Prologue

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France is at war with itself. The people are revolting against the monarchy, and it started at the Bastille a year ago. Yesterday was the one year anniversary of when the Bastille fell. And, it was also the day my parents were taken away. Soldiers believed they were part of a local riot and put them in handcuffs. They probably thought of doing something with me, but I escaped as quickly as I could.

Now I'm wandering the streets, alone and sick. I have nothing but the clothes on my back. There is blood in my cough, but I have no money for a doctor. I'm dying. As I stumble down the streets like a drunk, I bump into random people, sputtering out apologies to everyone I hit. I sit down on a bench, covering my mouth with my hand. "Please, some money! I'm dying!" I call to passerby, but nobody stops. Some muse of distress on my current state, but none do a thing to help me.

Suddenly, a man walks by, his clothing different than any others on the street. "Sir?" I whisper, following the man. He turns, his eyes seeming to stare into my soul. "I'm really sick. Can you help me?" I ask. He eyes me up.

"What help do you need?" He questions.

"A doctor. I need to find one that will accept me, even without money," I explain. He sighs, but beckons for me to follow him.

My attempts to follow him are slowed down because of my coughing. When he sees the blood, he scrambles back to me. "You should've told me it was that bad!" He yells, picking me up. I'm carried bridal style to a local doctor, who examines the situation from behind his thin glasses.

"Put her on the bed, and a nurse will attend to her shortly," the doctor mutters, gesturing to an empty cot.

I am placed on the cot gently. The shift from the man's arms to the surface of the mattress makes me whimper softly. "I'm paying for her bills. Make sure that when she leaves, she's even better than she was before," he says. Before he turns to leave, I grab the fabric of his pants.

"Please, let me know your name, so I may thank you," I mutter.

He hesitates, then finally utters "Arno. Arno Victor Dorian," before leaving.

"Arno, I will find you. And I will repay you," I whisper before the doctor tends to me.

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