@fernandbaptiste
None of it thrilled her.
The monstrous roar of the crowd was not unlike a thousand lions, and her royal ears grew tired of listening to it. It would not be long before total annoyance managed to weave its way onto the currently blank canvas of her face. Matters such as this weren’t the least bit entertaining and had her attendance not been expected, she would have likely been far away from this monstrosity. Annette firmly believed that all those with a vicious intent to go against their sovereign and the people that were close to them deserved to be punished, though she wished that said punishment would only take place in private. What kind of barbaric environment would Paris become if her citizens constantly thrived off of and looked forward to scheduled public deaths and brutality? She would not look ahead at them if she could help it. They would know of her distaste for it all and perhaps she could lead by example.
With modestly downcast eyes, Annette watched as her manicured fingers traced the meticulously carved patterns of her wooden arm rests. A always, her attention drifted off into the late Summer breeze as it often did during one of these events. So much had already happened in the last month and it seemed as though there was still so much more to come. France was heading full speed into a metamorphosis that hardly no one could predict the outcome of and it of course filled her with intense worry. Many of the courtiers from the palace believed that this execution would eliminate at least one of those worries, but Annette wasn’t convinced.
The shrill voice of an exceptionally loud Parisian women violently snatched Annette’s attention back and placed it on the crowd. Flying from the woman’s stained hand was a rotten tomato which had just barely missed one of the musicians. Finally, Annette had seen enough. Rising from her seat, the queen turned to face the four palace guards that shielded her. “I want you to escort me to where the vendors are stationed. I should like to see and speak with some of my people.” Annette ordered, her Spanish accent bleeding through thanks to her growing frustration. With a nod of their heads, the men led the queen away from her perched area and brought her down to the strip of vendors who are all more than ready to sell their wares to the Queen.
Making her way to stand before a small booth run by an older gentleman that sold Marzipan, Annette stood beside a young Parisian man and allowed a gentle and sincere smile to cross her lips. “This has been quite an intense afternoon, non?” Annette questioned the vendor as he bowed and answered her with a ‘yes, your majesty’ before returning a toothier smile. Turning her head slightly towards the man that stood beside her. “And what say you, Monsieur?”