8 décembre 1793
Versailles, France

Once opulent and full of the richness of life, the city is a torch-lit darkness, stinking of death and screaming of everything sanguine. Eleni runs, and runs, and runs. She pushes her way through the crowd of people shouting insults at her. She did not know them, but they despised her. She is not Eleni to them. She is a symbol of everything the torches and blades aim to destroy. Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité ou la mort! The chants fill Eleni's ears as she moves as fast as she can towards the doors of the only home she has ever known, narrowly escaping grasping hands. I am just a girl, she screams in her head, knowing full well she is not.
The girl is Mademoiselle la Duchesse Eleonore Delphine du Vigneron, a striking dark beauty who became a favourite of the white-featured Austrian La Reine Antoinette. Eugenie argued her spirited daughter was too young and troublesome for Court life. Times were dangerous. The Revolution had always been in existence, yet their way of life persisted. When the summons came from the palace for the precocious thirteen year-old, Eugenie had little choice. The entire family installed at the palace, they saw the charming home Eleni loved only on rare occasions.
Eleni had not been within the women of the Court for too long, yet knew most of her life, her existence was for this. She was to serve her country, honour her family, marry a man even more esteemed and wealthy than her father. "Do not push her, she will only rebel," Eleni heard her mother's voice whisper. "Leave her to her own schemes and charms, and she may wed a step or two from the Crown. She does not understand ambition, but she has plenty".
Running through the crowd, body lurching through the doors and past the angry mob, Eleni felt that world exist a century ago. She was once loved. People admired her. Now, from the home she grew up in to her appearance to the shoes on her feet, they hated her. Strangers threatened her very existence with a contempt that kept Eleni up sleepless nights crying. She only ever tried to please everyone; still they hated her.
Through the gates and up a large staircase and through corridors, she ran. Even with rocks and excrement flying at her back, she never stumbled in her tall and elegant heels. Eleni was a woman now, sort of. At sixteen, she was no longer an awkward and uncomfortable teenager. She was old enough for heels, old enough for marriage, old enough to understand the way the world worked.
Lately, the world was made to turn with the power of blood. The people paraded in front of her home, in front of the two next door, setting things on fire, destroying her precious beautiful roses, the one act that made her weep.
She runs into the large bedroom, large enough for it to actually be two rooms. Eleni was never allowed in here. She was never trusted not to play or cause trouble, not until today. Finding her mother, Eugenie, a tall imposing woman who was flawless in Eleni's eyes, she tries to hug her. "Maman, non! What are they doing? I am frightened. There are torches and axes and a group of men are parading down the street shouting things. It looks as if they have a beautiful woman's head as a trophy." Eleni shudders visibly. "It is the Madame du Barry, n'est-ce pas? How could they have hurt her? She was like a small dove. She could not even fight back"
Eleni feels the tears pool in her eyes. Louis and Antoinette were already gone, along with most of the royal family, and now the gentle mistress of the former King. Who was next? Was anyone to survive at all? "Maman, please, do not let them take us!"
The larger woman grabbed her arm. She did not mean to be rough, but it was important and there was no time for being frightened. "Soyez silencieux, Eleonore!" It wasn't necessary to know French to understand Eugenie's meaning as she pushed her small-boned daughter into the small space.
Opening the closet door, the girl was hidden there, behind pounds of fabric, elaborate gowns and costumes once representing joy and frivolity. "The sound of the wagons is not far. You must forget the example Madame Jeanne has set today. She carried herself without dignity, the small difference between a true lady and a whore, a flaw in character no amount of money can buy." Eugenie shakes her head as if in disgust at the dead mistress to the King.
"You are a noble woman, Eleonore. A noble woman does not cry and she does not beg. A noble woman will never allow herself to be insulted. Remember that, mon petit fleur. Be silent and stay in the shadows. They will pass you by." The door closes, leaving Eleni wide-eyed in darkness, and she hears the sound of the chamber door locking behind, more barriers. "Je t'aime, Eleonore. Je t'aime." Her mother's voice is distinguishable but full of sadness.
Eleni hid for what felt like days, barely daring to breathe, wanting so badly to sing. She hugged her mother's gowns, wanting any comfort she could find. Why could she not hide with them? Why did she have to be alone? She fell asleep feeling sorry for herself. The sound of the mobs shouting for death and mocking tragedy with their cruel faces served as Eleni's lullaby. From somewhere outside the window she hears agonising cries, arguing, and a loud "crack" and heavy thud. These are sounds that can only belong to her Maman, and she needs to run. She cannot run, bur she must. How could they do this to her? Her papa's loud voice, crying, "Non, Eugenie! Stay still!" Then it is her Maman's screams, a jolting sound like an explosion that made the world silent. Eleni's world and everything in it became empty, silent.
It is the alarming sounds that startle her awake, the footsteps running everywhere and the voices. Finally, Eleni hears the loud click of the door opening, not a key but the sound of it being kicked off the hinges. Eleni tries not to breathe, not to cower. She wants to cry. She has to be allowed grief, but it is not now. She promised. Eleni has to think her parents and Michel are coming back for her, but she feels the rivulets of sweat travel down her back in betrayal. She almost screams as she hears other voices instead, but she doesn't. Eleni tries to make herself invisible, small, silent, emotionless. She promised. A noble woman does not cry, does not beg, does not lower herself by showing fear, Eleni reminds herself in Eugenie's strong tones.
There is laughter, and a man's voice says, "Watchin' em parade the whore bitch's head all over town, it's a laugh it is. She ain't never deserved no better, whore to another lyin' traitor thievin' from the people. And speakin' a takin' what you deserve, check out them here jewels." Eleni feels sick as she hears the sound of her maman's jewelry box being pulled apart.
"Fuckin' thing; everythin' in this one's house has a lock or just needin' ta be smashed in." The coarse language and low-brow accents of the soldiers shocked Eleni. Sometimes, she could barely understand what was being said. Eleni did understand the mocking cruelty within the voices. There was no mistaking the contempt they held for her, for her family, for everything she knew and loved.
Pulling back against the wall, Eleni recoils at the sound and the feeling of the boot against the door, and then maybe a shoulder. Suddenly, light flooded the closet and Eleni disappeared inside herself. "Fancy these 'ere costumes, eh? The lady of the house bein' one of those who knows to entertain in style. Shame they took care of 'er like they did, could have a go at that fore puttin' 'er in a wagon" He shakes his head. "Always a right pity wit' the pretty tarts."
Eleni practically stops breathing, hugging the wall, but there is not anything she can do. The men begin flinging gowns from the closet, full of crude remarks, and sometimes the simple tear of fabric is heard. "Fuckin' people, ain't a wonder the country's starvin'."
A gown falls from its hanger, a beautiful silver damask that reminds Eleni of a snow queen, and her large blue eyes are met by two vicious brown ones, attached to a man in uniform. "Look what we got ...ain't you a bit old to be playin' little hide and seek games with us?" The man reaches in and grabs Eleni's arm roughly, so much so tears come into her eyes, while another one simply looks on, drinking from a flask. "An' who exactly are you?"
Eleni curtsies properly, so low to the ground her plie almost touches. "I am Mademoiselle la Duchesse Eleonore Delphine du Vigneron", she replies, her voice soft and youthful, but her face proud. She is a noble woman, her mother taught her so. "People who like me call me Eleni. You may if you wish." Behind the scared, shy face of the little girl is a coyness. Her eyes carry an almost seductive look that is not purposeful in a girl of Eleni's age. Nonetheless, it can't go unnoticed by most.
In her soft, melodic French, she says, "They have all been taken away. I hid because I was alone and frightened." There is a calm candour about Eleni's words, but beneath her gowns, her small figure visibly trembles. She is a thin and fragile thing, even more so than the Queen and Madame du Barry had been, the fashion of the time. The curvatures of her body betray her age, though they contradict her her face.
The man laughs at Eleni's formalities, a snort of contempt. "Ain't you either a cheeky one or a dim-witted one. You got good reason to be frightened, mademoiselle, but ain't you worry, you see yer family soon enough." Again, the men give our a snort of cruel laughter, and, says, "C'mon, girl, you make peace with the country and your God long the way." The two men half lift, half-drag Eleni towards the doors.
"Please wait!!" She yells, kicking her legs in protest. "Please! A minute more here, in my beloved Maman's chambers." A single tear rolls down her face. Looking the man in the eye, she says, "Nobody knows I am here, and everything has a price, does it not? It is why you hate me as you do, everything here is worth something."
In the lamplight, her face is older, seductive. the blue eyes offering a secret world even Eleni didn't understand. "The price of a noblewoman's virtue is as high as that of her life, do you not think that? I have been told it so, many times. Even one as young as I am, that treasure is worth as much as a head in a basket."
Eleni's blue eyes look between the men, but she does not plead and she does not beg, she simply keeps a calm and innocent look, terrified but regal. "I am common-looking enough. You might find a girl on your way home looking exactly like me; one's as good as another." She watches them consider, and says firmly. "My father has a bastard daughter two blocks from here. She favours me. There can be no mistaking who she is. One's as good as another, oui?" There is almost a feisty temperament to Eleni's tone, an anger that they existed in a world where any of these things were possible, thinkable. This was the world, though, and everything a negotiation.
The quiet drunkard laughs for the first time, "Little tart thinks she can make a deal. Ain't wrong, though. Nobleman's daughter to penniless orphaned whore in one night." He looks at her, almost a flicker of compassion showing through, but his eyes stare at her petite figure, the breasts and jet black hair that make her look more like a woman and less like a child. Eleni is neither one nor the other, but she understands survival. "There are some negotiations, Mademoiselle Eleni, that make you wish you'd chosen death."
Eleni looks at the men, her eyes cast down, but then she becomes bold enough to look the men in the eye, and says softly, "I am no longer a child. I am old enough for marriage and children now, I simply seem small. I do not know much about many things, but I know people have always found me pleasing. You might find me pleasing too." Her deep blue eyes fall upon the man who gave her the warning. When she finally speaks, there are no hysterics. Her voice holds a hint of something entrancing and worldly.
"I told you that people call me Eleni if they like me, and tis the name you used. I should be grateful and not afraid for your friendship". It was the last thing she had, her charm, her innocence, the hint of something that could be turned into something low and corrupt. She would let them destroy her body to save her family, but never her pride. They did not have to know that. Eleni was a noble woman, but one who did not intend to submit quietly to having her head paraded revoltingly on a spike.
The boisterous man draws a knife, pointing it at Eleni's throat. "Ain't you the grown-up fearless type, or maybe just that age someone should be makin' a proper woman out of you." She is terrified as the male towers over her with the simple instrument of death. She tries not to show any emotion, but she could sense the man's arousal growing as he caresses her with the knife, the blade the touch of Eleni's first real lover.
Eleni did not flinch as the blade touched her skin, but then simply cut her gown away from her, revealing her tiny frame and wide blue eyes as she trembled without modesty. "Deal's a deal, I'm guessin'. We ain't the type for arguin'" Grabbing Eleni by her perfectly coiffed hair, he pulls so hard she thinks her neck might snap, and she does not know if she is still living as hands push her to her knees. "Decide you'd rather have a death ta please what's left a Âyer family, remember I got this." The cold sharpness of the blade sinks into pure white flesh in an almost mournful way.
Eleni's world is cold and dark and there is not much to remember, not even in her nightmare. Someone did Eleni a kindness, erasing so much of her nightmare so she could never go back to that dark place. It was not enough to keep the raven-haired girl from whimpering and trembling like Madame du Barry being forced to the scaffold. None of this would help her. It did not help the most notorious courtesan of their time, so why would it help Eleni?
Of course I am going to die today, Eleni's mind races. Yet, every moment of pain was one of life and Eleni had to cling to life. She sees faces and hands. Eleni glimpses the world outside herself. She watches her body contorted and hands around her neck. There are many things, even a baton. Eleni did not beg, she did not cry, she did not ask for death--noble or otherwise. She thinks of the family she is saving and how fast she can run before collapsing so she isn't picked up by a wagon or beaten down by the mob.
A few times, she cries out in pain, not only because her mind is stronger than her body, but because it seems to cause them pleasure. Moans and coarse words fill the room, reassuring Eleni that she did not lie. People found her pleasing. A few times, the brutality overwhelms her in ways that cause her to shake with unwilling pleasure she can't seem to stop. She does not understand, and they laugh at her predicament. Her humiliation is a precious jewel.
The blade of the knife touches her face, her breasts, and she hears a voice saying, "Nah, shame to do that. She's a beauty, ain't ever gonna get much more'n this life if she makes it. Let 'er make honest livin' bein' a whore." Everything is dark and dizzy, and her hands are tied with strips of the torn gowns so long her hands go numb, but not a single tear escapes her. Nothing is worth more than family, nothing is worth more than pride.
One of the men rises, leaving Eleni on the bed, barely conscious. "Tiny little bitch were right. She ain't gonna live ta tell a soul. An' this way was more fun than a scaffold. E'reone chooses their own way I guess". He leaves, and the other stops to cover Eleni with the pile of fabric, reeking of alcohol. "God show you mercy, mademoiselle. God show us all."
He places a large hand around her throat, wanting to end her torment, but the still pale flesh under his hand stops him. He just can't, he's got his own girl, not much younger than Eleni. Her voice and her beseeching blue eyes are in his head, they will never let him go for the rest of his days. "People call me Eleni if they like me." Such an innocent statement and still so provocative. They were not words that should have belonged to one so young.
Hours pass, or what seems that way, and Eleni is finally alone, and bleeding and bruised and barely able to stand, she puts on the silver and white damask gown, running for the servants' quarters and the private staircase, the box of jewels tucked safely under her arm. A cloak and gowns thrown over her, drowning in fabric and nearly collapsing, she looks like any other beggar-girl on the street. No one cares if she lives or dies or who she's stolen from. Like this, Eleni is one of them now. She understands the world she lives in, trampled like her beautiful roses.
Eleni runs and runs and runs until she reaches the door of Madame la Comtesse de Chevalier, her Maman's dear friend, where she collapses and begs for help at the shocked woman's feet. Eleni's heart, body, and soul are weeping, but not a single tear shows on her face. She knows she has bought herself more time, maybe weeks, maybe months, maybe years. Time is time, and it will inevitably spare no one.
The Comtesse looks at the collapsed heap that is Eleni, understanding without a word. She makes the sign of the cross over the girl. The older woman's voice cracks a bit as she speaks. "I am sorry for your loss, Madame la Duchesse." The change in title, the meaning of the words hit Eleni's ears. Kneeling, the older woman whispers softly, "Eugenie would have been proud, Eleonore. You survived. So many will not live past this night."
Eleni's limp and barely responsive figure says nothing, and the Comtesse carries the girl to the servant's quarters. Her touch is sad and gentle, almost as if she is carrying the body of her own daughter. "You are strong, Eleonore. You will survive this. It will not be easy. It never is." Dark blue eyes lift feebly, looking at the aristocratic woman with whatever strands of spirit are left inside Eleni's body.
"Je ne regrette rien. Je fais ce que je dois". ((I regret nothing. I do what I must. ))