awake many sleepless nights, weeping. She tries her best to please everyone and fails miserably, at least in her own eyes. Eleni doesn't yet see herself as a victim of something greater than she could comprehend. She only sees the hatred, as those she has never wronged shout for the demise of everyone and everything she loves.

Through the gates and up a large staircase and through corridors, she runs. Even with rocks and excrement flying at her back, she never stumbles as she clicks her tall and elegant heels as a horse sprinting toward victory might. Eleni is a woman now and meant to behave like one.  Pain is something to be pushed aside. At sixteen, she no longer allows herself the luxury of being an awkward and uncomfortable teenager. She is old enough for heels, old enough for marriage, old enough to understand the way the world works.  

Eleni's world turns with the power of blood and thirst for revenge. Each day, the shadows of death and tragedy illuminate the country in the name of what is called justice. Each day, Eleni wonders if it is the day she can no longer hide from Fate. She regrets going out to the gardens, chastises herself for naively believing the world still peaceful enough that she could see her flowers. Her mistake has cost her dearly. Eleni understands her sense of frenzy is an acknowledgement of war and death pushing peace aside.

Eleni's heart races with the panic of one determined to save her own life. The people parade in front of her childhood home, and she can see the endless sea of strangers with torches doing the same to the houses on either side of her. They are careless, setting things on fire, smashing valuable objects, destroying her precious and beautiful roses beneath uncaring feet. The last is the one act that makes her weep. Of all things, it is the crushed flowers that teach Eleni of grief and mourning.

She runs into the suite of the master bedroom, spacious enough to be the size of five rooms. She should be running for the servant's quarters, a place more private than the master suite, but she wants to find her Maman and Papa. Eleni is never allowed in these rooms. She is never trusted not to touch things or cause trouble, not until today. Finding Eugenie, a tall and imposing woman who is flawless in Eleni's eyes, she tries to hug her.

"Maman, please help! It is today they come for us, yes? I am shaking. " Eleni's face holds desperation, a need to hear things will be alright. "There are torches and axes, and a group of men is parading down the street shouting things. It looks as if they have a beautiful woman's head as a trophy. Maman, we know her."

Eleni shudders visibly. "It is the Madame du Barry, n'est-ce pas? How could they have hurt her? She was like a small dove. She could not even fight back." Eleni feels consumed by the weight and sadness of such injustice.

She feels the tears pool in her eyes. Her King and Queen were already gone, along with most of the royal family. Now they had silenced the gentle mistress of the former King. Who was next? Eleni's mind spins in circles of panic. Was anyone to survive at all?

"Maman, please, do not let them take us!"

The taller woman grabs Eleni's arm with such force that the girl cries out. She does not mean to be rough, but it was essential, and there was no time for fear and emotion. "Soyez silencieuse, Eleonore!" It wasn't necessary to know French to understand Eugenie's meaning as she pushed her small-boned daughter into the equally small space.

Once Eugenie opens the closet to hide Eleni from view, the young woman sits like a statue, concealed behind pounds of fabric, elaborate gowns and costumes once representing joy and frivolity. "The sound of the wagons is not far. You must forget the example Madame Jeanne has set today. She carried herself without dignity, the small difference between a true lady and a whore. It is a flaw in character no amount of money can repair. May God have mercy upon her soul and judge her kindly." Eugenie shakes her head as if in disgust at the dead mistress to the old King.

"Maman, if they wish us all dead, why did they not just trample me as they did the flowers? Why let me run away at all?" Eleni tries not to tremble, thinking it safer to remain a statue.

"They want to create the image of justice, not martyrdom. It matters not that it is a lie. Uncivilised mobs burning homes and slaughtering young women look nothing like justice, though the Madame Guillotine somehow does. "

Eleni looks frightened, tears pooling in her eyes. She is happy her Maman cannot see.  "Will God have mercy and judge me kindly?"

There is a catch in Eugenie's throat as if the air holds still for a moment. "One day, mon petite fleur, but not today. There will be many other days ahead."

Eleni holds still and quiet. The words sound hollow and false, though she knows Eugenie wishes to be comforting. The young woman tries to push fear deep down, but she doesn't know what to say in reply. There will not be many more days for any of them.

"You are a woman of noble blood, Eleonore. Do not forget this, not ever. A noble woman does not cry, and she does not beg. She does not lower herself in the face of fear. A noble woman will never allow herself to accept insult. Remember that, mon petite fleur. Be silent and stay in the shadows. They will pass you by." The door closes, leaving Eleni wide-eyed in the darkness. She hears the sound of the chamber door locking behind Eugenie, more barriers. "Je t'aime, Eleonore. Je t'aime." Eugenie's voice is distinguishable but full of sadness as it echoes against the walls of the room she loves so well, trusting it to protect her only daughter.

Eleni hides for what feels like days, barely daring to breathe, pretending she is dressing for a ball where she shall be able to sing and dance in the way she once did. Like her mother, Eleni adores being put on display, being allowed to wear the beautiful sapphires that match her eyes. She hugs her mother's gowns, desperately seeking any comfort she can find. Why could she not hide beside them? Why did she have to be alone?  Eleni is still a frightened child hidden within a woman's body, even if she must pretend that child is long gone.

She drifts into sleep, feeling sorry for herself. The sound of the mobs shouting for death and mocking tragedy with their cruel faces serves as Eleni's lullaby. From somewhere outside the window she hears agonising cries, arguing, and a loud "crack" and heavy thud. The sounds can only belong to her Maman, and Eleni instinctively knows she needs to run.

She remembers she cannot run, but she must do something. How could they do this to her?  No one touches Maman. Eleni can hear her Papa's loud voice, crying out in panic, "Non, Eugenie! Stay still!" After that, it is only the familiar echo of Eugenie's screams that reach Eleni's ears, followed by a jolting sound like an explosion that makes the world quiet.

In a matter of seconds, Eleni's world and everything in it becomes empty, silent.

It is the alarming sounds that startle her from mournful stillness, the footsteps running everywhere. The intrusive rudeness of the voices causes her eyes to fly open wide, a burst of adrenaline consuming her small frame. Finally, Eleni hears the loud click of the door opening, not a key but the sound of anger kicking it off the hinges. Eleni tries not to breathe, not to cower. She wants to sob as hopelessness drifts over her. Eleni will one day allow herself the indulgence of grief, but the time is not now.

Eleni tries only to think her parents and her brother Michel are coming back for her,  but she feels the rivulets of sweat travel down her back in betrayal. Denial is a luxury not given to the strong-willed. She almost screams when she hears other voices instead of those Eleni needs and loves, but she doesn't. Eleni tries to make herself invisible, small, silent, emotionless. She had promised Eugenie this, and she would keep her promises. A noble woman does not cry, does not beg, does not lower herself by showing fear, Eleni reminds herself, hearing Eugenie's firm tone in her ears.

There is laughter, and a man's voice says, "Watchin' em parade the whore bitch's head all over town, it's a laugh it is. She ain't never deserved no better, whore to another lyin' traitor thievin' from the people. And speakin' a takin' what you deserve, check out them here jewels." Eleni feels sick as she hears the sound of her Maman's jewellery box protesting as it refuses to open, suffering in the process.

"Fuckin' thing; everythin' in this one's house has a lock or just needin' ta be smashed in." The coarse language and low-brow accents of the soldiers shocked Eleni. Sometimes, she could barely understand what was said. Eleni did understand the mocking cruelty within the voices. There is no mistaking the contempt they held for her, for her family, for everything she knew and loved.

Pulling back against the wall, Eleni recoils at the sound and the feeling of the boot against the door, and then maybe a shoulder. Suddenly, light floods the closet and Eleni disappears inside herself. "Fancy these 'ere costumes, eh? The lady of the house bein' one of those who knows 'ow to entertain in style. Shame they took care of 'er like they did, could have a go at that fore puttin' 'er in a wagon." He shakes his head. "Always a right pity wit' the pretty tarts."

Eleni practically stops breathing, hugging the wall, but there is not anything she can do. The men begin flinging gowns from the closet, full of crude remarks, and sometimes the simple tear of fabric is heard. Beads fly everywhere, the sound ricocheting like bullets in Eleni's ears. "Fuckin' people, ain't a wonder the country's starvin'."

A gown falls from its hanger, a beautiful silver damask that reminds Eleni of a snow queen. Her large blue eyes abruptly meet two vicious brown ones, attached to a man in uniform. "Look what we got! Ain't you a bit old to be playin' little hide and seek games with us?" The man reaches in and grabs Eleni's arm roughly, so much so that tears come into her eyes. Another one looks on, drinking from a flask. "An' who exactly are you?"

Eleni curtsies with her natural grace, so low to the ground her plie almost touches. "I am Mademoiselle la Duchesse Eleonore Delphine du Vigneron", she replies, her voice soft and youthful, but her face proud. She is a regal and proper woman; her mother taught her so. "People who like me call me Eleni. You may if you wish." Behind the scared, proud little face of the young woman is a coy mannerism that does not belong, but is not pretence. It is something about Eleni she has yet to understand, one of the things that draw attention, especially from men. Her eyes carry an almost seductive look. It is the sort of look that is not purposeful in a girl of Eleni's age. Nonetheless, it rarely goes unnoticed. 

In her soft, melodic French, she says, "They have all left me. I hid because I was alone and frightened." There is a calm candour about Eleni's words, but beneath her gown, her small figure visibly trembles. She is a thin and fragile thing, even more so than La Reine Antoinette and Madame du Barry had been. Eleni is proud of her figure, a perfect example of the fashion at the time. The curvatures of her body betray her age, though they contradict the innocent structure of her face, the fear hidden within her blue eyes. Eleni does not have the austerity of her mother, though she tries to duplicate Eugenie's regal mannerisms. 

The man laughs at Eleni's formalities, a snort of contempt mixing with a look of interest. "Ain't you either a cheeky one or a dim-witted one. You got a good reason to be frightened, mademoiselle, but ain't you worry, you see yer family soon enough." Again, the men give our a snort of cruel laughter, and one says, "C'mon, girl, you make peace with the country and your God along the way." The two men half lift, half-drag Eleni towards the doors.

"Please wait!!" She yells, kicking her legs in protest. "Please! A minute more here, in my beloved Maman's chambers." A single tear rolls down her face, and it burns like a betrayal. Looking the man in the eye, she says, "Nobody knows I am here, and everything has a price, does it not? It is why you hate me as you do. Everything here is worth something. Does that not include me?" 

In the lamplight, her face is older, more seductive. The sapphire eyes are offering up a secret world  Eleni didn't yet understand. "The price of a noblewoman's virtue is as high as that of her life, do you not think that? I have been told it so, many times. Even one as young as I am, that treasure is worth as much as a head in a basket."

Eleni's lashes lower so she may look between the men, but she does not plead, and she does not beg. Instead, she keeps a calm and innocent look, terrified but regal. "I am common-looking enough. You might find a girl on your way home looking exactly like me. Should that not be possible?" She watches them consider and says firmly. "My father has a bastard daughter not ten minutes from here on foot. She favours me a good deal. There can be no mistaking who she is.  One's as good as another, oui?" There is almost a feisty temperament to Eleni's tone, anger that they exist in a world where any of these things were possible, even thinkable. This way of life is now the harsh reality of their world, though, and everything a negotiation.

The quiet drunkard laughs for the first time, "Little tart thinks she can make a deal. Ain't wrong, though. Nobleman's daughter to penniless orphaned whore in one night." He looks at her, almost a flicker of compassion showing on his weary face. It disappears when his eyes stare at her petite figure, the breasts and jet black hair that make her look more like a woman and less like a child. Eleni is neither yet fully one nor the other, but she understands survival. "There are some negotiations, Mademoiselle Eleni, that make you wish you'd chosen death."

Eleni avoids the faces of the men; her eyes cast down in something resembling humility. A moment passes, but she becomes bold enough to look the men in the eye, and murmurs softly, "I am no longer a child. I am old enough for marriage and children now. I merely seem small. I do not know much about many things, but I know people have always found me pleasing. You might find me pleasing too." Her entrancing gaze falls upon the man who gave her the warning. When she speaks, there are no hysterics. Her voice holds a hint of something hypnotic and worldly. Eleni is not arrogant in the way of her mother, and others are not frightened by her. She has a different sort of gift, one Eugenie never allowed her daughter to notice, but could not keep from the world. Eleni is desirable, alluring in the way only inexperienced young women who hold the promise of growing into much more can be.

"I told you that people call me Eleni if they like me, and tis the name you used. I should be grateful and not afraid for your friendship". It is the last thing she has left to bring forward, her charm, her innocence, the hint of something mysterious that could become something low and corrupt if given the opportunity. She would let them destroy her body to save her family, but never her pride. They did not have to know that. Eleni is a regal young woman, but one who does not intend to submit quietly to having her head paraded revoltingly on a spike. Trembling a bit, she hopes her Maman will understand. Survival is everything.

The boisterous man draws a knife, pointing it at Eleni's throat. "Ain't you the grown-up fearless type, or maybe just that age you're wantin' someone should be makin' a proper woman out of you. All them pretty boys rather have each other 'n a pretty lady, hmm?" She is terrified as the male towers over her with the pure instrument of death. She tries not to show any emotion, but she could sense the man's arousal growing as he caresses her with the knife, the blade the touch of Eleni's first real lover.

Eleni did not flinch as the cold blade touched her skin, but then merely cut her gown away from her, revealing her tiny frame and wide blue eyes as she trembled without modesty. "Deal's a deal; I'm guessin'. We ain't the type for arguin'" Grabbing Eleni by her perfectly coiffed hair, he pulls so hard she thinks her neck might snap, and she does not know if she is still living as hands push her to her knees.

"Decide you'd rather have a death ta please what's left a ­yer family, remember I got this." The cold sharpness of the blade sinks into pure white flesh in an almost mournful manner. Tiny droplets of blood form, red roses blooming as in warning. The wound to her body is superficial but meant to cut her spirit to the quick.

Eleni's world is cold and dark, and there is not much to remember, not even in her nightmares. Someone did Eleni a kindness, erasing so much of her ordeal that she could never again go back to that dark place. It was not enough to keep the petite and wide-eyed girl from whimpering and shaking like Madame du Barry forced to the scaffold. None of this would help her. It did not do anything to rescue the most notorious courtesan of their time, so why would it help Eleni? Still, she could not keep terror away, and emotion would break down the walls she held firmly in place. Each time, she chastises herself for her weakness. A noble woman does not allow herself to be insulted. It is as if Eugenie's voice still floats through the room, protecting her daughter.

I am going to die today. Eleni's mind races, her body twisted in its suffering. Yet, every moment of pain was one of life, and Eleni has to cling to life. She sees faces and hands. Eleni glimpses the world outside herself. She watches her body contorted and hands around her neck. There are many things, even a baton. Eleni does not beg, she does not cry, and she never once asks for death--noble or otherwise. She thinks of the family and the legacy she is saving with every scream choked down. It does not occur to her that her desire for survival is for herself and it is no sin. Her mind is already calculating how fast she can run before collapsing, so she isn't picked up by a wagon or beaten down by the mob. 

A few times, she cries out in pain, not only because her mind is stronger than her body, but because it seems to cause them pleasure. Moans and coarse words fill the room, reassuring Eleni that she does not lie in how she presents herself. People do indeed find her pleasing. A few times, the brutality overwhelms her in ways that cause her to shake with unwilling pleasure she can't seem to stop. She does not understand, and they laugh at her predicament. Her humiliation is a precious jewel. 

The blade of the knife touches her face, her breasts, and she hears a voice saying, "Nah, leave it be. A shame to do that. She's a beauty, ain't ever gonna get much more'n this life if she makes it. Let 'er make an honest livin' whorin'." Everything is dark and dizzy, and her hands tied with strips of the torn gowns for so long a time her hands go numb, but not a single tear escapes her. Eleni would not keep making that mistake. Nothing is worth more than family, and nothing is worth more than pride.

What seems like hours pass, the sounds of the chaos fading. Finally, one of the men rises, leaving Eleni on the bed, barely conscious. "Tiny little bitch was right. She ain't gonna live ta tell a soul. An' this way was more fun than a scaffold. E'reone chooses their way I guess". He leaves, and the other stops to cover Eleni with the pile of fabric, reeking of alcohol. "God show you mercy, mademoiselle. God show us all." 

He places a large hand around her throat, wanting to end her torment, but the still pale flesh under his hand stops him. He just can't; he's thinking of his mistress waiting for him when he gets home. She's a pretty thing with the same alabaster skin, not much older than Eleni. He lets go as the memory of Eleni's sweet voice and beseeching blue eyes burn into his mind. 

They will never let him go, holding him prisoner for the rest of his days. "People call me Eleni if they like me." It is such an innocent statement and still so provocative. They are not words that should ever belong to one so young. No, there would be no mercy, not for any of them.

An eternity of stillness passes, the young woman's body moving in small whimpers, drifting in and out of consciousness.  Eleni is finally alone. Her petite frame is one of a young woman bleeding and bruised and barely able to stand, but she is alive. She stares at herself as if she no longer dwells inside the body that looks back at her. Eleni needs to convince herself that her heart still beats and her legs can always carry her. 

Go! Run, quickly!  A voice shouts at Eleni from within the back of her mind, insisting she move. Something Eleni cannot identify numbs the pain with a chill that is blissful in its nothingness, propelling her toward survival. Eleni is trance-like as she puts on the silver and white damask gown, running for the servants' quarters and the private staircase, the box of jewels tucked safely under her arm. A cloak and pile of gowns thrown over her, Eleni draws little attention. Drowning in fabric and nearly collapsing with each feeble step, she looked like any other beggar-girl starving and beaten down on the street. No one cares if she lives or dies or from who she's stolen the opulent items. In this state, Eleni is one of them now. She understands the world she lives in, a world trampled like her beautiful roses.

Eleni runs and runs and runs until she reaches the door of Madame la Comtesse de Chevalier, her Maman's dear friend, where she collapses and begs for help at the shocked woman's feet. Eleni's heart, body, and soul are weeping, but not a single tear shows on her face. She knows she has bought herself more time---maybe weeks, maybe months, maybe years. Time is time, and it will inevitably spare no one. 

The Comtesse looks at the collapsed heap that is Eleni, understanding without a word. She offers a small curtsy before she makes the sign of the cross over the girl. The older woman's voice cracks a bit as she speaks. "I am sorry for your loss, Madame la Duchesse." The change in title is like a slap as the meaning of the words hit Eleni's ears. Kneeling, the older woman whispers, "Eugenie would have been proud, Eleonore. You survived. Too many did not live past this night." 

Eleni's limp and barely responsive figure says nothing, and the Comtesse carries the girl to the servant's quarters. Her touch is sad and gentle, treating Eleni if she is moving the body of her own daughter. "You are strong, Eleonore. You will survive this. It will not be easy. It never is." 

The empty and dark eyes lift feebly, looking at the kind-hearted Comtesse with whatever strands of spirit flutter inside Eleni's body. There is so much to mourn. The most natural choice is to grieve for nothing.

"Je ne regrette rien. Je fais ce que je dois". The barely audible words hang in the air, almost a note of haunting prophecy.

"I regret nothing. I do what I must."