Chapter Text
Rose wished she could say that she saw it coming, that she anticipated it; but she hadn’t.
“What a strange girl. I asked her who she was and she simply ran off. Is something the matter with her?”
Speeding past the group of concerned, twittering nuns, Rose sprinted through the chapel’s open double doors and out into the night, chasing after pattering footfalls as a familiar, slender figure disappeared into the dark.
Gritting her teeth, Rose clenched her fists as she pumped her legs faster. She should have known, she berated herself, should have seen it coming. How many times could one person withstand being forgotten, time and time again? How strong can one person pretend to be until they snap under the strain of being their own ghost?
How could she have been so blind?
“Juleka!” she yelled after the girl’s retreating back. “Juleka, wait!”
If Juleka had heard Rose’s calls, she gave no indication, not slowing down.
Away from the church and out on the cobbled streets, Rose was thankful for the moonlight guiding her through the dark, the full, round sphere hanging amidst backdrop of a thousand twinkling stars. It shone off of her indigo velvet hair, billowing in the wind and made bright purple in the highlights, gleaming against the muted colours of nighttime. Her past weeks of hard labour had allowed her to build some semblance of muscles and strength, but she was still no match for Juleka’s longer legs. It was all she could do just keeping up.
Just as Rose was ready to give in to her burning calves and resign herself to being lost on the streets of a Paris in the middle of the night without a guide, the alleyway opened up to reveal a great glimmering ribbon of water, the moon tinting it a burnished silver. The moon saw herself in the river’s mirror-like surface, a warping circle of pearlescent white. Gentle currents lapped at the banks, the ripples lost to the downstream flow.
La Seine.
And Juleka.
In a heart-stopping moment of suspended time, the beauty of the scene struck Rose at her core and she froze mid-step. She took a breath, drinking it in, wanting to commit the sight to memory.
Out of the darkness and in the light of moon and her stars, Juleka had never appeared more beautiful. Silvery sheen in her hair and lighting up her skin, she could have been a daughter of the moon herself. She stood upon a cobbled stone bridge stretching across the river, almost folding in on herself as she leaned over the balustrade on her elbows and gazed over the waters. The night-chilled breeze whispered through the air, tugging playful fingers through those silvery indigo locks and casting the strands into its winds. Even the patched and worn skirt appeared graceful, rippling in the air currents like the water below.
Stepping from the shadow of the alley, Rose crossed the empty street. The night was quiet, not a single person was outside except for her and Juleka.
Coming to a stop behind Juleka, Rose could almost believe that they alone owned this night world of Paris.
“Juleka?” Rose called, the tranquil of the night reducing her voice to nothing more than a whisper.
“I’m nothing,” Juleka choked out, shudders running through her frame and breaking her still posture. “ Nothing . No one notices me, no one even looks at me. I might as well be invisible.” Juleka turned away, whipping around to face the Seine. Words died in Rose’s throat. The sight of Juleka’s back and trembling shoulders crushed the air from her lungs, twisting the blood from her heart and dropping it to her feet. She watched as the other girl seem to collapse in on herself, hugging her pale arms. “It’s like I don’t even exist ,” she whispered.
“Don’t you say that!” exclaimed Rose, darting forward to stand on the plinth and facing Juleka. Now eye-level with the other girl, the moonlight glinting damp trails down her cheeks were unmistakable.
“Don’t say that,” Rose repeated, quieting her voice again. Reaching up a hand, she brushed away a rolling tear from Juleka’s cheek, the teardrop warm against her cooled skin. Another took its place just as quickly. Dripping off her chin and onto the railing, it left a darkened spot on the stone.
“Why? Why shouldn’t I say it?” Juleka demanded, the tears coming faster even as she hiccoughed and turned away from Rose’s hand. Juleka swiped a hand across her eyes, but it did nothing to stem the crumbling dam. “It’s the truth, and you know it.”
“No,” insisted Rose, resting a light hand on Juleka’s shoulder instead. Not grasping, not holding, but a gentle touch. A reminder of her presence. Her unwavering support. The darker haired girl didn’t object.
“No, that’s not true. Juleka, please look at me.”
Another hiccough, and Juleka’s fingers dug into her own skin where they had a death grip on her elbows. She shook her head, waves of indigo flowing in cascades over her shoulders. Spasms rocked Juleka’s body as she paused to take a breath, the tremors reaching Rose’s hand.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with someone like me, Rose,” she said in between gasps for breath, choked sobs staggering her voice. “I’m n-not worth your t-t-time, your k-kindness—” Another rasping breath. “I-It would just be easier for y-you if you-if you le—”
“I’m not leaving you anywhere, Juleka. And that’s final.”
Juleka only shook her head harder, the force of her weeping seeming to silence her voice. But she still didn’t pull away. A gentle touch on her chin from Rose prompted her to turn her head until they were face to face, but Juleka resolutely kept her eyes closed even as they continued leaking tears.
Lifting both hands to caress Juleka’s damp cheeks, Rose smiled. “But you’re here, and you’re real. See? I’m touching you, I’m talking to you. I can see you. You do exist.” Rubbing her thumb over a damp cheekbone, Rose chased another tear away.
“Don’t you believe me?” she added in a whisper, leaning in closer. Close enough that their foreheads touched.
Juleka finally opened her eyes, and Rose found her vision filled with nothing but the sanguine red of honeyed wine.
Neither of them moved.
The silence stretched on, palpable, as heavy as the full moon hanging in the sky. Silky strands darker than the midnight waters of the Seine flowed in the starlit breeze, brushing against Rose’s fingers. She breathed deep, past the knot in her chest. The night was quiet, belying the chaos reigning over the city.
Juleka drew in another rattling breath, and the spell was broken.
“I believe you.”
How was she to know it was the beginning of the end?
“Bring him in here!”
“Lay him down on the floor, mind his legs!”
“The doctor! Where’s the doctor? He needs stitches!”
“Hot water, someone bring hot water!”
Rushing forward while struggling not to upset the steaming tin tub in her hands, Rose set it down next to Mother Giselle. “The doctor is on his way, we’ll just have to make do with what we have in the meantime.”
“Thank you, René. Fetch me some clean rags, and we’ll see what we can do for him.”
Nodding, Rose got to her feet, leaving Mother Giselle to calm the sisters as she hurried to the storage room.
Juleka appeared in the doorway in a flash of indigo and her fraying lavender nightgown, a candleholder in hand. Rose had to slap a hand to the doorframe to keep from running into her.
“What’s going on?”
“A riot broke out near the Notre Dame, a man got injured. There’s some cuts, and what Mother Giselle says are some broken ribs,” Rose summarised, darting under Juleka’s arm and sweeping down the next wing of the chapel, making a beeline for the makeshift storeroom. “We need clean rags for bandages to stem the bloodflow until the doctor gets here. Do you remember where we put aside those torn old tunics yesterday?”
“Vaguely. I’ll come help you look.”
She nodded, pulling open the door to the storeroom and hearing the taller girl follow behind her. Thankful for the light from Juleka’s flickering candle, however small it was, Rose began ransacking the shelves.
“How did it happen?” Juleka asked over the muffled sound of tumbling books.
“We aren’t sure, and he’s not really coherent, so anyone’s guess is just as good,” said Rose, wincing as she dropped a candelabra over her foot. “That poor man, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for that riot.”
“Accidents happen,” said Juleka, peering at a shelf too high for Rose to look through before stepping deeper into the room and scrutinising the next. “If he hadn’t gotten hurt then, he probably would have in another one later.”
“The rioting should stop, then,” said Rose, rummaging through cartons of sewing supplies—but no torn tunics. “This needless violence needs to end.”
“What?”
The sheer incredulity in Juleka’s voice gave her pause, and she stopped her search long enough to stop and turn eyes to Juleka instead. The girl was staring at her as if she had a pumpkin for a head.
“What?” she reflected the question back at Juleka.
“How could you … how could you say that?” Juleka frowned, clear disapproval in the set of her jaw. “Without the riots, how else will the people tell the First and Second Estates that what they’re doing is wrong? They need an outlet, a voice, something that sends the message loud and clear.”
“But rioting accomplishes nothing,” said Rose, exasperated to be having this conversation now of all times. Why was Juleka reacting so aversely?
“It lets us make a stand,” said Juleka, scowl deepening. “It gives a voice when we have none. They weren’t listening to us before, so it’s time we make our intent more clear.”
“But is hurting others and each other really worth that?”
“And what if I think it is, Rose?”
Opening her mouth to reply, Rose snapped it shut, allowing one last look at Juleka—bedhead, scowl and all—before turning back to the task at hand. Finally ripping out the old tunics from between two boxes of spare bibles some minutes later, Rose hurried back outside.
Juleka’s silence as they traversed back to the main hall of the chapel left a lingering sense of apprehension settled in Rose’s chest.
“A demonstration ?”
“It’s the only way they’ll take us seriously,” said Juleka, peeling the onions for the soup. Alone in the kitchen with her, Rose was more at ease with kneading the dough for bread, rolling up her too-large sleeves to expose slender arms.
She sprinkled another dusting of flour over the dough as Juleka added, “This oppression, this tyranny, it has to stop!”
“I know, and I agree,” said Rose, pausing to sink her teeth into her lower lip. Her hands slowed their kneading, fingers pressing indents into the malleable surface. “But ….”
“It won’t be anything serious, they’re probably just going to make a show of force. Maybe negotiate for a surrender. Not like they’ll actually do anything bad.”
“That may be their intention in the beginning,” said Rose, turning her attention away from the dough to cast a look over her shoulder. Dicing the onions, Juleka avoided her gaze. Breathing in, Rose turned back to the dough, soldiered on.
“But riots have been happening, Juleka. People have been getting hurt; unnecessarily and for the wrong reasons.”
“So you’re saying that it’s wrong for us to fight for the right to live?”
Eyes snapping open wide, Rose barely suppressed a flinch at the venom lacing Juleka’s tone. Her hands stilled on the dough, but she didn’t turn around again. The frigid cold contempt sounded alien in the normally pleasant, gravelly tenor of Juleka’s voice, like a child donning a cloak far too big. She shivered.
“I didn’t say that,” Rose denied in a quiet, even tone. “I just meant that—”
“This could be our chance for change, our chance to make a difference,” Juleka continued, taking on a more incensed pitch with every word. Their eyes met, flashing red clashing with blue. Juleka’s shoulders hitched as she drew in a sharp intake of breath. “I thought you understood that, I thought you’d want for the people of France to lead lives that are actually human . But in the end, I guess you’re just like one of tho—”
“Don’t,” whispered Rose. The lone word was barely audible over the sounds of the bubbling pot on the stove and the idle chatter of crowds and nuns in the chapel above, but it cut off Juleka’s tirade with all the subtlety of a warhorn. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”
All was quiet in the kitchen, the mounting tension in the air thick enough to choke on. Somewhere outside, a baby began to cry.
Refusing to back down or look away, a stab of despair found its home in Rose’s gut when she didn’t recognise the look in Juleka’s eyes. What had once been warm, mulled wine now resembled a red decisively more sinister. Something not Juleka.
“I hope there is a mob,” said Juleka, her quiet voice like frozen daggers to Rose’s ears. “I hope there will be a riot. A big one, something they can’t just ignore and sweep under the carpet. Maybe that will be what it takes to overthrow the King. A revolution.”
“But surely there are more peaceful ways—”
“There isn’t any, Ro—” Juleka stopped mid-sentence at Rose’s horrified glance and quick dart of eyes to check for eavesdroppers, having the grace to look chastened. It was gone as quick as it had come, a frown overcoming her features before she turned back to the onions, chopping them up with a fervor as if they had done her some personal wrong.
“I’m going,” declared Juleka, “with or without you.”
“No!” Rose spun, throwing her inhibitions to the winds as she grasped hold of Juleka’s elbows. “Juleka, listen to me—”
“My voice will be heard, I will not let myself be ignored. I can make a difference, I will make a difference. I will see change brought for the betterment of the people and I refuse to simply stand by the sidelines like the silent, faceless spectre I’ve been all my life!”
“Juleka, you must not—”
Twisting away from her grip, Juleka whirled around and Rose found herself inches away from wild fiery eyes.
“I must not? I must not what , René? Are you going to boss me around and tell me what to do, too?”
“No, of course not!”
Only when the words left her lips did Rose realise their voices had risen to almost shouts, the two of them standing a mere three inches apart and fists clenched at their sides. Not taking her eyes off of Juleka’s, Rose lowered herself back onto her feet from the tiptoe position she had unconsciously adopted to be level with the taller girl. A deep breath, a deliberate lowering of her voice, and Rose continued.
“Juleka, I’d never, ever tell you to do anything. Especially anything you won’t want to do. All I can do is ask you, and I’m asking—begging you now. Bad things might happen, and I—” Rose choked, pausing to find her voice again before finishing in a whisper, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.“
I just can’t.
Silence followed her words, pregnant and heavy as Juleka digested her words. Seconds passed with no reaction, but Rose took heart in that there was no outright rejection either. She gave Juleka few more moments before reaching out to brush their fingertips together.
“Please, Juleka.”
Another heart-skipping beat of silence, downcast eyes, and a bitten lower lip. Then Rose heard that honeyed timbre in her ears and knew that her Juleka was back.
“All right.” Warm fingers wrapped over her own, an apology that needed no words. “I’m staying here.”
It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but one that meant the whole world to her.
Dead.
So many dead.
Crushed by the drawbridge, stampeded by their own peers, shot, beheaded.
Where would it end?
How many more will die?
Arms reached around from behind her, wrapping around her shoulders as a familiar weight settled atop her head. The embrace was warm, gentle, it was real .
“Thank you,” honeyed timbre whispered, fingers dragging themselves through the cropped mop of her hair. “For convincing me not to go.”
Reaching up to wrap her own fingers around pale arms, Rose pressed her eyes to them, relishing in their heat and the steady beat of a pulse beneath the skin.
‘Thank you,’ she thought, tightening her hold. ‘For being alive and here with me.’
The peals of the ship’s bell rolled across the harbour like death knells, too much like a funeral procession to Rose’s ears.
Shining in the cloudless sky, the mid-morning sun beat down on the crowd, its light permeating the air and brightening every surface it touched. Seagulls cawed from where they soared high above, their cacophony drowning out the static chatter from the crowd as Rose breathed in deep, tasting salt on her tongue borne by the sea breeze that filled her lungs. Its tranquility seeped into her being, almost entirely relieving her of the stress and anxiety the past weeks had crushed her with.
Almost.
Opening her eyes, Rose took in the sight of the chipped and discoloured stormy black hull; the ship was not pretty, but it was huge. A wooden ramp led from the pier onto the ship, the crew keeping a handle on the steady stream of people boarding the ocean liner. The passengers were plainly dressed and didn’t look out of the ordinary, but it was no secret to the people of France that most of its noble families were leaving the country following the Bastille getting overrun and sparking the beginning of the revolution proper.
Fleeing from a place they once considered safe, their home, and likely never to return.
Rose’s attention was focused on two people in particular; a man and a woman, both of tall stature. Cloaks wrapped their frames and hats pulled down low to obscure their faces, but Rose could recognise them anywhere.
She clenched Juleka’s fingers tighter between her own, drawing comfort from the other girl’s answering squeeze.
Wordlessly, she watched as the couple stepped up the ramp as if lost, trailing their luggage behind them. They stopped on the deck, the man speaking to one of the crew and brandishing something in his hand as the woman stood back and looked on. Moments later the crewman nodded, stepping aside and allowing the man and woman to board the ship, the man disappearing below deck.
The woman paused, casting a glance over her shoulder as if sensing eyes on her. Rose shivered as the woman’s searching gaze passed over her, even though she knew there was no way she could be discerned from the crowd.
Seeming not to find what she was looking for, the woman deflated, shoulders slumping as if in defeat as she followed after her partner.
It was the last time Rose would ever see her parents.
Another light squeeze on her fingers prompted Rose to turn her head, looking straight into Juleka’s eyes that seemed to shine like crystalised wine.
“Are you all right?”
Blinking away the sudden wetness in her eyes, Rose smiled. Things may change in the future. The revolution might improve things or make them worse, and that uncertainty had the people of France at the edge of their seats and biting their nails from worry. But Rose had one certainty to anchor herself to reality with and she knew she was never going to let go.
“With you here, always.”