Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or the French Rev.

So…I got some positive feedback on the first, very short, chapter. Thanks to everyone who has read it, and liked it, especially the reviewers! I haven't exactly planned out what I want to do with this story, but I think I like what I have so far. Let me know, again, if you have ideas, or if you just want to review, please do! I wrote this today (my holiday break has started, so I have a TON of time on my hands), and I hope it doesn't seem too hurried. Again, I haven't written in a while, so sorry if it is a bit fast paced. Just let me know! RxR, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

The smell of oil paint permeated the air as my brush moved in swift strokes across the canvas. Poor or not, I would always find the money for my trade; there was nothing for me to love more. As I mixed pigments, I gazed ahead at the scene in front of my eyes—the Palais-Royal in all its glory. Although at dusk, lanterns and candles allowed for wonderful lighting, illuminating the shops, pubs, and gardens. People were milling around, and I struggled to capture the movement in the composition. Here and there, prostitutes sold their wares in the darkened alleys, and ladies strolled, gossiping. A grimy young boy shouted from the corner, waving a newspaper above his head. So caught up was I in the simple complexity of the setting, that I didn't notice them at first.

The small group of aristos sat quaintly at the table of a café, lunching. My mouth watered, and I clutched at my stomach to stifle the rumbling as I watched the bigger one—muscled up like the butcher across the street—devour a pie, I could only assume meat from the steam wafting out of it. But the food wasn't what caught my eye, though it was a close second. What got me was the unnatural beauty that these people exuded.

The two women, although dressed in the gaudy ruffles, curls, and drooping necklines of the time, clearly were the stand out beauties of the crowd, though one short and elfin, while the other statuesque and graceful. I couldn't help but admit my jealousy as I stippled on the detailing in their dresses and faces; there would never be a time where I could look as such, being as plain as I was.

The three men of the group were a different matter altogether. The first I had noted before, brawny and big, seemed the most boisterous, waving his hands with expression. The second, leonine and appearing quiet, sipped from his coffee with an air of nonchalance that rivaled the King. As my eyes turned to the last member of their group, I felt my face heat from my neck to my hairline. I quickly ducked, hiding my face behind a thick curtain of hair. The term Adonis would not have been proper, for he was far more handsome. A shock of bronze hair and deep green eyes stood out, making his surroundings dull immensely at his presence.

I watched my hand tremble for a second before I dipped my brush into the green oils, swirling the tip around. There wasn't any way I could get this right. No matter the other four, I could simplify their features. But he had to be perfect.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I realized just how dark it had become as I had been ogling them. I hadn't realized in my painting that my objects of focus had left either. I would have to finish this one tomorrow, and although I should be upset, it made me a bit happier. It meant I could come back, perhaps see them again. It meant I was crazy.

Packing up my brushes, I shoved the first items that fit into my bag, and tucked the almost dry canvas under my arm. My feet tangled around the legs of my stool, sending my handful of brushes flying. As I scampered down onto my knees to pick them up, I knocked into person's shins, effectively spilling out everything I had just packed up. I huffed, and got down on my knees again, scrambling for everything under the table.

Damn klutz.

"You know, you could watch out where you're walking!" I muttered, pausing to look up at the offender.

My breath stopped for a second, and I clutched at my throat, flushing.

I was looking up into the brightest pair of green eyes that the heavens had created.

My hands started moving double time as I crammed everything back into the bag, and grabbed my painting. He was just standing there, staring at me.

Jumping to my feet, I shoved past him, grumbling to myself again. I had to get out of here before I hurt someone other than myself.

And then he grabbed my shoulder.

"Pardon me," His voice was soft, deep, and sent shivers down my spine.

I shook my shoulder free of his hand sighing, and looked back.

"What?" my voice was a tad more irritable than I would have liked.

He raised his hand in the air, pausing, before it shot out and snatched the painting from under the crook of my elbow. I gasped, clutching at thin air. Nervously glancing over my shoulder, I could see his party meandering towards us.

"Did you paint this?" His eyes searched mine, and I couldn't place the look in them.

"Um…uh…"

My heart beat like a horse's hooves in my chest, my face heating once again.

He raised his brows, most likely questioning my mental faculties. I didn't blame him.

I tried to clear my throat, and met his gaze again. It sounded like I was choking.

"Oui, monsieur."

"It's very well done, mademoiselle," he smirked.

"Thank you." My tone turned curt—I didn't like people mocking me, and never had.

I grabbed the painting from him, looking down my hands, searching for words and still blushing. I felt like I should make up for my rude demeanor. My mind worked in circles, and damn this man for disturbing it.

He chuckled, his gaze shifting over my shoulder, no doubt at his friends, and then back to my face.

I was suddenly very aware of the grime that covered my cheeks, my hair, and the coating of paint on my fingers and shirt. Biting down on my lip, I glanced up at him quickly, and then looked towards the Palais, the crowd.

"I have to go, sir," I mumbled, worrying my lip with my teeth more in anxiety, "And I'm sure you'll want to get back to your...your friends." I shifted uncomfortably. I didn't want to leave…which worried me.

When he didn't reply, I nodded quickly in acknowledgment in his general direction, not looking back at his face, and scurried off towards the crowd, mentally cursing myself for general lack of tact.

As I reached the edge of one of the shops, my eyes wandered over to where they were all gathered. He seemed to be saying something to the smaller lady as she grinned up at him. The other girl—tall and blonde—looked in my general direction and gave me what could only be described as a scowl. My eyes went wide in confusion, and I hiked my bag further over my shoulder and scurried off towards the center of the crowd, pushing and shoving until I was good and lost in the chaos of drunkards and their women.

The sun was gone now, and my stomach rebelled against my rapid pace. There hadn't been any food today—I had nothing to sell. The tattered jacked that I clutched to my frame was nothing against this cold wind, and my hair was tangled beyond repair. I would have to find somewhere to bathe soon. I blinked ruefully as I felt my eyes tear up. No wonder I wasn't anything special.

I never felt pity for myself; I had figured out a long time ago that my parents wouldn't have wanted that for me, and it also didn't help in the slightest. It just made the scurrying of the rats and the hell hole that I lived in more unbearable. Yet now, as I remembered the fineries, and the food, and the ease with which the five seemed to live, a sudden wave of jealously overcame me. Maybe even anger. That blonde woman, she had no right to glare at me so. I should have been the one scowling at her, and hating her for her fortune. Those spoiled lapdogs of the state lived on cake, and I lived on the scraps of the people who put on vulgar plays and sold their bodies for money. It was disgusting. And so I pitied myself, despite my parent's wishes. How I loathed myself for it.

Angela didn't even try to talk about my reprehensible attitude that night. If she had, I don't know what I would have said. There was no feasible reason for me to hate the five aristos—jealously was one thing, but hate was a different demon in its entirety. I especially didn't want to hate the beautiful bronze haired man, with his enigmatic eyes, his boyish face, and his seemingly amiable demeanor. But I could see it was in vain. Of course I would hate him.

So she met Edward as you can see! Yes or no? I'll try to update ASAP! Till later :)