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Thoms

c. Mid-1793

My Ever Dearest Romain,

Saber will be furious with me if I make but a sound at these ungodly hours. You are in the salon, I know, but God forbid I give you a parting gift! I have the benefit of seeing you on the daily, so I’ve no need to write to you. But allow tonight to be a time my quill scribes words of love rather than words of the Republic.

Romain, I have known you ever since the Storming of the Bastille. You handed me a pike. You fended me from guards. You fought alongside me. And together, we survived, and look at where our glorious Nation is now! It is a paradise of Liberty! Of Egality! Of Fraternity! And my Romain, my dear, I have the ability to share it with you!

O, my Romain! How dear you are to me! You are what stabilizes me! You are my anchor; you are the sole flame in my lantern as I wade through the treachery that is our world. My sweet Roméo, my sweet Roma! My darling! I would have you, and only you, to guide a blinded, pilgrim version of me through the circles of Hell itself. It would only be you whom I would take poison for, whom I would stab myself for, whom I would perish for.

But that is more than enough musings from me. I must bore you, don’t I? For someone so exuberant as you are to allow me in your presence—it truly is surreal. O, I value you so. You are locked in my heart forever more, and I hold you ever dear. My dearest, how could I ever repay you?

With much love, to you, my forever cherished friend,

Isidore de Allemane,

Deputy of the National Convention, in turn, your friend.