Vivienne de La Rouge formerly known as Isabelle or Ella, a 24 year old girl with a honey blond hair and amber hazel eyes.
Henri Cavill Allard/Baron de Toulloise, a 26 year old man with dark hair and azure eyes.
Doctor Stevens Bennet, a 27 year old...
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Steven Bennet hustled through the crowded Parisian streets, his medical satchel bumping against his leg. The pungent smell of sewage wafted through the air, a constant reminder of the city's bustling, chaotic nature. As he rounded a corner, he spotted them—the blue coats of the authorities closing in on a young woman.
The woman, with her back against an alley wall, looked trapped. Steven's pulse quickened as he recognized the fear in her eyes—the same fear he'd seen in many desperate patients during the revolution. Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped between the authorities and their target, using his tall frame to block their approach.
"What seems to be the problem, officers?" he asked, his voice steady despite the danger.
"None of your concern, citizen," one of them snarled. "We're taking her in for questioning."
Steven's eyes darted to the woman, who whispered urgently, "Please help me."
I am a doctor, I believe this young lady is under my care," he said, "She's suffering from trauma—a delicate condition. Taking her in now could be detrimental to her health."
The authorities hesitated, the crest obviously holding some weight. "We'll escort her home, then," the officer relented.
Steven smiled, relief flooding through him.
As the authorities left with a curt nod, the woman, looking relieved and confused, turned to Steven. "Thank you."
"No need for thanks," Steven said, helping her to her feet. "But it would be wise to leave the city. They'll be back."
She nodded, her eyes wide. "I... I don't know where to go."
"Follow me," he said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they weren't being watched. He led her deeper into the narrow alley, the damp cobblestones slick beneath their feet. Shadows danced around them as the fading sun cast long silhouettes across walls covered in peeling paint.
"What's your name?" he asked, "Isabelle," she replied, her voice shaking slightly as she brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"Isabelle," he echoed, glad for the distraction from the lurking danger. "Are you from here?" he pressed, keeping his voice low.
"Originally, yes. But I have been hiding... running," she admitted, biting her lip. "They think I'm someone else. Someone dangerous."
"Dangerous?" His brow furrowed as they turned a corner into a quieter street, the distant murmur of the city fading into an uneasy silence. "What have you done that makes them think that?"
Isabelle hesitated, her gaze darting around as if expecting the authorities to materialize from the shadows. "I... I was involved in something during the revolution. We fought for a cause, and some decisions I made... they haunt me."
Steven looked concerned at her, trying to gauge her sincerity. The pain in her voice hinted at a deeper sorrow.
"Fighting can take many forms. Sometimes the lines between right and wrong blur." He squared his shoulders, his resolve firm. "But revealing your past doesn't have to define who you are now."
