Author Notes:
WARNING: INCLUDES HORROR DESCRIPTIONS ABOUT THE FRENCH REVOLUTION and TALKS ABOUT EXECUTION. - Tell me if you think this should be rated to M then. But until then, you have been warned.
~Third Alice~
"We demand you to use your money to provide bread for poor families!"
"You should follow the Revolution! Therefore, punish all officers who speak against it!
"Replace the Royal Family guards with Parisian soldiers who dutifully and loyally follow the Revolution!"
The words continued to chant in the troubled King's mind as he paced back and forth, distressed by his current situation, his steps echoing in the empty throne room.
"Ah, mon cher, le roi Louis XVI. It seems you are troubled," the voice stated with a sigh, his voice breaking the silence. [Ah, my dear, king Louis XVI.]
King Louis slightly jumped up, his head snapped to the source. He let out his breath when he saw Francis, his most trusted adviser and friend, a worried expression etched into his face.
Putting a hand over his chest, he exclaimed, "Oh Francis! You scared me!" Sitting himself back on his throne, he asked, "So what is it you would like to discuss Francis?"
Francis held up a bottle of fine champagne, the small oxygen bubbles quickly rising up to the top of the container. In the other hand held two crystal glass cups. "Non, mon cher. I wouldn't dare to discuss anything in your situation. Mais, tu veux boire le champagne avec moi? Pouvons-nous parler plus tard?" he offered, already pouring his boss's portion. [No, my dear.] [But, do you want to drink champagne with me? We can talk later.]
King Louis graciously accepted the glass and drank the champagne in silence.
Francis imitated his king, keeping silent as he kept a watchful eye on the troubled kind. They continued in this state until the last drop was poured and drank.
Francis sighed. breaking the silence, knowing it would be unwise to prolong the situation. He faced his country's king, knowing this might be the last time they could talk. He opened him mouth, ready to ask what the king intended to do, but he now saw the determined look his in eyes, one that probably appeared during their small break.
A smile graced his lips, "You are an indecisive, but kind, king who is just cursed with bad luck to be born during the enlightenment and debts. But I believe God is watching you and shall protect you and your family, either in this life or when you ascend up to the heavens."
King Louis XVI felt many mixed emotions flood in, but none steered him away from his decision. "Merci beaucoup, Francis. Vive la nation!" he declared. [Thank you very much.] [ Long live the nation!]
He wiped away the building tears before replying, a smile gracing his lips. "Merci beaucoup." He turned around and walked out of the throne room, unknowing he would only see his country's ruler under horrible circumstances.
~Time Skip~
From a distance, Francis watched King Louis XVI and his family be taken away, forced to move from their home in Versailles to Tuileries, the old palace in Paris. Afterward, Francis introduced him to the leaders of the Jacobins and the Mountains, Georges-Jacques Danton and Maximilien Robespierre. Surprisingly, they shunned him, though they were close before this whole mess started. Being shunned by them, he secretly kept a close eye on them and the rest of his citizens, helping them without their knowledge.
Everyday, Francis was forced to see the chaotic state of his country, he himself having very little influence or power to help. Every day, he wished, pleaded to God to help his people. He negotiated for peace with Austria, Prussia, Switzerland, and the other counties his people decided to wage war in. He worked to the point of true exhaustion, only to push himself further to continue to work for his country.
But when King Louis XVI was executed on the guillotine, Francis cracked and isolated himself in an empty room in the Versailles palace. One sleepless night, he had the urge to roam around the quiet palace, for a reason he could not place. He passed through many halls, his hand gliding over the nearby walls. As sleep began to take a hold of him once more, he stumbled into the throne room.
The empty seat struck a painful chord. In Francis' memories, a king would sit there, good or not, and direct the country. But now, there would be no such thing as a king and everything he had known and help brought up was crumbling.
Unconsciously, he crept closer to the seat until he himself was sitting upon it. He closed his eyes for a moment, to imagine the past, his past that he will now have to part. But exhaustion took over, and he fell asleep.
He woke up, his backside feeling very sore. He rubbed his crusted eyes and slowly sat up, musing his hair. He yawned, taking in his surroundings.
He snapped out of his disoriented state, his eyes shot wide open, and he looked around panickingly. "Mon dieu! Where am I?"
He was surrounded by poorly-built, seemingly-ancient houses, all made of rock and wood. The ground was paved by jagged rocks, and the streets seemed to be deserted. "Is this what the revolution did to my country?" he thought sadly to himself, a wave of empathy washing through him.
A young man, clad in blue, dirty overalls, hastily passed him. Francis quickly grabbed the man's arm, asking, "Où suis-je? Qui l'a fait à votre village? Les soldats? Les révolutionnaires?" [Where am I? Who did this to your village? The soldiers? The revolutionaries?]
The man jerked his arm, releasing it from France's grasp. "What kind of screwed up language are you speaking, you rich-spoiled brat?" he spat out in English before running away.
"Pardon? Wait! Where am I?" he yelled out as the guy ran away from him. He sighed and stood up, figuring which direction would be best.
It was weird; the man did not understand a word he was saying. Perhaps he was a tourist, but a tourist during his country's revolution? How unheard of. Or perhaps he was somehow magically transported to England or America, but this didn't seems like any place he knew.
Francis looked around uneasily. He had doubts of where he was. It seemed as he was not in his own country. There was a knot in the pits of his stomach convincing him of that.
He sighed once again; he had not encountered another person during his walk. He was beginning to lose hope when he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down to see a small boy. His worried lips warmed into a sweet smile. "Enchanté mon petit enfant. Est-ce que tu es perdu?"
Seeing his confused loo, he quickly switched to English, "Hello small child. Are you lost?"
The boy smiled and began to talk, words that Francis would never expect to hear come from his mouth. "You still think we're in your pitiful country? How simple-minded you are to immediately believe this is the same country."
He cackled, startling Francis. His defense system kicked in, screaming to get away from the odd child. He stepped back, trying to distance himself from the seemingly '"psychotic boy," only to see his hand gripping tightly onto his shirt. He frantically tried to release his grip, looking around for anyone that might help.
The boy finished giggling, his grip tighter than ever. "Oh, love, no one's going to come save you."
His playful, sadistic smile became a thin line, his eyes staring into Francis'. "I am giving you a chance for people to accept you once again. I am allowing you to help this country. You can remake this country."
Francis' mind was filled at a scene; a country filled with peace. One where he can interact with his citizens without being hated and blamed. And there's no war, no foolish killings, no hate.
"I-Is it possible?" he asked with renewed hope, his mind still filled with his wishful thoughts. If what he says is true, then he can finally do some good, not just watch as things around him fall apart.
The child smirked, taking the far-off gaze as Francis' answer. He branded a small, green clover on the edge of Francis' right eye. Francis pressed his hands on the slowly-appearing mark, feeling a burning sensation gradually appear, making his tears well up.
"Then as the third Alice, I shall let you create your own world. Beware. Don't use your power for selfish reasons."
Francis noticed the absence of a tight grip on his shirt. He scanned the surrounding area, but the child was no where to be found. His words seemed to hang around him, putting a heavy weight on his shoulders. But Francis shrugged it aside, knowing to use power carefully was a given.
The pain now gone, he let his arms fall loosely to his sides. His eyes were filled with fiery determination as he looked at the poor city.
"I shall create a world where there is no hate or war, only love and peace."
In just half a year, France has showed the people of Wonderland how to turn their poor country into a prosperous one, specializing in agriculture. He taught them the evils of hate, slaughter, and war. All learned how important it was to set up a form of government to rule all, as to avoid terrible, chaotic state. And now, through the choice of the people, he now was sitting at the throne, current King of the country of Wonderland.
It was the people's choice of government and France was determined to avoid the same problems that caused the French Revolution.
He was preparing for an important meeting on determining the development of tools for agriculture in the courtroom when he heard shouts from the other side of the door.
"What's with the commotion?" France quietly asked the nearby guard.
The guard bowed in respect before answering, "King Francis, one of your citizens barged into the castle, demanding to see you. He seemed hostile so we apprehended him."
France nodded in understanding. "Thank you for correctly doing your job, mais I wish to hear his request."
The guard bowed once more before announcing France's recent order. The doors suddenly flew open, a fuming man stomping into the royal court, not bothering with any formalities. The guards began to move to arrest the man, but France lightly chuckled, waving his hand to show them it's was fine.
France was curious to hear what the villager wanted to say. After all, the man would give him some idea as to how to improve life in Wonderland.
However, as soon as the man opened his mouth, spilling a tornado of aggressive words, France regretted his actions. His once inviting smile slowly dropped to a frown, threatening to become a menacing scowl.
"And further more, I. . ."
"Stop right there. I refuse to listen to this blasphemy any further," France interrupted, his voice cold and heartless.
"And I refuse to follow your orders! You can't force me! After all, Wonderland shouldn't even have a king!" the man protested.
"Take him away," France commanded. His hands felt clammy and cold sweat began to form as he watched the man resist as the guards dragged him away.
"You are not needed! We do not need you! Go away! Go a. . . " The man's angry words were stopped midsentence by the large slam of the court door. But his words seemed to bounce around the room before they reached France's ears.
France trembled, his hand shakingly finding his ears before pressing against them, trying to block the words out.
"N-no. T-They n-need me. I-I am w-wanted," he stuttered, flashbacks of his past citizens shunning him running through his minds.
His guards contemplated whether on helping their distressed king or not, flinching back to their positiosn when their ruler sat dignified at his seat once again.
But now, it was the guards' turn to tremble. This was not the ruler they knew. France was a cheerful, warm person who did his best to laugh and smile. But this person was different.
True, he had the same wavy-blond locks, the same grandiose attire, and his trade mark stubble. However, the man in front of them was cold, his lips formed a rigid horizontal line and his hair seemed to lose it's lively bounce. This whole being seemed to drop the temperature of the room tremendously low.
The guards flinched when France pointed at them. "You, set up an execution for that man immediately."
Surprised by the monotonous tone used and the severity of the command, they stayed still, not even daring to breath.
"Set up the execution now," he repeated harshly, boring a hole with his fierce stare.
The guards jumped into action, the commanding officer barking orders at his subordinates. France's face betrayed no emotion as his eyes followed the activities of his guards. Unconsciously, his hand tensed, as if it was warning it's owner to not go through with his order.
Francis ignored his hand's unusual twist. Is what he was going to do is wrong? That thought never crossed his mind.
After all, what I do for the kingdom is not evil, but good for everyone.
France watched as the man walked towards the predetermined location he would die, his face tilted downward while guards flanked his sides. Francis's straight, lifeless expression didn't change as his citizens rioted, outraged by the severity of the punishment. He slowly raised his hand and he crowd hushed.
"Citizens of Wonderland," he announced, his voice reverberating around the area," This man has committed a foul crime, one that is too terrible to mention." He feigned sadness, actor-worthy tears now steadily dripping down his face. "This punishment is something that I would have loved to avoid, however..."
He paused, taking his time to wipe the crocodile tears away. When he began speaking again, he looked as if he was in a trance. "I have a vision, where the kingdom will be united and peaceful. The towns will be filled with the bustle of the market, the smell of fresh bread, and the light, care-free laughter of children as they play while their parents are assured they can be safe outdoors. In my vision, no such thing as conflict or war exists, and everyone can co-exist with one another."
His eyes gradually hardened, his blissful smile turning bitter. "My vision is not an easy goal. It takes effort of everyone and time to achieve it. Granted, there will be disputes along the way," he gestured at the farmer who seemed to just be there, waiting for his death. "However, with this display, let all conflicts halt. Let us all work hard to achieve this wonderful reality, so close to our reach. Let us put in all our efforts for this peace! Let us show that we can make a better world! Vive la nation! Vive la Wonderland!"
At first, he received no response. The air was still and all was quiet. For a split-second, France's insecurities resurfaced.
Any doubts that France had was drowned back to the murky depths of his mind when some brave person began to clap, breaking the silence. He looked at the people, his people, clapping, cheering, and proclaimed their devotion to this new cause by shouting "Vive la Wonderland!". Overly-emotional people wept with joy as children and excited teenagers chatted away with ideas. There were those who stayed quiet, unaffected by the activity around them, choosing to look at France with admiration and respect. All the positive reactions settled the worries France had. Smug, he looked over to the farmer, expecting to see a defeated will-power and a dying rebellious spirit.
But the defiance in the farmer's eyes, his upward grin, and his chin held hi told another story. Just by looking at the man, France knew exactly what the man was thinking. "Don't think you won yet. Your 'touching' speech has them momentarily awestruck. It won't last that long. Before you know it, you'll be like me; forgotten, detested, and on the verge of death. This is the fate of all humans."
Refusing to hear any more of this blasphemy, France flicked his wrist, signaling the executioner. With one swift move, the farmer was silenced and began his departure to another world, one he looked forward to during his life.
The crowd, seeing the execution finished, evacuated the area, ready to return to their busy schedule. Mothers began to calm their toddlers as they cried for their mother's attention. Men talked about their work or complained about their troubles. Children exchanged answers for their homework or hummed a tune once played by an unknown pianist.
France immediately left, eager to return to his castle. He ran past his maids, butlers, and guards, slamming his bedroom door practically in their faces.
He was gasping for breath as he leaned against the door, ignoring his servant's concerned questions. He felt a twinge of pain, gradually growing stronger until his face felt it was on fire. He pressed his left hand against the green-clover mark, willing the pain away. He stared at his right hand and held it up. It trembled, quivered, and shook so fast his hand was now a blur.
"Stop shaking! I command you to stop! Arrete!" he bellowed at his hand.
It refused to obey.
"Sir? Monsieur Francis? Are you okay?" his servants asked, worried for their master. "Monsieur, is someone there with you? Monsieur?"
When no reply came, they began to furiously pound at the door.
France didn't concentrate on the loud knocks. He was focused at the horrifying scene playing itself in front of him.
A lady clad in a pure white robe was being guided around by two guards. She looked frightened, her hair in disaray, her eyes flickering to every shadow that formed.
She whispered at the guards. They responded in rapid french, too quick for France to comprehend. She argued back as they ran in the hallways,
Foreign footsteps reached their ears, forcing them to end their spat quickly. One guard took lead, motioning for the lady to follow. The other guard's hand hovered over his hilt, nervously looking back.
What a mistake it was. He tripped over a crack, his body hurdling towards the concrete ground. He scrambled to stand up, but his efforts were in vain. He was immediately surrounded by the citizens, eyes wide in terror before a sword pierced through his flesh, bringing his life to an abrupt end.
The citizens who chased the other two brought a similar fate to the other guard. The lady looked at them, pleading for either mercy or the same swift death as the others.
The citizens' chose neither, instead cruelly pulling her hair, practically ripping it off her scalp.
Her screams pierced the air, drowning the amused sounds from her tormentors. One yanked her hair once again, and drew his face closer to her's.
"Pare, 'Vive la Revolution'!" [Say Long live the Revolution!]
She shook her head in defiance, biting on her lip as to stop her screams. The men didn't appreciate her silence and yanked her hair even harder, now holding a sword threateningly beside her neck. Her teeth had cut into her lip, drops of blood now falling to the floor.
The men were not amused. "Parle 'Vive la revolution maitenant, mais tu vas mortir!" [Say long live the revolution now or die!]
She forced her mouth open, her eyes twitched in pain as her teeth left the newly made wound. She looked at her captor and spat directly to his face.
"No way in hell would I claim such a thing if this treatment will be the outcome."
Her captor, red with frustration, whipped out his sword. A moment later, he held her head, he body crumpled on the ground, blood gushing from the neck opening.
Unsatisfied, he threw the head away and began to stab her dismembered body. He ripped her clothing to shreds and sliced at her chest, arms, and legs. Once all anger evaporated, he calmly walked away, an upturned smile upon his face with not one sign of guilt.
France could only focus on the dead corpse, brutally injured even in death. He wanted to look away, but some damn thing was preventing him. At some point, he was in a ball position, rocking back and forth. Tears continued to spill out and stream down his face, forming a small salt-lake puddle. He screamed out in hysterics, "Stop! Don't torture me any more!"
His servants, long given up on opening the door by asking, found a battering ram and put their efforts into smashing the door down. France in his state couldn't differentiate their words, only focusing on the basic sound; bangs and shouts.
His mind searched for a memory, one driven to the back of his conscious. The image of his angry citizens back in France, all riled up, ready for bloodshed in front of the Bastille.
They began to ram down the castle's drawbridge, demanding to be let in, After what seemed to be an eternity, the drawbridge's chains slacked, giving them permission to enter and rendering all soldiers' fare to the will of the parisian townsmen.
And France had no choice but the stay away, knowing that interfering will rebel against his people's will.
"Leave me alone," he whispered through his sobs. The bangs continued and France repeated, "Leave me alone!" trying to sound commanding, only to be forgotten by his shrill scream.
Didn't I say not to use your power for selfish reasons?
France looked up, quivering as he recognized the person as that small girl from months before.
"What the hell did you DO to me?" he screamed at the lass.
She mearly clicked her tongue in response, sprouting a coil, mischievous smile. She walked towards him in small steps, like a predator does to its prey.
Francis pressed his back against the door. When he locked eyes with the thing, he found himself unable to move, whimpering as his only sign of protest.
She chuckled at his fear, enjoying his discomfort. Stopping in front of him, he placed a gentle upward grin and carressed his face, stopping when she reached his mark.
He unconsciously, involuntarily relaxed, unflinching as he cold skin contacted his. Her smile seemed so inviting, but her words convinced him of her cruel, playful manner. Her grin was only a facade.
She pressed on France's mark, deriving pleasure as he winced and squirmed in pain. She drew closer to him until her icy breath felt like it would freeze his face.
"W-Who. . . What are you?" he fearfully asked. There was no way a person could be this cold, this cruel, this unhuman!
She let out a delightful glee at his pathetic state. "I was waiting for this question! But it matters not of what I am. Just know I am the overall ruler of this world. It is I who brought you here and it is I that decides your fate, my dear Alice."
There were numerous questions swimming around his head, but none her was able to express. She pushed harder on his mark. France screamed. He could feel his eye bulging, threatening to burst.
She gave a harsh glare, threatening to inflict more damage if he didn't stop yelling. Fearful to what would happen to him, he bit his lip, blood trickling down as his teeth sinked down lower to his bottom lip.
"Good Alice. As I was saying, I decide your fate. For your selfish deed, you will be punished. I wouldn't dare to deport you from this world. No, that would be too easy. You will stay here and rule Wonderland in my place. You will never be able to kill yourself, for if you try to, you will experience a much more crueler fate than this. This is your punishment, so heed it well, for there are no more second chances."
France's thought and vision became hazy, her words haunting. They echoed in his ears, ringing. When his mind cleared, she was gone, all physical indication of her visit gone.
But her presence was still present, wavelengths traveling through air. He stood up, walked to his bed, his eyes still looking around. His eyes glanced at the mirror, and the image shocked him. He turned pale, knowing that his punishment is truly cruel.
For in front of him, he could not see his beautiful self. For what he saw made him want to kill himself a thousand times. It was him, alright, but instead of his perfection, he saw a decaying corpse. Lips torn, worms voyaging in and out of his body. His limbs were somewhat torn, only staying attached to his body by some miracle. His eyes were so lifeless, cold. Drenched in blood.
He emitted a loud, frightened scream, grabbing a nearby chair and smashing the mirrors into pieces.
Somewhere away, a little girl smiled.
After all, it was his fault in every way.
Author Notes:
Here you go. So this one, unlike the others, isn't an AU. I was planning to change it to an AU, but then I wouldn't have as much fun writing this. So, I wrote this chapter when I was doing my research for the French Revolution report. The scenario France saw, the one with the guards and the girl, yup, that happened. Of course, I'm not sure if it's exactly what happened, but cruel events did transpire. It was inspired by a a short quote from my research book. I wish I could quote it right now, but I don't have the book with me now. Anyway, I hope you liked how I wrote it. Because even if I got scared from what I wrote, it was fun writing it.
And well... for when he looked into the mirror, I'm not proud of it, I'll be honest for you. I had it written out beautifully and way differently, but I couldn't find it. It's what I get for writing it on a random piece of paper. *sighs* But I hope you liked it either way.
So um... Sorry if it's confusing. Maybe in the future I'll come back to this and rewrite and fix it.
Anyway, HAPPY NEW YEAR! IT'S FINALLY 2011! :3