The year of 1775 arrived swiftly, leaving another year of debt and impoverished souls in the dust, but as the year carried on the old problems emerged. The king and his wife turning their backs on their god given duties. France was bleeding because of the mistrust between those of a higher caste and those of the lower. Money was being squeezed out of the poor, while the rich continued to eat their selves deeper into the sin of gluttony. Paris might've been renown for its philosophical minds, but those great minds could not foresee how damned the people of Paris had become. Even the grand cathedrals had shifted into nothing more than a grab for livre (*French Currency*). People lay dying upon the steps of Notre-dame and cathedral de couer just so they could feel a sliver of god's warmth by the doors. Mothers would leave their children by the doorsteps of these churches in the hopes that the priests or nuns would take their precious blessings in. To the credit of the churches, they did follow through with this, of course there were stipulations to this...generous act. Promise your life to god, or you die. It was quite the choice for the young to decide. But many were too young to make the choice, so prayers were made and god would make the final difficult decision (truthfully, the churchmen and women would check the ledgers to see if there was room for more people). So, in this time of need, some children had to remain on the steps, be returned to their parents, or simply... Well, lets not get too dark, after all, we haven't even reached the most important part of this tale.
