"Andre..."

In that moment of recognising that most familiar face, Edith involuntarily took a step back, feeling as though she might faint at any moment. But this time, it wasn't out of fear; it was sorrow that overwhelmed her.

"Good heavens, you still look the same as you did over a decade ago..." her voice quivered. "I witnessed your death with my own eyes. Who are you... really? What are you?"

The person before her slowly raised his arm, reaching out towards her. He seemed to want to draw closer, yet hesitated, unsure of whether to proceed.

Edith suddenly lunged forward, embracing him tightly around the waist, burying her head against his chest. With a mixture of excitement and despair, she cried out, her voice muffled,"Ah, but forgive me! I love you! Even if you are a ghost or a demon, what does it matter? I still love you!"

He also appeared deeply moved by her reaction, hesitatingly lifting his own arms and finally embracing her body in return.

A sudden, intense clap of thunder sounded nearby, and the first raindrops began to fall, drenching their clothes. Their souls permeated each other in their embrace, nearly dissolving within the depths of this profound darkness.

After a while, Andre spoke:

"Do not fear me. I did not die, Edith. I'm still alive."

She looked up at him, puzzled, her eyes searching his.

He let out a sigh and told her,"The person you saw all those years ago... it wasn't me."

-------------------

Edith took a seat across from her former lover, casting upon him a gaze filled with eagerness and sentiment.

Andre gazed at the flickering candle flame on the low table that separated them, slowly beginning his recollection:

It was late at night on the ninth of Thermidor. I sat in the solitary cell of the prison, listening to the relentless tolling of the clock outside, cruelly reminding me of the impending death that awaited me.
　
In the final moments of my life, I struggled to maintain the composure and fortitude displayed by my unfortunate friends. However, my yearning and reluctance for you shattered me. Alas, Edith, I couldn't control the weakness that overcame me!

The torrential rain outside had yet to cease. A dazzling flash of lightning penetrated through the prison cell's air vent, revealing a surreal sight before my eyes: it seemed as though my very soul was drifting towards me from a distance. In that hazy state of half-sleep, I began to doubt whether I had long departed this world, merely forgetting my own circumstances.

But as that figure drew near the iron bars, I recognised him as Raphael Saint-Clemont.

In that first instant, I experienced an illusion akin to gazing into a mirror — he and I bore such a striking resemblance, a fact that had somehow eluded my notice before.

However, to say so would undoubtedly carry a hint of self-praise, for I was well aware of my current wretched state: I had not eaten or watered for over a day and night, without a moment of rest, my hair disheveled, my forehead burning with fever, and my eyes, just shed of tears, must surely be red and swollen, unable to conceal the despondency and sorrow that consumed me.

Yet the man before me was glowing. His blonde hair was neatly tied back with a band, and his blue eyes, gazing down upon me, held a combination of solemnity and serenity. Beyond that, his face displayed an unprecedented confidence and determination, almost divinity, making him appear saint-like in this moment.

My mind was in a state of utter confusion, rendering me incapable of rational thought. Driven purely by instinct, I couldn't help but feel small in the presence of this man.

Therefore, I turned my head away, resting my forehead on my hands propped on the desk, and straining to suppress the lingering sob in my voice, speaking with an as indifferent tone, "Are you here to mock me, Saint-Clemont?"

"I am not as despicable as you imagine," he replied calmly, undoing the latch of the prison cell door.

I lifted my head again and looked at him wonderingly, "How... Could it be that you are also a prisoner?"

This puzzled me, for I had assumed that those Thermidorists would immediately restore the freedom and status of the Dantonists. If Saint-Clemont had truly been arrested at a time like this, he would be incredibly unlucky.

However, the man at the prison gate quickly put an end to my thoughts. "No, I came in on my own."

Now I realised that indeed I had not heard the footsteps of a gaoler just now. Furthermore, the person before me was dressed neatly, showing no signs of being bound. So it was true, he had voluntarily walked in.

Before I could inquire further, Saint-Clemont offered his own explanation. His voice was soft, with a plain tone that revealed no particular emotion:

"I arrived in Paris last night. The moment I was back, I learned of my sister's death. I went to the Percys' house to find her, but it seems I was too late. I saw her pulling you inside and overheard your conversation. I waited outside. You never came out. The rain was heavy. I stood beneath the window all night, Quenet."

With his words, it all at once became clear to me. There was always a self-destructive air about this man, and I had always despised and detested such behaviour.

"You came here to seek death?" I had never held much fondness for Saint-Clemont, but his cowardice enraged me.

It was probably the thought that I would soon have to be eternally separated from you, while this lucky soul, who still held the power of life in his hands, casually discarded the very thing I held so dear, that in an instant, anger flared up within me, and I strode forward.

"This is pointless." I clenched his collar tightly, my voice surely filled with fury, as I struggled to suppress the urge to give him a punch.

He lowered his gaze, seemingly impervious.

I still urgently sought to stop Saint-Clemont, for I had never yearned so deeply for someone to live on, never felt that his death would only amplify my anguish.

I wanted to earnestly soothe him, to plead with him, almost desperate enough to grab hold of his hands, but all that escaped my lips were deliberate provocation: "Coward! You are just so timid, you don't even dare to do it yourself!"

He remained expressionless, silent. So I let out an exasperated sneer. "Fine. Do as you please."

I let go of the hopeless man's collar and returned to my seat, turning my back to him.

I heard the sound of Saint-Clemont's footsteps rustling on the straw, slowly and resolutely approaching from behind me.

"I didn't come for you," he murmured, his voice deep and powerful, "I came for her, and for myself."

"What are you talking about..." Before I could turn my head, I felt a hand pressing a cloth tightly against my nose and mouth, a strange scent invading my nostrils. Immediately, my body grew weak, and I collapsed, limp in the arms of the man who held me from behind.

He laid me down on the ground and began removing my clothes. I heard the sound of a prison guard's boots entering the cell.

Instinctual resistance kept a glimmer of consciousness within me. I heard Raphael calmly and swiftly giving instructions to the man who had entered, and then that man lifted my upper body from under my armpits and hastily dragged me out of the prison cell.

Raphael didn't follow out. I heard the rusty prison door being firmly shut between us. With the last ounce of my stubborn will, I attempted to struggle, but my head felt too heavy, and I had no control over my body.

I felt the fresh, cool air from outside filling my lungs, and then I was tossed onto a carriage. The patter of raindrops echoed against the carriage walls as I swayed along with the speeding voiture, finally succumbing to a complete state of unconsciousness.

----------------------

I had a lengthy dream.

In the dream, we finally built the republic of our ideals. No children begging for food, no women selling their bodies. The poor no longer suffered from hunger, and children were no longer subjected to beatings. The most humble became the greatest, honesty and humility were praised while hypocrisy and arrogance were suppressed.

I resigned from my position in the government, as promised, and moved with you to the countryside. How the beauty of nature highlighted the radiance of my Edith, with flowers adorning your hair as you joyfully ran through the fields lifting your red dress, always laughing with pure delight.

Our respected aunt sat in a lounger in the yard, basking in the sunlight, while Citizeness Margot knitted by her side. Citizeness Saint-Clemont had somehow returned to us, her legs fully healed. The children gathered around her, forming a circle by the hem of her skirt like little doves, eagerly vying for the bread she lovingly fed them.

I stood in the vast expanse of farmland, gazing upon this blissful freedom, my heart brimming with joy.

How beautiful this dream was! I was unwilling to wake up; I longed to stay in this world forever.

Yet I vaguely felt that someone was missing from this dream. Who could it be? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall. It must be someone whom I had long overlooked, someone whom my thoughts had never made room for.

One morning, as I tied my hair up in front of the dressing mirror, I gazed at my reflection and suddenly felt the entire world twist for a moment.

As I kissed you goodbye at the doorstep, about to set foot outside, Charlene Saint-Clemont happened to approach. The moment I saw her face, all the memories flooded back.

And so, this realm of illusion and dream irreversibly collapsed, shattered, dissipating into a veil of mist.

When I awoke, it was already midnight on the twelfth of Thermidor. I struggled to rise, stumbling outside the small cabin, seeking to inquire about the state of the world beyond.

They were gone on the tenth day of the Thermidor, at noon. Raphael, taking my place, ascended the guillotine as Andre Quenet.

I was severely ill, lying on that hard wooden bed for over half a month, barely conscious. The peasant woman who cared for me was reticent, merely gruffly cautioning me against venturing out without purpose, as it would bring trouble upon her.

It wasn't until September that I finally managed to return to Paris under the cover of darkness. My first instinct was to go to the Percys' house to seek you, but I found a seal affixed to the front gate, its edges already worn. I tried to inquire through contacts about which prison you were held in, only to learn that you were no longer there.

My heart grew cold, as I watched the gradual destruction of our beloved motherland at the hands of villains, the liberty we once passionately sang about trampled underfoot.

I witnessed Marat's statue shattered, the revolutionary red cap stomped upon, and the Tree of Liberty chopped down amidst an ugly revelry, the Marseillaise drowned out by vulgar ballads.

And here I stood, a man already dead, a powerless spectre, condemned to be a helpless bystander, tormented and consumed by my own indignation.

One evening, I saw a group of Muscadins assaulting an elderly Jacobin, pinning him down at the side of the street. They laughed in their cruelty, but their blows were so heavy that the old man could have died at any moment.

He seemed to catch a glimpse of my distant figure and, in his woeful plea for help, called out in my direction.

I did not intervene. On one hand, I was most likely to be recognised; but more importantly, I realised that even if I were to save him today, I would never be able to undo everything that lay behind it.

Thus, I, like a cowardly onlooker, faded into the shadows behind the tree trunk.

When I was carried into that cabin, I was wrapped in an unfamiliar coat. Later, in its inner pocket, I found a note. I believe, it's meant for you.

--------------------

Andre reached into his pocket and handed the paper to Edith.

Edith unfolded the note with trembling hands. On it, only a single sentence was written, its script hasty yet resolute.

She read aloud: "Never have I felt as noble as I do today."

"Raphael. Noble soul!" Edith pressed the crumpled note against her heart, her voice laden with sorrow.

Andre lowered his gaze, continuing his tale:

"I wandered for six long years, constantly searching for you. Two months ago, by chance, I encountered François Lebrun, a former member of the Revolutionary Tribunal. He was a pupil of the republican painter David,  an upright patriot. I accepted his invitation, ready to bring an end to that dictator's life.
　　
"We failed. Lebrun was captured and, along with several others, imprisoned. By this moment, they have likely already faced execution. They failed to capture me. I managed to escape to a small inn on the outskirts of Paris, where I unexpectedly encountered an acquaintance.

"The innkeeper, whom I had once aided, informed me that you and Citizeness Percy had passed through her place during your escape in ninety-four, accompanied by a man. From her description of his appearance, I deduced his probable identity.

"Fortunately, I have finally found myself by your side again." Andre raised his eyes, finally revealing a genuine smile to Edith.
　　
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Vote/comment to bring our poor Raphael back to life!