Fantaisie Impromptu - France X Poland

#2

------------------- Lord's Prayer--------------------

Palace of Versailles- 1775

Like pearls scattered across a deep blue velvet of a pricy gown, the stars twinkled curiously, witnessing an untold tale unfold before them. Suspended in the air, looking down, shedding an elegant white light on the great shade the late hour had thrown upon the Versailles, painting over the majestic silhouette of the palace.

Cold was the night of an early spring.

Almost as cold as the man who resided in this glorious monstrosity of a building.

Beyond the rich, gleaming glamour that blinds one's eye to everything poor, creeping in the hollow heart of a king's possession, a dark secret was yet to be unearthed by the light of day. 

Beyond the vast and wide emptiness of the palace, 

Beyond the diamonds and gold,

Beyond the countless goods that held so much value in her father's mind;

The fancy parapets,

The luxurious mahogany,

The antique ivory,

The exquisite architecture of the palace, 

His beloved shrine of greed, 

No.

Much further away,

On the outskirts of Paris,

A young woman solemnly wept bitter tears. 

Curled up on the cool, grey concrete floor of the cell, hugging her knees in a pursue of comfort. 

Starved and thinned by the meagre harvest that birthed even scarcer bread, she was still licking wounds - unpleasant tokens of the post-rioting aftermath.  

Listening to the gentle whispers on the Parisian night, where crickets chirped and the dry, short grass sang its soothing songs through the far and wide, like a lullaby lulling an unresting infant to its slumber. Her mind was drained of energy and drifting in and out of existence. 

She couldn't quite believe it.

Driven by the wildest of desperations, a power that exceeded human reasoning, one of most animalistic urges to survive - hunger, she took a stand.

Not a prideful one; a rash one, the disorganised and hasty type. The type you sorely regret with time... 
 A half-baked idea of unbaked bread. 
A well-done act of reckless violence.

The girl looked around the room, unamused and disheartened.
The small cell seemed to shrink with every glance she took. The old and thin rug of a dress did anything but keep her slim body warm, its coarse, cheap fabric failing to do its only bidding. Even if her tolerance to cold would've been greater, this quality alone still would not suffice for a thick woolly blanket that she so gravely craved at that moment. It must've been nice not to have dilemmas like these ones; to live a convenient life in the comforts of satiety, like she did when she was a few years younger, before she was erased from the lineage, disowned and deprived of her future position along with all of the perks of being a royal. 

Now she was just another peasant, thriving on whatever she could muster up, anything that didn't escape her grasp, gripping onto the numerous means to survive, alas not everything fell into her control... 
In fact, not many things did, even more so after being disinherited.
So, when the cool winter came, took and plundered through the wheatfields and crops what could a simple folk like her do? 

The elements are unruly.

They obey nothing and no one.

 Only the higher powers could change their destructive course.