The description sums it up a bit, but this is an AU story I've started to write on the side about a young girl named Marie having dreams and visions of another Marie in another universe with different endings in each dream. Her friend Charlotte appears as well, though in her dreams, they are strangers.
Basically, another 'Marie Antoinette' who is not Marie Antoinette (since in this AU she was killed hundreds of years before the main character Marie was born) begins to envision different endings to the Revolution. Her world was fun to write, actually, imagining France if Robspierre had his way.
Did you figure out what CoPS stood for?
Ce Qui Auirat Pu~ What Might Have Been
My name is Marie.
That’s it- Marie. I have no last name (no one in France does nowadays), and I don’t know what it would be if I could pick one. I thought of L’amour for a while, but it seemed really sappy.
I have a normal enough life, though being half-Austrian has brought me some grief, what with the teasing, though Father tells me it’s nowhere near as bad as it would have been twenty or thirty years ago, for which I am grateful.
I hope I’m not confusing you. I have no idea where these memoirs will end up, how far they will travel. Perhaps only time separates us, perhaps much more. It’s possible my France is nothing at all like yours. In fact, I am not even supposed to call it France, but the Republic. I am supposed to have the political affiliation of a Jacobin Nationalist, and be an avid reader of their propaganda paper, the Comrade of the People. Charlotte and I don’t agree with any of it, though we pretend. It’s always a good idea to pretend, or you’ll end up-
THE REPUBLIC- “SOMEWHERE, SOMEONE SCREAMS”- THREE WEEKS EARLIER- MARIE
“There’s going to be a hanging today,” Charlotte scowls, crumpling the newspaper into a tiny ball. She could get into a lot of trouble for doing that, I know, but I don’t correct her for it. I could easily make up a lie about it, telling Father it had fallen and we had stepped on it. He’d reprimand us for negligence, not disrespect or possible treason.
Can you imagine landing in prison for crumpling up a stupid piece of paper? Because that’s why the CoPS arrested the grocer last week.
“There’ll be a crowd,” I remark, glancing at the large window dominating the north wall. One could see the gallows and the guillotine from there, though they look like tiny specks from so far away.
“Meh.” Charlotte sighs. “There’ll be more at the guillotine on Sunday. Why do they have to reserve such sordid business for Sunday?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
“And WHY,” she continues, “does everyone WATCH?”
“Charlotte,” I warn. Though I agree with her in every aspect, I keep quiet about it. Being outspoken is dangerous; the CoPS will, more like than not, get you. Perhaps Charlotte wouldn’t mind, though. She’d probably declare herself a martyr and spit in their faces as they put a rope around her slender neck or prepared her for the guillotine. It was one thing that made Father glad she was not his daughter and simply my friend. “That girl will get herself killed,” he often said. “Be careful, Marie, or you’ll share in it.”
I don’t need Father to tell me that. I like my neck rope-free and with my head attached, and I am far more cautious than my tempestuous friend Charlotte.
Charlotte snorts, but she shuts up.
I turn back to my homework. Somewhere, someone screams. CoPS, no doubt, but I am safe here. There is no reason for them to come get me, no mar on my record… well, except being half-Austrian, but they can’t kill me for that, not when Father gives such copious funding to the Comrade and the Jacobins, and Mother publicly denounced her ties with anyone in Austria.
“… barbaric,” Charlotte mutters.
“Charlotte, I told you to shut up,” I snap, but the word echoes in my mind. Barbaric, barbaric, barbaric…
“Barbarians!”
I slam my textbook shut. “Charlotte-“
“I didn’t say anything!” she says, quickly raising her hands into the air as if faced by one of the CoPS. “What is up with you today, Marie? You’re so jumpy.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m nervous,” I admit.
“About what?” Charlotte laughs. “The speech? Don’t be ridiculous, they’ll love you, and Mr. Spierre adores you anyway. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
I shrug, not as confident, and wondering who had screamed. The voice sounded so familiar, yet, at the same time, I know I’ve never heard it before in my life.
“I bet half the Republic ends up in the gallows or in the guillotines,” Charlotte says, smoothing out the paper and gazing out the window. I’m about to tell her to shut her heretic’s mouth before someone heard and reported to the CoPS, but I bite my lip instead as I heard the scream again.
It’s my own voice, ringing inside my head, where only I can hear. My voice, yet different, aged, alien. “You barbarians! Look what you’ve done to your precious France!”
I might add more later, depending on inspiration and whether people like it or not. The description sums it up a bit, but this is an AU story I've started to write on the side about a young girl named Marie having dreams and visions of another Marie in another universe with different endings in each dream. Her friend Charlotte appears as well, though in her dreams, they are strangers.
Basically, another 'Marie Antoinette' who is not Marie Antoinette (since in this AU she was killed hundreds of years before the main character Marie was born) begins to envision different endings to the Revolution. Her world was fun to write, actually, imagining France if Robspierre had his way.
Did you figure out what CoPS stood for?
Ce Qui Auirat Pu~ What Might Have Been
My name is Marie.
That’s it- Marie. I have no last name (no one in France does nowadays), and I don’t know what it would be if I could pick one. I thought of L’amour for a while, but it seemed really sappy.
I have a normal enough life, though being half-Austrian has brought me some grief, what with the teasing, though Father tells me it’s nowhere near as bad as it would have been twenty or thirty years ago, for which I am grateful.
I hope I’m not confusing you. I have no idea where these memoirs will end up, how far they will travel. Perhaps only time separates us, perhaps much more. It’s possible my France is nothing at all like yours. In fact, I am not even supposed to call it France, but the Republic. I am supposed to have the political affiliation of a Jacobin Nationalist, and be an avid reader of their propaganda paper, the Comrade of the People. Charlotte and I don’t agree with any of it, though we pretend. It’s always a good idea to pretend, or you’ll end up-
THE REPUBLIC- “SOMEWHERE, SOMEONE SCREAMS”- THREE WEEKS EARLIER- MARIE
“There’s going to be a hanging today,” Charlotte scowls, crumpling the newspaper into a tiny ball. She could get into a lot of trouble for doing that, I know, but I don’t correct her for it. I could easily make up a lie about it, telling Father it had fallen and we had stepped on it. He’d reprimand us for negligence, not disrespect or possible treason.
Can you imagine landing in prison for crumpling up a stupid piece of paper? Because that’s why the CoPS arrested the grocer last week.
“There’ll be a crowd,” I remark, glancing at the large window dominating the north wall. One could see the gallows and the guillotine from there, though they look like tiny specks from so far away.
“Meh.” Charlotte sighs. “There’ll be more at the guillotine on Sunday. Why do they have to reserve such sordid business for Sunday?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
“And WHY,” she continues, “does everyone WATCH?”
“Charlotte,” I warn. Though I agree with her in every aspect, I keep quiet about it. Being outspoken is dangerous; the CoPS will, more like than not, get you. Perhaps Charlotte wouldn’t mind, though. She’d probably declare herself a martyr and spit in their faces as they put a rope around her slender neck or prepared her for the guillotine. It was one thing that made Father glad she was not his daughter and simply my friend. “That girl will get herself killed,” he often said. “Be careful, Marie, or you’ll share in it.”
I don’t need Father to tell me that. I like my neck rope-free and with my head attached, and I am far more cautious than my tempestuous friend Charlotte.
Charlotte snorts, but she shuts up.
I turn back to my homework. Somewhere, someone screams. CoPS, no doubt, but I am safe here. There is no reason for them to come get me, no mar on my record… well, except being half-Austrian, but they can’t kill me for that, not when Father gives such copious funding to the Comrade and the Jacobins, and Mother publicly denounced her ties with anyone in Austria.
“… barbaric,” Charlotte mutters.
“Charlotte, I told you to shut up,” I snap, but the word echoes in my mind. Barbaric, barbaric, barbaric…
“Barbarians!”
I slam my textbook shut. “Charlotte-“
“I didn’t say anything!” she says, quickly raising her hands into the air as if faced by one of the CoPS. “What is up with you today, Marie? You’re so jumpy.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m nervous,” I admit.
“About what?” Charlotte laughs. “The speech? Don’t be ridiculous, they’ll love you, and Mr. Spierre adores you anyway. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
I shrug, not as confident, and wondering who had screamed. The voice sounded so familiar, yet, at the same time, I know I’ve never heard it before in my life.
“I bet half the Republic ends up in the gallows or in the guillotines,” Charlotte says, smoothing out the paper and gazing out the window. I’m about to tell her to shut her heretic’s mouth before someone heard and reported to the CoPS, but I bite my lip instead as I heard the scream again.
It’s my own voice, ringing inside my head, where only I can hear. My voice, yet different, aged, alien. “You barbarians! Look what you’ve done to your precious France!”
I might add more later, depending on inspiration and whether people like it or not.
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This one seems oh so .. adventurous ... like there is a theme of .. exploration looming in the distant air of those who are cursed with dictation from another being and not themselves . Meh . I could be wrong ... NAH ..I'm right 