In the Shadow of Revolution

My dearest Julien,

The city burns with a fever I cannot describe. The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and the cries of the desperate.

The Revolution, which once filled our hearts with hope, now feels like a tempest tearing apart everything we hold dear.

And yet, amidst this chaos, my thoughts are consumed by you.

Do you remember the day we met? It was at the Café Procope, where you sat with your friends, debating the rights of man and the future of France.

I was there with my father, who scoffed at your idealism. But I—I was captivated.

Your passion, your conviction, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of liberty… I knew then that you were unlike any man I had ever known.

Now, as the streets run red with blood and the guillotine claims its victims daily, I fear for you.

Your letters grow fewer, and each day without word from you feels like an eternity. Are you safe? Are you still fighting for the cause you believe in, even as it devours its own?

I write to you not only out of love but out of desperation. My father has arranged for us to leave Paris.

He says it is no longer safe for us here, that the Revolution will spare no one, not even those who once supported it.

But how can I leave when you are still here? How can I abandon the city that brought us together, even as it falls apart?

Julien, my love, I beg of you—send me word. Tell me where you are, what you are doing. Tell me that you are alive.

If you ask it of me, I will stay. I will defy my father, I will brave the dangers of this city, I will do anything to be by your side.

But if you tell me to go, I will go, though it will break my heart.

The days grow shorter, and the nights are filled with the sound of distant cannon fire.

I sit by the window, staring out at the city I once loved, now a shadow of its former self.

The streets are empty, save for the occasional patrol of soldiers, their faces grim and their eyes hollow. The Revolution has turned on itself, and no one is safe.

I think of you often, Julien. I think of the way your hand felt in mine, the way your voice softened when you spoke to me, the way you looked at me as if I were the only person in the world.

I think of the promises we made to each other, promises that now seem so fragile in the face of this madness.

My father grows more insistent with each passing day. He speaks of the countryside, of safety, of a life far removed from the chaos of Paris.

But how can I think of safety when you are still here, fighting for a cause that has become so twisted?

How can I think of leaving when every fiber of my being longs to stay by your side?

I know you would tell me to go. I know you would say that my safety is more important than anything else.

But Julien, my love, how can I leave you? How can I abandon you to this madness, knowing that I may never see you again?

The rumors grow darker with each passing day. They speak of betrayal, of friends turning on friends, of the guillotine claiming lives without mercy.

I hear whispers of your name, Julien, and my heart grows cold with fear. Are you safe?

Are you still fighting, or have you too fallen victim to the Revolution’s wrath?

I write to you not knowing if this letter will reach you, not knowing if you are even alive to read it.

But I must write, for it is the only way I can feel close to you. I imagine you reading these words, your eyes scanning the page, your lips forming a smile as you think of me.

I imagine you sitting by a flickering candle, your face illuminated by its soft glow, your thoughts filled with memories of us.

Do you remember the night we danced in the garden, under the light of the moon?

The air was filled with the scent of roses, and the world seemed so still, so peaceful.

You held me in your arms, and for a moment, it felt as though nothing could ever come between us.

I cling to that memory now, Julien, as the world around us falls apart.

My father has given me until the end of the week to make my decision. He says we cannot wait any longer, and that the danger grows with each passing day.

I do not know what to do, Julien.

My heart tells me to stay, to fight for us, to wait for you.

But my mind tells me to go, to save myself, to live another day in the hope that we will be reunited.

I beg of you, Julien, send me word. Tell me what to do. Tell me that you are alive, that you are safe, that you still love me as I love you.

Tell me that there is still hope for us, even in the midst of this madness.

I will wait for your letter, though every moment feels like an eternity. I will wait, and I will pray that you are safe, that you are well, that you are still the man I fell in love with.

Yours, always and forever,

Élise