People had already come to their own conclusions about her. No one was willing to give her story a chance, to give the truth a chance. The year was 1794, and France’s Have-Nots relentlessly roamed the filthy streets. All rational agencies were abandoned for anarchy and chaos. The sweet tanginess of death permeated every crevice of France, seeping into the minds of the tired and hungry. Especially the hungry.

Taehyung could smell the pungent odor of death just as well as anyone else. He didn’t know what to make of it. Isn’t this what he’d always wanted? The unjust were finally given the punishments they deserved, yet relief failed to wash over him. He turned his attention to the prison cell before him.

A lone figure curled up in the farthest corner of the cell. The dimly lit prison would make it impossible for any new comers to see, but Taehyung was slowly adjusting to the dark. He could now make out glimpses of the prisoner’s features: long silky hair, unblemished skin, full cheeks, and brown eyes. No dark circles. By then Taehyung had lost all interest and would’ve walked away if he’d not been stationed there. It was the same with all the aristocrats that got taken to the Bastille. Every single one of them arrived with their heads held high, but their spirits were broken in a matter of days. Peasants they’d never associate themselves with before were now begged to get them out.

The new prisoner made no move to interact with the others. They always started out like that, but people were all the same. In their filth, class made no difference. An aristocrat’s grimy skin was just as flawed as the farmer’s sitting next to him.

“Hey ya,” an old, scraggily dressed man called to the new prisoner. The figure remained put, as if his words never reached her ears. Short, thumping beats echoed off the cell walls, blaringly loud in the silence.

“Hey, listen when ah is talkin' tuh ya,” he said, growing agitated. Still, there was no response.

 “Hey!!” the peasant got up and made a grab for her. Scuffles and fights were daily affairs in prisons ever since the revolution began. Prison guards were told to ignore them and let them unfold by their selves. The unspoken implication was that they’d result in the death of prisoners so there’d be room for more people headed to La Guillotine. It was getting unbearably crowded for Taehyung’s liking.

The peasant bunched up the silk near the newcomer’s throat, pulling her into the dim light. No fear alighted her features, but rather, a deadly calmness that made Taehyung uneasy. The rest of the prisoners made no move to rescue her; every man feared for himself.

“What will you do? Beat me? Kill me?” she challenged him, matching his glare.

“Listen he’yuh gil’. In he’yuh, yuh and me ah de same. Yah ain’t no miss uh missus cuz yuh just a gil’. How ol’ yuh?” he asked in hiccupping phrases.

Thump thump thump

“You know nothing about me. Put me down,” she said with command, a trained flare taught to be used with peasants.

“Whut?! Ah have yuh know yuh cain’t go ‘round talkin’ dat way to erryone. Learn some ‘spect,” the peasant spat, throwing her back into the corner. A loud bang followed her collapse, echoing throughout the prison walls.

Thump thump thump. What is that noise?

“Gahd!” the peasant called to me.

“What are you grumbling about?” I asked him, still eyeing the girl who was on the ground.

“I wan’ git switched to nuthuh cell,” the peasant growled.

“No can do. Every where’s full,” I said.

“Switch me out wid nuthuh prisonuh. Ah ain’t bout tuh spend de rest uh mah short life in a cell wit dis bret,” he scoffed. I was about to tell him to shut up when Namjoon arrived in time to do it for me.

“I’ll blow your brains out before you can even see Ms. Guillotine if you don’t shut ya mouth!” Namjoon yelled, banging on the cell bars for emphasis. The man instantly fell silent.

“Jacque, you’ve been ordered to take the newbie to the infirmary,” Namjoon said to me, nodding to the girl.

“I won’t go,” the heap said from the corner. “There’s no reason for me to go. I’m fine,”

“We just follow the orders, not make them. You’re goin’ have to hun,” Namjoon said, unlocking the door.

“They’re trying to get me out! My stepfather’s friend is trying to break me out!” she suddenly yelled in a panicked state, eyes widened in urgency. We stopped in our tracks, surprised at the confession. If this were true, why on earth bother telling us? Most people would hide such an opportunity.

“What’s going on?” I asked suspiciously. The girl slowly rose from her disorderly state, suddenly afraid she’s said too much. Taehyung’s eyes trailed down her arm, finally finding a source for the incessant pounding. It was a dysfunctional limb, or rather, a separate entity that moved rhythmically against her command. The girl casted her glance downwards as the absentminded arm went tok tok tok. Taehyung grabbed it without thinking.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Doing what?” the girl glanced down at her arm, as if noticing it for the first time. She flinched slightly, desperately trying to cover it up by retracting her arm closer to her body.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled.

“We’ll…take you to the infirmary first,” Taehyung decided. Then, turning to Namjoon, he muttered, “put extra guards near the entrance,”

Chaeyeong recognized the once proud and arrogant faces of many prisoners that they passed, many of which used to be her stepfather’s friends. Their confidence had been reduced to dust; undecipherable from the poor with whom they dwelled. So much had changed in a year.

“Chaeyeong!” one of the prisoners called out to her.

“Just keep walking,” Taehyung mumbled into her ear.

“Chaehyung, you have to get us out of here! Don’t you remember me? Your father and I…”

His voice muffled as the distance grew too great for Chaeyeong to hear properly. Men like him never once spoke to her. She remembered clearly, as if the memories were only days old, and not years. Nights used to be so cold and lonely…

“You’ve called for Ms. Chaeyeong Moreau?” Taehyung told the nurse when they’d arrived. Chaeyeong went rigid in Taehyung’s hold, eyes widening as if possessed by an unworldly being.

“I know her,” she whispered.

“Hm? From where?” Taehyung asked.

“She…used to…come to my house…My stepfather used to…make me call her mom…” Taehyung threw a disgusted look at the nurse, realizing the implications of those words.

“Chae,” the nurse smiled slyly, “I hope you’ve been alright in here,”

“Don’t come near me,” Chaeyeong breathed heavily, clutching Taehyung’s arm with lethal ferociousness.

“I just want to check if you’re alright, love,” the nurse approached them with arms patiently tucked behind her.

“Taehyung, watch out!” Namjoon shouted, running in their path as the nurse pulled out the knife hidden within the folds of her white dress. The sharp smell of blood aded through the room as metal slashed through skin. When the situation finally registered in Taehyung’s mind, he whipped out a knife of his own. Just as Maximilien had taught him, he feinted before promptly pinning the nurse’s arm to the ground in a clean arc. She wailed in protest, thrashing wildly on the floor.

“Who are you working for?” Taehyung interrogated her.

“My lips are sealed,” she spat, glaring in defiance.

“Talk while you still have your breath. You have five seconds,” Taehyung held up his hand, ticking fingers down to count.

“Two…one…Not going to spill anything?”

“You’ll never catch him even if I tell you. You revolutionists are all the same. Fix this broken country? Thousands of men bathing in blood won’t solve any of your problems. The sick are still sick. The hungry still hungry. Everyone’s too busy pointing fingers at each other to even provide for basic necessities! When was the last time you’ve seen someone tend to the crops-”

Taehyung silenced her in a quick stab, watching with calm eyes as her body went limp. The thumping sounded louder than ever in the absence of a fourth heartbeat.

                                                                                         *

“You know, she’s right,” Chaeyeong told Taehyung on their way back to her cell. “This so called revolution hasn’t changed anything except get rid of the little order and stability France had,”

“What do you know? Of course an aristocrat like you would think that way. At least now we don’t have to pay meaningless taxes that feed the wealth of the King. People like you lived off the hard work and misery of the poor. The revolution is a small price to pay for a new government,” Taehyung scoffed.

“You assume too quickly, Jacque,” Chaeyeong said in a quiet voice. “Being an aristocrat isn’t everything-”

“It is everything, and don’t you dare say otherwise. For someone who’s never experienced hunger for weeks at time, you have no right to say anything” he glared at her threateningly.

She stopped walking. Fear didn’t cloud her eyes; rather, pity was in its place. “I have. For so long, I have. Never judge a book by its cover,”

Confusion held his expression, if only for second. It quickly changed into anger, perceiving the pity as a taunt.

“Stop it with your games. Everyone knows you were Marquis Moreau’s one and only precious daughter. Nothing could’ve possibly gone wrong in your life,” he said.

“And how old was I when you’ve first seen my pictures in the newspaper?” she asked softly. There was a hesitance in her voice, as if she was releasing the pent up memories she’d been taught to hide her whole life.

“You…were about fourteen I believe,”

“Yes. Fourteen. For fourteen years you and I were no different. My last name wasn’t always Moreau,” Chaeyeong said.

“That’s impossible-”

“Jacque?” a voice called from the other end of the hall.

“Huh?” Taehyung noticed the other guard that had appeared.

“The prisoner,” he said, cocking his head toward the cells.

“Oh,” Taehyung hadn’t even noticed half an hour pass from their conversation. He locked Chaeyeong in an empty cell isolated from the rest, curious about the rest of her story.

“I don’t understand…the Marquis had always been protective of his daughter. But, are you saying that you were adopted?” Taehyung asked.

“That’s one way of putting it. You’ve heard of the rumors that his wife couldn’t have children right?”

“Yes,” The private lives of all the bourgeois had always been published for the commoners to read, to be envious of, and to see what they could never attain.

“Well they were true. He violently stabbed his wife to death one night attempting. The next day he had his men scout out children from Marseille as if nothing had happened. Of course, he’d never allow something like that to become public knowledge,” Chaeyeong said.

“If he’d hidden the death of his wife, I can’t imagine what other atrocious things he’d done,” Taehyung said, lost in thought. He eventually returned to reality, facing Chaeyeong. Tok-tok-tok.

Reaching into the cell, he held her arm once again. The silence washed over them like a drink of fresh water. Refreshing in its presence.

 “So, how did it all begin?”

     *

“Suga, how did ya get dat?!” Minah shrieked when she saw him.

“They thruh it out behind the restaurant! Those rich halfwit dunces wasted perfectly gud bred,” Suga laughed brightly. Minah made a grab at the loaf, lingering a moment too long on Suga’s arm.

The three of them crowded around eagerly as Suga divided up the bread as evenly as he could. Steam still came wafting out of it, taunting Chaeyeong in her starved state. The ugly glutinous monsters sitting inside the restaurant stuffed their faces until they were beyond satisfied. ‘Waste’ wasn’t a part of their vocabulary; their trash cans ended up as full as their stomachs. Why couldn’t Chaeyeong be like that? What made those men and women deserve lives more extravagant than hers?

In a moment of blind greed, Chaeyeong snatched the bread from Suga’s hands and consumed it barbarically. Minah let out a cry of furry and tackled Chaeyeong.

“Minah, stop!” Suga pulled the ravenous girl off of Chaeyeong, but not before she left an ugly bruise on the latter’s cheekbone.

“Chae, how cud yuh?! We promised to splet it with all uh us!” Mina cried.

“Ah-h’m sorry. I din’ realize what ah did till it wuz ‘ready in mah stumach,” Chaeyeong apologized, as if she’d snapped out of a trance.

“Suga and I ah starvin’ jest as much as yuh are! How can yuh be so inconsiderate?” Minah said in disappointment.

“Minah, jus’ drop it. Wuh older dan ‘er anyways,” Suga said, gently nudging Mina. To his surprise, she stared at him in earnest. Hurt and disappointment reflected in her eyes for reasons untold.

“Whatever,” Minah spat, running off.

“Minah, ah’h really din’ mean tuh!” Chaeyeong chased after her. Minah’s petite figure quickly vanished into the busy streets of Marseille. Or perhaps they could no longer be called streets, but rather, a wasteland. The dense packs of people sleeping on the streets made the city nearly unrecognizable as the place Chaeyeong grew up in. Garbage littered the once glowing pavement where lively people used to take their Sunday strolls. Chaeyeong saw the lovely little bakery that used to give her free baguettes; only now it sat uninhabited collecting dust. Rent had become far too expensive for the grandparents to keep up with: a common trend. Dozens of the most successful businesses in their humble city were forced to close in response to climbing taxes and tariff raises. How large and magical this city looked in the eyes of six year old Chaeyeong: the dream doll house she’d wanted to grow up to live in.

“Hey, wutch where ya’uh goin’!” a sickly old man scolded Chaeyeong. To her amusement, he seemed to barely have the strength to spit such strong words at her. She quickly mumbled an apology and hurried forward to find Minah.

“Chae! Wait up!” Suga yelled after her. “Ya know it’s m’possible to find her in dis crowd!”

“I…I…” Chaeyeong broke off, letting herself be dragged off by Suga. Despite how much she didn’t want to admit it, Suga was telling the truth. Even as they left, their empty spaces were quickly replaced by the presence of more bodies. Everywhere the homeless and poor packed together on the streets, having nowhere to go. Some slept, but most just sat around waiting for time to pass. Such miserable, empty existences. The kinds that Chaeyeong, Suga, Minah, and all the children of the streets were destined to fulfill.  

Careful not to get spotted, the Chaeyeong and Suga climbed on top of the tallest building of Marseille. It was the one thing the aristocrats didn’t have: a view of their world. You could call it a corner of the universe where they were never hungry, where they were dressed in splendid silks and not rags, where the two orphans sat on their thrones and overlooked the empire that they ruled.  

“Minah’ll come ‘round. Ya know how she is,” Suga reassured Chaeyeong.

“Ah know…ah’m jus’ discusted wid mahself. Ah’m mo animal dan human,” Chaeyeong confessed.

“Ya know, it happens tuh all uh us. Ya remember dis scar?” Suga said, pointing to his collarbone. Chaeyeong nodded. He’d showed up one day with an old cloth tied around the wound, insisting a squirrel bit him in his sleep.

“Ah lied to yuh and Minah. Ah got it tryin’ to kill Marquis Moreau’s horse,” Suga said, chuckling as he thinks back on the moment.

“Ah ya insane?! Did dey catch ya?” Chaeyeong shrieked.

“Dose fat ol’ men couldn’ catch me even dey spotted me uh mile away,” Suga smirked, “De horse wuz jus actin’ n self defense,”

“Jeez…next time ya do sometin dat reckless, call me fuh backup,” Suga’s eyebrows shot up to the sky in surprise.

“Hey, yuh know wut cud happen if we’uh caught?! Uh princess lak yuh would’n last an ‘our in dose prisons,”

“Den ah guess we wud jus’ hafta see how long ah kin last,” Chaeyeong challenged him. A thick layer of dirt was coated over her face, muddling her features. Yet under it all, her eyes twinkled with the youthful mischief of any other child.

Suga laughed brightly in the way Chaeyeong always loved. It was the kind that could make a foggy day clear, a cold day warm.  

“Alright Chae, next time ah go, ah’ll take ya wit me,” Suga smiled, offering his pinky.

“Den iz a promise,” she said, locking her pinky with his. In the perfect silence that followed their promise, Chaeyeong no longer felt human. She didn’t need the tangible necessities people required to survive. In their place, the overwhelming emotions people felt could sustain her alone. She was invincible.

But it was ridiculous. A pinky promise? Making someone feel so impossibly powerful? Chaeyeong, in her youth and naiveté, had no idea what any of it meant. Neither did she have the time to figure it out. Out of the corner of her eyes, Minah stood watching at the edge of the roof.

“Chae…” Minah whispered, “why do you have to have everything?”

“Minah! Where dja go? Me and Suga looked errywhere-”

“Which one is it?!” a low voice yelled from below Minah. Several men in dark uniforms climbed up beside her, each with a royal insignia embedded on their sleeves. Palace guards sent by a wealthy aristocrat.

“There,” Minah pointed at Chaeyeong, “she’s de one yuh want,”

“Minah, whut in de heavens is guhing on? Why-”

“You’re coming with us kid,” one of the men harshly grabbed Chaeyeong’s arms against her protest.

“Sir, yuh’ve made a mistake. Chae’s never done nuthin wrong,” Suga pleaded. Chaeyeong’s eyes begged him to save her, but in her heart she knew they were just powerless little things trying to survive in this adult world. If the bourgeois wanted something done, no one could go against it. Especially not a bunch of filthy orphans.   

“Know your place, you little rat,” the man shoved Suga over, nearly pushing him off the roof.

“Please-, I-I beg ya-” Suga heaved, reaching out to Chaeyeong. He watched helplessly as they dragged Chaeyeong away. Fire erupted in explosions inside his chest, but he willed them away. There’s a time and place for everything. If he recklessly attacked the guards, chances were he’d never see the light of day again.

Minah watched him as if she was in a trance. Her brows knitted themselves together in concern as she walked over to help him.

“Why the hell wouldja do dat Minah?! Do ya have any idea wut dey’ll do tuh Chae?” Suga yelled, yanking his arm from her touch.

“I do. Dat’s why I told em. Yuh’ve spoiled Chae nuff and she needs to learn er lesson,” Minah said in a flat voice. Her gaze lingered on the broken tile of the roof, afraid to meet his eyes.

“Minah, ya basically jes signed Chae’s death sen’nence, don’t ya see? Wutever de crime is, the bourgeois will yuse all ‘xuses to give her de worst punishmen’ possible,” Suga said to the air.

“She’s in de way! She always wuz. Suga, are yuh so blinded tuh see dat cuz uh her dere’s no more room in yuhr heart? Ah love yuh so much, and she’s all yuh err see,” Minah cried. Silence flooded the tension filled air, breaking it. Suga didn’t say anything for a long time, and that frightened Minah more than any other reaction could have.

“So dis…wuz why ya did it? Cuz yuh'er jealous of wut Chae means to me?” Suga said softly, wearing an unreadable expression.

The two walked down separate paths, neither acknowledging what had happened that evening. Suga thought he’d never see either of his childhood best friends ever again, and in a sense, he wouldn’t. This world was so messed up that in the end; no one was left untouched from its vile nature.