Though I have only seen a fraction of this world, I cannot help but think that wherever your travels may take you there is a single factor that determines how your time on this earth is to be spent, where your boundaries lie, and the forces that will keep you where you belong. Blood is a strange idea. Though it is the fuel that flows through every being, what makes one drop different from the next? Does the blood of the nobility shine with gold and silver? Do the commoners not bleed but instead spew dirt and filth? I know that my blood is red and thick. That it no more tells who I am than what I am supposed to do. Never has a drop of blood held answers for me and I believe it never will. Humans are too busy concerning themselves with where you came from rather than where you will go. Just as we are too busy drawing borders that end with the sea rather than exploring what lies beyond. 
You would think I would learn that such thoughts are unwelcome, and would be content in the simple thoughts of the sheep. It is my inquisitive nature that has shifted where my boundaries lie. I have fallen from the silken lap of luxury into the calloused and filthy hands of the rabble. My cunning and strategic prowess was so highly valued within the royal circle that it was considered among the princes finest treasures. Locked away with finery it was as I were in a treasury all my own, only sought out when drunken young masters wished to sneak to the local brothel without detection, or in other cases when the nobility wished to hear information regarding rival houses of authority. As most things run its course, so did my worth. My cunning could not save me after I relayed my thoughts that the hierarchy would not go forever unchallenged, that it was an outdated tradition that belonged with ancestors long passed. I had always been viewed an untamed beast fated to bring nothing but ill fortunes upon the noblemen with my thoughts of equality and correction of the misguided spending of those who possessed more money than knowledge. It was always my reputation for my tact at acquiring knowledge that kept me in the palace, until that Viennes harlot accepted the chaste and desperate marriage proposal of Lord Louis. A fortnight she had called Versailles her home and she had inexplicably chosen the free spirit as her martyr. She brought about my disposal. After a rather lengthy outburst regarding the recent expenses accrued to bring her to this place not suited for her pompous and rather crude way of thinking. It was jokingly thrown about by a visiting Italian noble that if someone of his court were to speak of such things they would be exiled. She took this as an invitation and proposed that the palace had no place for someone who thought so little of courtesy and tradition. As if to be merciful she thought I would be more fit as a whore if I chose to have a mouth like one. She wore the mask of innocence well, but she knew that the French were to hesitant to refuse her wishes, seeing as she was the peace offering between her people and ours. She was the symbol for unity and peace in the eyes of King Louis. In my opinion the only thing that needed unifying was her legs lest they be the cause of revolution within the pants of all men in France.
So I was sent, naked and shaved to the brothel of her choosing. To forever be an example to those who would dare harbor such thoughts as mine. She may have tricked the empty heads of Versailles that she was being merciful in letting me stay close to my home. I knew what lay behind those grey eyes and white blond hair, as if her evil had begun to burn through leaving nothing but ashes behind. She wanted to take away the chance I had to start a new life where no one knew my name and keep me instead in a place where I would be regarded as a novelty something to be possessed and thrown about for amusement. She chose to put me here so I would forever endure the ridicule as the bored noblemen came to see my bare form for sale in the window of the Livre Rouge. The bitch even gave me a home with the most ironic of views. To the west of my window was Versailles in all her livery and polished adornments. Though she may have gotten rid of the most direct threat to her frivolity she forgets that I possess many qualities that make me a dangerous friend and a far worse foe. I hear whispers of a revolt in the alleys at nights, and read letters from the pockets of drunken patrons that talk of a man and his thoughts on how to resolve the poverty devastating France. There are instances late at night when I venture far from the brothel to streets with no names that I hear young men in rags whispering. Full anger and frustration they whisper words of hate towards the nobility and the stagnant state of the economy. Always, towards the end of their rants they whisper a name I have oft heard upon the hill usually spoken with contempt at his blatant attempts to use his elected position as a means to propel the poor to prosperity. Robespierre. His name reaches the farthest reaches of Ile-de-France and stirs energy in the breast of the afflicted and the sick. Though his name is a legacy his face remains a mystery to me. Often he is spoken of but in a manner which insinuates ambiguity. As though he is a specter of legend that presents himself as more of an idea than a man. 
I have decided long ago that I will meet this Robespierre. My knowledge of the workings of the palace may present useful to him.It may also be my chance to send the Viennese harlot to a grave most becoming.

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Novel / Novella
writing sunsdarkness
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This work contains suggestive situations and verbiage, it is recommended the viewer be 13+.