Title: Prisonnier Politique
Characters: OC
Prompt: Death
Word Count: 233
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The outlook of a prisoner of the Republic.


The havoc they wreak is terrible. The streets are black with the ashes of traitors.

And oh what traitors there are! They are the privileged, these who once sat cold-eyes as the revolutionaries toiled. Their cold eyes were the first to go dark. But these, these are the privileged few. There simply aren't enough to sate the blood-lust. Now they take the servants.

Those turncoats, they dwelt in their masters' castles, safe from the elements. The butlers with their condescending gazes, the guards who carried out the loathsome orders of their despicable masters, they too must die. They too shall feed Madame Guillotine.

As a seamstress I created some of the beauty the aristos so coveted. I lapped up the praise they showered upon me as they cooed over my fine gowns. Never could I have envisioned this.

When it began I felt little fear, they were only punishing the unjust. I was just. My clients just. I am no aristo. And yet, and yet I was denounced.

They dragged me in front of the counsel, and my blood froze with a single glance from their cold eyes. The new aristos' eyes revealed the cruel régime.

This dank dungeon holds no more aristos, just shivering masses of lady's maids and nervous waiters. The say the aristos die, but we know better. The aristos are holding the rope.