A Trip to Revolution Square

Élise stumbles. Her shoes are a little tight, and that’s good because it means she’s growing, and Aalis hadn’t outgrown these shoes until she was twelve so it also means she’s probably going to be taller than her, but it also means that her feet have started hurting all the time, and she trips a lot more now than she used to. Her grip on Aalis’ wrist tightens instinctively, but it’s a hot day and she’s wearing her cloak and her palms are sweaty and her hand slips right away. 

Aalis keeps walking, and it’s only a few steps before she notices but there are so many people around and Élise may be growing but she’s still not very tall and she can’t see over the heads and anyway, Aalis isn’t very tall either, and she tries to follow in the direction she thinks they were going but someone jostles her from behind and she falls, and she’s going to hit the ground and tear all her clothes and -

And a hand clenches around her arm, by her shoulder, and wrenches her upright just before she completely loses her footing. 

She looks up, grateful. Aalis glares down at her, hand like a manacle around her arm. Her voice is rough when she speaks, a sharp warning to “Keep up.” But her eyes are agitated, just barely twitching, so she bites her tongue and doesn’t argue, even though none of that was her fault, and just mumbles a half-apology.

Aalis stares for a moment. “Just, come on. We’re gonna be late.”

****************************************************************************

Élise hasn’t been to the Place de la Revolution before. She thinks she’d like it more with fewer people. It’s loud and crowded, and thankfully Aalis is keeping them to the edge of the square - she’s more relaxed here than she ever is at home, but she still doesn’t like feeling trapped, or surrounded - but that means she can’t see anything. She says as much to Aalis, tugging on her hand to get her attention.

“I just don’t know why I couldn’t stay at home.”

“Because then I’d have to stay back with you, and this is a big event in the history of the Republic, and I want to see it.”

“You wouldn’t have to stay with me.” Aalis has already turned back to face the centre of the square, craning her neck to try and see, something. “I have” - she pauses for a moment, thinking - “ten years, I can stay alone. And anyway, Papa’s there, I wouldn’t be alone.”

Aalis snorts. “It’s nine years, but good guess. And he doesn’t count, you know that. Besides, you ought to be here. You’d regret it in a few years, if I’d left you behind, and then you’d have to live knowing that you could have witnessed a momentous occasion and instead chose to scorn the kindness of your dearest sister.”

“I’m not witnessing anything right now,” she grumbles. She doesn’t bother addressing the last part of the sentence, instead switching her focus back to the matter at hand. Maybe if she can get into the air… 

She jumps once, and then again. The second time she lands awkwardly, and grunts as her feet burn with pain. Above her, she hears Aalis sigh. 

She crouches, with some difficulty - she’d hurt her leg when Élise was very young, and her gait’s never been the same since - in front of her, and gestures with a hand. “Alright then. Get on.”

Élise hesitates for a second, deliberating, before deciding that taking the time to question motives wasn’t worth the risk of Aalis changing her mind. She wraps her arms around her neck and clings to her back, as she slowly, cautiously, straightens up. 

Her first thought is that she’s still not sure she likes the Place. Her view is still restricted, but she can see a raised wooden platform in the midst of all the people, and what looks like a stone needle, at the very back of the square, that towers above everyone, but is pale enough in colour that it somehow still manages to blend into the background.

She rests her chin on Aalis’ shoulder. “So. What’s happening?” 

“Justice.”

“Huh.” She doesn’t know what to do with that - Aalis answers questions like that a lot, as if she knows that Élise won’t understand and wants her to have to ask, which of course means that she never can.

Luckily, she is spared from having to stew in her ignorance for long. The crowd hasn’t stopped shouting since they arrived, but the yells have somehow grown louder, more focussed. 

“Who’s that?” But now Aalis is ignoring her completely, caught up in the screams. She isn’t saying anything herself, but Élise suspects that might have less to do with her not wanting too and more to do with her being short of breath while holding her up - Élise is growing, after all, and Aalis isn’t very tall. She’s panting slightly.

Élise squints, trying to better make out the woman being led to the platform. She’s wearing white, and her hair - also pale - is shorn short. Her face is almost grey, though she doesn’t know if that’s because of the lighting, or make up, or just fear.

Élise still doesn’t know who she is.

She tries again, turning her head so she’s speaking straight into Aalis’s ear. “She looks sad,” she says, because she does.

Still no response. But Élise is practiced at carrying conversations going by herself, and she’s nothing if not perseverant.

She thinks for a moment. 

How to shock Aalis into paying attention to her.

She opens her mouth again. Doesn’t bother speaking quietly this time. “She’s very pretty.”

Aalis jerks - from the words or the sound, she can’t be sure. Probably the latter. Her left leg buckles a little, and they almost collapse - this may not have been the best idea she’s ever had. But Aalis manages to recover, and just keeps them from hitting the ground. 

“What? No she’s not.”

Élise can’t actually disagree - she can’t see well enough to decide either way - but it’s instinct, deeply ingrained, to double down whenever Aalis tells her she’s wrong, and all her more pertinent questions have to wait. “Yes she is.”

“No she’s not. Her hair’s all been chopped off, how’s that pretty?”

“Hey!” This time her protests are more than just spite. “My hair’s short.”

Aalis laughs. She brings up a hand to ruffle her hair. “That’s different. Your hair’s short ‘cause you kept getting it caught in things, and this way no one can grab it. Hers is short ‘cause she’s a traitor.”

“Traitor, right.” She breathes. The woman is being walked to the wooden structure atop the platform. “Who is she?”

This time Aalis answers. “A collaborator. Used to be the Queen and she wants to go back.”

She’s vibrating with anticipation. Élise feels like she’s missing something. 

“And that makes her traitor?”

“It makes her a traitor of thought.” She must have sensed her confusion, because she keeps going. “That’s not what this is though. She was actively trying to undermine the Republic, they had a trial and all.”

“Oh.” The woman is now kneeling down. “And that’s why this is important.”

“It’s important ‘cause it’s just the start. They’re gonna go after them all, all those rich bastards who sat around and bought their fancy dresses and jewellery while we were dying in the streets. Their money won’t protect them now.”

“They’re just gonna, kill them?” The lunette closes around the woman’s neck

“Only if they pose a threat. This is the perfect example, really. She was fine, she was still alive, she had food and clothes and people taking care of her kids -”

“She has children?”

“Yeah. This is probably better for them - if they’re not too far gone, they can still be taught to uphold the ways of the Republic. My point is, she was fine, she had enough, there was no reason for her to start plotting. She doesn’t need any more, she doesn’t deserve it.”

“So they’re killing her.”

People are lining up to start pulling rope.

“It sends a message. That we won’t accept treason, and we don’t accept a monarchy, and they all better fall in line. This is the land of the people, for now and forever.”

“And it’s just the beginning.”

“Yep. Mark my words, they won’t stop with Madame Deficit. They’ll realise that, even if they’re not, royal, they’re all as bad as each other, and they’ll start rooting out the traitors like they should have been doing all along. This’ll be the first beheading of many, and we’ll get to say we saw it happen.”

“Yeah.”

The blade has reached the top of the guillotine.

Aalis must have picked up on some latent hesitancy, because her voice softens. “Look. They make their choices knowing the consequences, and if they still make the wrong choices then that’s on them. It’s safer than leaving them alive to try again, and far less painful than all the hacking those old kings used to sentence people to, with the axes.”

“I guess.”

The people release the rope.

“And remember, they want to go back to the days before, and in those days it was us, who were dying. Their selfishness costs good lives.”

A snick of metal.

“Yeah.”

And the head of Marie Antoinette falls unblinking into a wicker basket.