Story π‘ƒπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘£π‘’ π‘‡β„Žπ‘¦π‘ π‘’π‘™π‘“ [𝘈 𝘴𝘡𝘰𝘳𝘺 π˜ͺ𝘯𝘴𝘱π˜ͺ𝘳𝘦π˜₯ 𝘣𝘺 π˜‹π˜œπ˜›π˜— 𝘒𝘯π˜₯ π˜”π˜’π˜³π˜ͺ𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘡𝘰π˜ͺ𝘯𝘦𝘡𝘡𝘦]

Emmy

Emmy

☽ π“π‘œπ“ˆπ’Ύπ“ƒπ‘” π“‚π“Ž 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 ☾
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Sα΄œα΄α΄α΄€Κ€Κ:

𝐴𝑙𝑙 π‘ π‘’π‘’π‘šπ‘  𝑀𝑒𝑙𝑙 π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿ π‘€π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘–π‘’ π΄π‘›π‘‘π‘œπ‘–π‘›π‘’π‘‘π‘‘π‘’, π‘žπ‘’π‘’π‘’π‘› π‘œπ‘“ πΉπ‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘’, 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑙 π‘œπ‘›π‘’ π‘›π‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ β„Žπ‘Žπ‘  π‘“π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘£π‘’π‘› π‘ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘ π‘–π‘›π‘‘π‘œ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ β„Žπ‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘‘ π‘Žπ‘“π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ π‘Žπ‘› 𝑒𝑦𝑒-π‘œπ‘π‘’π‘›π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘£π‘–π‘ π‘–π‘œπ‘› π‘€β„Žπ‘–π‘™π‘ π‘‘ 𝑖𝑛 π‘Ž 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 π‘ π‘™π‘’π‘šπ‘π‘’π‘Ÿ.

π‘Šπ‘–π‘™π‘™ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ 𝑏𝑒 π‘Žπ‘π‘™π‘’ π‘‘π‘œ π‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘›π‘”π‘’ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘‘π‘–π‘π‘’π‘™π‘œπ‘’π‘  π‘™π‘œπ‘£π‘’ π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿ π‘Žπ‘™π‘™ π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘”π‘  π‘™π‘Žπ‘£π‘–π‘ β„Ž π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘π‘œπ‘›π‘£π‘–π‘›π‘π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘π‘’π‘œπ‘π‘™π‘’ π‘œπ‘“ πΉπ‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘’ π‘œπ‘“ π‘ π‘Žπ‘–π‘‘ π‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘›π‘”π‘’ π‘π‘’π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘¦ π‘ π‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘š π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘’π‘Žπ‘‘β„Ž? πΆπ‘œπ‘’π‘™π‘‘ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ π‘’π‘£π‘’π‘Ÿ π‘π‘œπ‘›π‘£π‘–π‘›π‘π‘’ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ β„Žπ‘’π‘ π‘π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘˜π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ 𝑖𝑠 π‘Ž π‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘›π‘”π‘’π‘‘ π‘€π‘œπ‘šπ‘Žπ‘›? π‘‚π‘Ÿ π‘€π‘œπ‘’π‘™π‘‘ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 π‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘›π‘”π‘’ π‘Žπ‘‘ π‘Žπ‘™π‘™, π‘π‘œπ‘›π‘‘π‘–π‘›π‘’π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘œπ‘› β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘π‘Žπ‘‘β„Ž π‘œπ‘“ π‘“π‘–π‘›π‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘–π‘Žπ‘™ π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘–π‘› π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘π‘œπ‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘¦?

𝐴𝑛𝑑 π‘€β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ π‘œπ‘“ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘™π‘œπ‘£π‘’ π‘Žπ‘“π‘“π‘Žπ‘–π‘Ÿπ‘ ? π‘Šπ‘–π‘™π‘™ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ β„Žπ‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘‘ π‘ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦ π‘€π‘–π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘› 𝐴π‘₯𝑒𝑙 π‘£π‘œπ‘› πΉπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘’π‘›'𝑠 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘›π‘‘, π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘šπ‘Žπ‘› π‘€β„Žπ‘œ π‘™π‘œπ‘£π‘’π‘‘ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘β„Žπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘’π‘”β„Ž π‘Žπ‘› π‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘–π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘›π‘’π‘‘ 𝑠𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑙 π‘π‘œπ‘›π‘“π‘’π‘ π‘ π‘–π‘›π‘” β„Žπ‘–π‘  π‘™π‘œπ‘£π‘’ π‘‘π‘œ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ? π‘‚π‘Ÿ 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙 π‘€π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘žπ‘’π‘–π‘  𝑑𝑒 πΏπ‘Žπ‘“π‘Žπ‘¦π‘’π‘‘π‘‘π‘’ π‘π‘Žπ‘‘π‘β„Ž β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘Žπ‘‘π‘‘π‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘–π‘œπ‘› π‘π‘’β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘‘ β„Žπ‘–π‘  π‘“π‘Žπ‘π‘Žπ‘‘π‘’ π‘œπ‘“ π‘’π‘šπ‘œπ‘‘π‘–π‘œπ‘›π‘™π‘’π‘ π‘  π‘Žπ‘šπ‘π‘–π‘‘π‘–π‘œπ‘›?



Wα΄€Κ€Ι΄ΙͺΙ΄Ι’:

I am not a historian, so many things may be inaccurate and/or untrue. I am aware of this. I am also twisting places, people, feelings, and actions into something that will better suit the ideas floating around in my brain. So this is me asking you not to come for me.

I am, however, open to ideas, thoughts, and messages! I would love to receive feedback from my readers.
 
ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕑π•₯𝕖𝕣 𝕀​


The rush that trickled up Marie Antoinette's porcelain skin made her shiver. To a woman with an incredible love for all things lavish, the mere sight of the finest of jewels was even more intoxicating than any touch from the most handsome of men. Her slender fingers gently brushed over the sparkling surface of the newest addition to her ever-growing collection, an intricate golden necklace with sparkling large diamonds littered with small rubies all around. The smile that painted her pink lips grew until her cheeks hurt, reaching her emerald eyes. Nothing could quite compare to this feeling of utter pleasure, but the sudden flashing thought of her lover ruined her joyous mood.

The war had begun and while he wasn't one of the first to be sent out, it didn't take long for them to call his name. Their time together had been cut far too short for Marie's liking. But then again, who ever likes to see off their special someone and know not if they shall ever return? Fersen had sent a few letters, his handwriting always sloppy with hurry and riddled with dust. Sometimes there were splotches as if something wet had dripped on the frail paper, but whether they were from tears or rain she wasn't sure. She had never seen this man cry before, even as he was departing from her, but she was sure war, if anything, would change a man from his very core. So if he did return, would he still be the man that had swept her off of her feet all those years ago?

She sat back in her velvety red cushioned chair, her long blonde locks messily splaying over her shoulders. Her eyes wandered around her large changing room, eyeing the various gowns and jewelry on display. She could name off a dozen that Axel von Fersen had personally removed from her body himself. She could almost feel his fingertips trailing up her arms and his warm breath on her cheek. She closed her eyes, trying to beg that feeling to never leave or fade, but it had. Five years of distance had dulled his loving touches from her body, but she would never forget the way he had made her feel loved as if most people in France didn't despise her very breath.

- - -

She had been eighteen years old when she first met Fersen at a beautifully decorated masquerade ball. Her long ruby red dress was voluptuous and trailing on the white marble floor that clicked and clacked with every step she took. The mask she wore was mostly lace and was red in color to match her dress. Many nobles were laughing and dancing with glasses of the finest wine in the country. The band played the most tantalizing music that caused her hips to sway and her smile to shine as she slowly made her way through the crowd of people.

Her interest wasn't to dance but to watch. She wasn't a timid woman, but she enjoyed the art of watching people from time to time. She sat at an empty table and took a glass of wine from one of the palace servants. She was intently watching as one young lady stomped on a man's foot, the strange woman's neck engulfed in a pink hue that Marie assumed was anger. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying to each other, but she could have sworn she heard the words, "You dumb oaf!" before the woman stormed away.

"I guess some men never learn, hm?" A voice from beside her suddenly caught her attention. As she turned her head her eyes found a man with fashionably cut short brown hair. His eyes were a striking blue that she was sure would forever be burned into her memory, but it was his effortless smile that really caught her attention.

A smirk displayed itself on her painted lips as she drew another sip from her cup. "I suppose some men weren't taught manners to begin with." Her eyes sparkled. "Do you not know how unbecoming it is to sneak up on a lady, mister?"

She could only assume his eyebrow had raised at her question with how his white mask shifted on his face, but his smile never faltered. "My apologies, my lady." He respectfully bowed before her, his white and blue suit wrinkling as a result. He gave her a wink that made her heart nearly flip out of her chest. "I just didn't think a woman of your beauty should be left alone. What if one of these-" His hand waved towards the people in front of them. "dumb oafs tried to steal you away?"

She pressed her lips together to suppress a giggle that tried to spill from her lips. "Oh, I see. I suppose I owe you a great thanks for your service to me then?"

"That would be just wonderful, miss." He offered his arm to her, a charming grin on his face. "But I think a simple dance would suffice."

- - -

A sudden knocking from the main door to her chambers jolted her upright and slammed the door to her memories. She cursed under her breath as she wiped a single tear from her left cheek. She could have considered it a good day if only she could have mentally lived through that first night with Fersen all over again. Alas, someone deemed it acceptable to burden the queen of France at nearly ten o'clock at night. Who does that?

As she pushed herself from her comfortable position in her extravagant closet and made her way through her living quarters, she prepared herself to scold whoever was on the other side of that white molded door. If they wanted to ruin her night, she had no issue with returning the favor. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" She snapped whilst her hand twisted the doorknob. However, when the door revealed who was standing on the other side, her breath hitched in her throat. "Fersen?" She choked on his name, tears welling her eyes.

His hair was haphazardly shoved under a guard's bearskin hat, his clothing ill-fitting and also that of a palace guard. "My Queen." His voice was thick, more mature than it had been five years ago. His eyes were still that captivating blue, but they were tired and worn from the war. A scar now took home on his right cheek that was speckled with black facial hair. He seemed apprehensive as if he was scared those years between them had made her forget the love they had experienced.

Her old instincts kicked in as she grabbed his hands and pulled him into her room and Fersen's foot softly closed the door behind him. "I-... I had to find you, Marie." His mouth was dry, but he licked his lips to try to moisten them. "Did you receive any of my letters? I tried to reach you, Marie." His hands gripped hers tightly, concern written over his facial features. Her heart broke for him at that moment, just wanting to hold him and reassure him that nothing had changed- but she was in nothing short of shock. Just moments ago she was flooded with thoughts of his dead body being placed in a casket. But here he was, alive, breathing, and clutching onto her hands as if his life depended on it.

"I- Yes, I did." Her own mouth was feeling rather dry. Her heart was pounding within the walls of her chest so greatly she was certain Fersen could hear it. She hadn't noticed the tears staining her cheeks until Fersen lifted a hand to cup her face, his eyes softer than she ever remembered them being.

He cleared his throat and willed a grin to his face. "I'm here, Marie. It's okay. You didn't think a silly war in America would take me away from you, did you?" His voice murmured between them before he enveloped the queen into his arms, allowing her tears to leave wet splotches on his stolen guard uniform.

She wrapped her arms around his midsection, his arms falling around her shoulders. She smiled into his chest as more tears flooded from her eyes. "I knew you were charming, but I didn't know your charms would bring you home safe from such a war." She tilted her head to look up at him and he was already smiling down at her.

Before another word could be uttered in the small space between them, he lifted her chin with his thumb and placed the most gentle kiss on her soft lips. Her body nearly went limp in his arms. Now that she thought about it, this feeling was the only thing that could top that of extravagant jewels.
 
ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕑π•₯𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀​


Marie leaned back just enough to stare up into Fersen's eyes, her eyelids partially closed and her long lashes batting slowly with every blink. The man in her arms only had to touch her for her to lose all hope for any coherent thought that might enter her brain, however, a kiss could nearly throw her whole body into a coma. But if she could live like this, in pure unadulterated bliss with no worries of kings or queens, she would choose so in a heartbeat. Her life would never allow this, but she could, and would, dream of it until the day she died.

"You are just as beautiful as the day I met you." His fingers brushed over her still dampened cheeks to brush a wild strand of blonde hair from her face and behind her ear. "Do you remember that day, my dear Marie? Do you remember the way you pulled that mask from my face behind the hedges in the garden?"

A smile graced her lips in response to his nostalgic words. It was as if he had read her mind and was continuing her sweet memories that she was trying so desperately to relive only moments before. "I was just replaying that memory in my mind before you came to me." She placed a hand over his heart that was racing just as rapidly as her own. "I also remember how my status did not matter to you, you simply accepted me for all that I was." Her heart swelled. "Oh, Fersen. How I've missed you."

As she leaned her head forward he placed a loving kiss on her forehead before leaning down so his lips were next to her ear. His warm breath trickled down her neck and along her arms arose the most pleasant of chill bumps. "Your face has never left my thoughts even after all of this time. I am so consumed by everything that you are." Another kiss was planted just below her ear.

After an hour or so of kisses and hugs, Fersen had to leave and it was probably for the best. Sneaking around and meeting each other had always been the most dangerous game to play, but never had Fersen been able to get past the guards and enter her chambers. If the people of France caught word of her interest in Fersen there would be riots. If Louis XVI, her king and husband, found out he could justifiably exile her from the country or have her and Fersen killed. The fact that Fersen even attempted such a thing spoke volumes to his yearning to see her again and Marie would be lying if she said it didn't put butterflies in her somersaulting stomach. He pulled it off without a single hitch, but she hoped he would be just as successful leaving.

She threw herself back onto her bed and smiled up at the ceiling, her wavy locks of hair spilling over her white comforter like a waterfall.

Axel von Fersen was alive! He was home! He was safe! He kissed her in her own bedroom! She giggled like a little girl as she rolled over on her side and looked out of the large window next to her bed that overseen the very garden Fersen had mentioned. She gazed at the stars that seemed to smile back at her. She couldn't contain her excitement for their future secret meetings or the wonderful thought of another masquerade ball where she could dance the night away with him while no one was the wiser. Oh, the outfits she could wear just to watch his eyes wander the length of her body! Another giggle slipped from her lips as she hugged a pillow to her chest.

- - -

It didn't take long for Marie to finally drift to sleep, all these fantastic promises of love and secrecy lulling her into a deep slumber.

But the dreams that followed were not of Fersen, or dances, or love, or secrecy. They didn't even contain a single good ensemble of clothing.

Instead, she was begging for her own life at a guillotine. Her blonde hair was nothing short of a bird's nest as the wind tousled it about. Her clothes were battered and torn as if she had been stumbling through dirt for quite some time. Her legs ached and her wrists burned from the tightly wound rope tying them together behind her back. She screamed and sobbed as two palace guards shoved her head underneath the heavy blade of the guillotine.

"Wait! Please! I-" She let out a scream as a man from the crowd threw a leather work boot at her, luckily it only hit her shoulder. As she looked out over the crowd she spotted her husband at the back, protected by guards and accompanied by other nobles, one she recognized as Marquis de Lafayette. "I can do better! I'll be a better queen just allow me to-"

"Queen Marie Antoinette, you have been accused of putting this country as a whole into an uproar of financial struggle and turmoil." A stocky man spoke, his eyes were hard and black. "You have not fulfilled the duties of a suitable queen. You have not cared for the name of France, for her people, or even her king's namesake. The people cannot support or respect a horrid woman that cares not for them and they mock her name-"

"Madame DΓ©ficit!" As if on cue, an angry woman shouted from the crowd as she proceeded to throw a tomato at Marie's head. It landed square on her forehead, the red juices of the fruit trickling down her face. Her tears did nothing to wash the residue away.

The stocky man cleared his throat to suppress a chuckle. "These offenses are justifiable by death." He took a step back and motioned to the guards with his hand.

The two men now stood at her sides, one holding the rope to the horrid killing machine and the other held her in place by the clothing on her back. "King Louis please-"

Before another word could escape from her lungs the man on her left pulled the rope and released the sharp blade. It slid through her neck like butter and sent her head rolling on the dirt ground below the platform where she stood. Immediately the crowd hollered and laughed in celebration of her death. She would be forever known as Madame DΓ©ficit, the queen of debt. The queen who cared not for her king and country.
 
ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕑π•₯𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀𝕀​


Marie awoke to her lungs gasping for air. Her shaking hands grasped onto her messy locks of hair that were dampened from sweat and tears. She tried to let out a scream, but she was still struggling to breathe. Once she realized her head was still attached to her body, her breathing slowly returned.

She shifted her legs over the edge of her bed and her toes met the cool marble flooring beneath her. Her green eyes lifted to find that the sun hadn't even risen yet and she let out a low groan. Her fingers lazily dragged across her cheeks to dry up the tears that had spilled out due to her horrendous nightmare.

She had many a dream but never had she experienced one so surreal and terrifying. It didn't feel like a dream at all. In fact, the back of her neck felt slightly achy as if the guillotine had bounced off of her instead of beheading her. A shiver racked her body as the scenes played over in her head. No, she was certain it wasn't simply a dream. It felt like a memory, only not one from the past.

She turned her head to catch a glimpse of herself in a tall floor length mirror. Her hair was matted and her face was red. She stood and slowly walked to her reflection, her legs shaking. Her white nightgown with delicately sewn lace was a mess of wrinkles. She stumbled into the mirror, grasping the sides of the frame until her knuckles turned white.

She had lived her life of royalty without a care in the world. Her only worry was buying the best of fashion and the shiniest of jewels. But that was normal, right? She was a woman, after all. A royal. Was she supposed to live her life worried about politics and laws? Did she not deserve to enjoy the finest things in life?

A pang shot through her head and she brought her right hand up to cup the back of her head, her eyes never leaving her reflection. For a moment she saw her mother's likeness in her own face, nearly making her crumble to the floor. Her mother had died of scarlet fever just before Marie's marriage to Louis XVI took place. She hadn't raised Marie to be selfish nor frivolous, but that is exactly how she had grown up to be. Her mother was a strong believer in dreams being able to bring messages or warnings, letters from guardian angels she had called it.

Before Marie realized it she was back to crying, the liquid warming her cold cheeks. Surely this was her mother looking after her even from the grave. "Mother, I've failed you." She whispered into the darkened room, her lip quivering like a child's. "I'm a monster!" She cried, throwing the mirror to the floor. It shattered, the shards sliding over the white floor and giving her a couple of nicks on her bare feet.

A sudden strange flapping noise caught her attention. As she turned to find the origin of the sound her teary eyes landed on a pale brown nightingale bird that had perched itself outside on the railing of her balcony. She carefully tiptoed over the shards of what was once a mirror and slowly opened the glass doors until she stood face to face with the bird. Hanging from its beak was a tiny twig that Marie instantly recognized as asparagus foliage, a type of fern that represented nothing else but new beginnings. As she shakily extended her arm the bird placed the green flora into her palm before taking flight and leaving her there alone.

After a deep breath of the crisp early morning air, she murmured, "I understand, mother."

And she did. For the first time in a long time, she was able to look at the ugly parts of herself that intertwined like knotted up rope. She understood she would need to untie that rope, or burn it from existence to make her mother, her king, and her people proud to call her theirs. To save her life from public execution. No matter how painful, she would cut herself free from her self-absorbed demeanor. She had to.

But first, she needed to speak to Gabrielle.
 
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