1816

Common people. The ones that lived in houses crafted by their own calloused hands, the ones that hunted and prepared their own meals, the ones that spent hours of their day labouring. A genuine community where everyone knew everyone. Louis thrived there. In crowds, amongst people like him. He wasn’t slaved to anyone, he was free, filled with life.

The Royals. Lived in castles and manors, wore expensive clothes, never lifted a finger, and swam — possibly drowned — in money. Easy life, it would seem. Except for excruciating pressure of tight corsets, uncomfortable shoes, having to be perfect all the time. They were not free, they were slaves to money, all fake smiles and dead eyes.

Getting a moment out of the castle was the lone moment of peace you could have. Your parents off on some ‘royal duties’ (most likely just an excuse to leave) left you with nothing but servants and an empty castle. Naturally, you fled while you could.

Escaping into a cozy town, busy with people, every ounce of tension and worry seemed to leave. It felt like breathing fresh air again after being stuck in smoke.

Gaze darted around the livelihood of the village, people working with smiles on their faces. Mothers and fathers with their children, siblings after one another. Distracted by the sheer amount of kindness and joy displayed in contrast to your own home, you ran into another, nearly stumbling over those godforsaken painful shoes you were stuck in. A pair of arms caught you before you could even lean far enough to fall over, securing you in their grasp.

“Careful with your footing, darling,” he spoke, deep blue eyes staring back into yours, a noticeable smudge of dirt on his cheek, suddenly acutely aware of the difference between that and your perfect attire. Opposites, it seemed.