Breath in.
Eve seemed to have to remind herself to breath as she was led by two guards from her cell on the second floor balcony surrounding the Lady’s Yard. Her mind just seemed to wonder away from her like a stray puppy and the simple act of breathing had escaped through the cracks of her broken mind. She walked the upper walk-way between the two men who wore matching red pants and blue vests over simple long-sleeved white shirts. She didn’t pay them any mind and focused on the bouquet of flowers she had made. She mumbled to herself, “For myself, Rue for remembrance and Star-of-Bethlehem for atonement, yes atonement for my sins… I wish I had more time to get more Star-of-Bethlehem.”
Breath out.
The flowers were so clean and crisp in her vision while the rest of the world seemed distorted and stretched out like the curved surface of a greasy soap bubble. As she walked down the whitewashed hall she would trip every so often on the uneven stone floor. She began to take notice of her surroundings. She had been in this particular corridor before. This was the first place she had been brought to when she was arrested. She had been forcefully placed in one of the cells, the large iron bar door closing behind her. A frightful man had come out of the shadows to assault her with words. He had wanted to know so much. Perhaps he was writing a story about her, so she had given a narrative of tragic comedy. Was that the reason she was here? Was she here for a play? Was it time to take the stage? What was her character again? Was she the heroine or the villain? She couldn’t remember…
Breath in.
Now as she looked around the claustrophobic hall she decided to peer into the cells that lined it. In one cell she saw a man chained to a chair having his hair cleaved from his head. It seemed to her an odd thing to do since his head was about to be cleaved from his body. She wondered how many prisoners it took to make a proper wig. Who would wear such a wig? She suddenly saw her guards in white washed wigs seven feet tall with perfectly placed curls exploding from the mounded furry sculptures, pinned in place by the clenched teeth of bleached skulls. As she stared in wonder one of the skulls smiled at her. She smiled back…
Breath out.
She was pushed into one of the cells and handed a dress. One of the guards said, “Put this on, you cannot go in front of the Revolutionary Tribunal dressed as you are.”
She shrugged and threw the black dress over her simple cotton one. Surprisingly the dress didn’t stink. It was low cut in the front and dipped below the collar of her under dress and it sat off the shoulders with puffy elbow length sleeves. It had an empire waist and a very full skirt. She appraised herself and remembered that she was getting ready for a show. Black… she must be the villain. She brushed her hands over the fabric and her fingers dipped into the inky liquid of the cloth. When she pulled her hand out it stuck to her fingers like tar. She brought her tar covered hand to her face rubbing her digits together feeling the sticky gel flow between her fingers. She was actually swimming in blackness and it flowed and clung to her. Perhaps if someone dived into her dress they might drown. You could get so easily disoriented in dark waters. She wondered if she should warn people of the dangers of falling into her dress, but she was a villain…
Breath in.
She continued down the hall until they came to a white stone staircase that led to an arched doorway. Her guards restrained her from continuing up the stairs and she was made to wait there. She spent the time looking at her flowers and counting them. She couldn’t get the count right. Each time she counted, there seemed to be a different number of flowers in her hand…
Breath out.
Finally she was pushed forward. As Eve walked under the arch she entered the largest room she had ever been in. The hall sprawled in front of her for a great distance. The entire space was filled with columns that dotted the floor in all directions. The roof seemed to grow out of the columns in arches that radiated out from each tree-trunk base to all of the columns surrounding it resulting in a canopy roof. She felt as if she were entering a cold, dark forest of cream colored marble and stone. The only light came from torches placed on the columns. The light danced in the mid-section of the room barely touching the roof and the floor. She moved forward tentatively testing the shadowed ground with her feet half expecting to sink into some muddy bog, but all she felt was the unmovable stone floor, like the rest of this place. When she looked up she saw the dark eyes of mysterious creatures hiding in the branched arches, like vultures waiting to pick over the remains of a kill…
Breath in.
She was pushed forward and she walked towards the end of the hall. This was the moment. It was time for the big show. The audience and other players began to materialize from the shadows. The end of the great hall terminated into a truncated amphitheatre. A single heavy wooden chair rested in the middle of the floor and was the brightest spot in the room; the spotlight. There was a large bench and table to the front of the chair sitting atop a large Dias. To the right and left of the Dias, there was stadium style seating that was only half filled and the cacophonous roar of low mumbling voices filled her ears causing her to twist her head this way and that way, trying to catch at least one coherent thought…
Breath out.
Eve seemed to be the only women in the room. Everywhere she looked, she saw men in respectable high-waisted jackets. The colors ranged from black to blue to brown. Some wore bicorn or tricorn hats with large feathers while others wore their hair back in a single pony tail at the nap of the neck. Their faces looked like they had been drawn by a bad artist, close to human but slightly off in proportion. The animosity hung over the room like a hot muggy cloud, but it wasn’t because they hated her. She could tell they were board. In this room there had been a never ending string of performances like a madman’s parade that began here and ended in a flurry of trumpets at the guillotine. They were angry that this was the part of the show that they had to sit through. Like everyone else they wanted blood and could never taste it. Could she give them blood? Was it time for her moon’s blood? Could she use it to create the blood bath they so desired? She could use the scent of her moon’s blood to entice them to fall into her dress and drown there. Oh wait; her moon’s blood had never come. She would have to be more extreme to give them what they came for...
Breath in.
She was dumped into the chair and a ball of blue yarn was thrown into her lap, pierced by two knitting needles. She looked down at the objects in her lap as if she had never seen them before. That’s when the booming voice of the man sitting at the head of the Dias silenced the cacophonous crowd. “Mademoiselle, the Revolutionary Tribunal requests that you knit during these proceedings. We do not condone idle hands.” He was a stout man; with small wide spread pin prick eyes under the largest cave man forehead she had ever seen. His lips were dainty and small and his nose sharp and pointy. His poufy white wig sat back on his head giving him the appearance of a receding hair-line. It accentuated his brow further and she could see herself jumping from the top of his head like someone jumping from a seaside cliff...
Breath out.
With a shrug, she withdrew the needles like a knife from a wound. She began to dutifully knit as she lowered her face and surveyed the crowd through her eyelashes. When she looked to her right she saw the face of Alejandro… wait no; Adnot. Her eyes locked with the man she loved more than her own life. He looked to be in a great amount of pain; his features tight with a slight tremble. Was he constipated? She wondered if she would be able to give him advice on his eating habits before she died. The man next to him whispered in his ear and he shook his head in affirmation back at him...
Breath in.
Suddenly a different man on the Dais spoke again drawing her attention back to the ring master. “The Revolutionary Tribunal calls the court to order, the honorable Maximilien de Robespierre residing.” The ringmaster smiled and took control of the proceedings. “Mademoiselle Delacroix, you have been charged with counter-revolutionary activities through use of your restaurant La Salle de Soupe. How do you plead?”
Breath out.
He looked down on her and she began to see blood drip from his fingertips. How odd. He repeated, “Mademoiselle Delacroix, please answer the court. Are you guilty of these crimes?”
Breath in.
Her hands which had been busily knitting stopped as she answered him a coy smile gracing her lips, “Crimes sir? I’m not the one with blood on their hands. You might want to try to wash that off.”
The entire room roared to life as people reacted to her response. She glanced at her husband who looked to be in such a fit one would have thought the world was ending. Seemed a bit dramatic, look at the response she had gotten! The crowd had loved it…
Breath out.
She went back to knitting and looked up at the ring master who had turned an interesting shade of cherry red. The blood had rushed to his face and the veins stood out in his neck. The pressure was building. Any moment now, he would pop and she could see the bits of his skull raining down on everyone there and a frenzy would surely ensue as the tightly wound crowd finally got the blood they sought. What a climax it would be…
Breath in.
Robespierre shouted for order and finally the room returned to silence again. He fixed her with a hard squinty stare. She stared back at him and clucked her tongue a few times before saying in a low throaty tone, “Monsieur, I would think a grown man should be able to wash his own hands, but I would be willing to help you if you required it.” She ran her tongue slowly over her top lip in a slow wet arch…
Breath out.
Again, the crowd roared to life but Robespierre must have reached his breaking point, because the echoing sound of a gaveling silenced them quickly. Still a shade of cherry red, Robespierre’s voice took control of the room. “Mademoiselle Delacroix, we had received evidence of your innocence and we were fully prepared to pardon you today, but your actions betray your true guilt I think. I think there is only one possible recourse for your slanderous actions today. Before we lay our sentence is there anything you have to say for yourself?”
Breath in.
Everything slowed and single heartbeats drew out for eternities as she took one last look at Adnot who was being restrained by the man seated next to him. His hazel eyes could always lock her in a trance. She could sink into his eyes and the lovely blues and greens could wrap around her and swallow her up. He was trying desperately to take a hold of her to restrain her from herself; pull her back into him. She would have shed a tear at his heartbreak but she knew that soon they would have another chance. This life was doomed. These faces surrounding her were Satan’s own army humping everything good about humanity into submission. The moment ended and she drew one of the knitting needle from the yarn web she had created…
Breath out.
She turned to face front and said as innocently as possible, “Monsieur, if you execute me now you will not be able to hear my evidence”
A steel edged glee took over Robespierre’s eyes and he shifted forward in his seat looking down his sharp nose at her. “I will hear this evidence, and we shall see if it will save your life.” His blood lust was unquenchable, but she felt like she should try…
Breath in.
“Oh I doubt anything will save my life, Monsieur. I fear speaking such evidence out in the open.”
Breath out.
Unable, to show patience Robespierre gestured wildly to her, “Approach the bench then Mademoiselle and let me hear your evidence.”
Breath in.
She stood slowly and walked towards the bench with her eyes on the stone floor. Every noise within the room seemed to be swallowed up and only the sound of her feet shuffling on the slightly dusty floor echoed through the hall.
Breath out.
She stood in front of the table and raised her eyes to meet the cold blood hungry stare of Robespierre. He said softly, “I’m waiting…”
Breath in.
She leaned slowly over the table and pitched her voice towards him in a soft whisper, “Monsieur, you are living in dream world and you are not the dreamer…”
She flew over the table landing in his lap and pushed one of the knitting needles into his eye before he could even react. She felt a satisfying pop like she had popped a grape between her fingers. The blood that had pulsed in his head with such pressure, exploded now from his skull, along with a high pitched scream from his lungs, covering her in warm sticky fluid. The time had come. Let the carnage commence. She used the back of one of her blood soaked hands to push a black curl from her face, the smell of rust and ruin filling her nostrils.
She had only a moment to appreciate the amazing quantity of blood that filled the human skull when she was tackled from the side with such force it knocked the wind from her. She looked at her attacker only to see her frantic husband gripping her. He obviously didn’t know what he was doing. He had just been trying to reach her in the growing hysteria, but now that he had her, the panic in his eyes revealed he had no clue what he should do next. It didn’t matter. A guard had been on his heels and a sharp pain now penetrated her chest and consumed her world. She looked down at the bayonet that speared the two of them together like bits of food on a shish kabob. She rubbed a blood soaked hand across his face and the color contrasted sharply against the hazel of his eyes as he stared at her in pain and confusion. She whispered into his ear a smile on her face, “Alpha… I can think of no one better to dine in hell with…”
Breath out…
