Danton: I had a dream about you.
Saint-Just: Aw, really?
Danton: You died.
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear as I walked down the hall, headed toward the Convention room. I had a portfolio of papers hugged to my chest. I could hear the members from far away, the meeting not in session yet. I felt a bit awkward, as I wasn't with Maximilien; he had gone ahead, at my urging, as I needed to finish a report. I now regretted my insistence.
Once in the room, I tried to find Maximilien, and once I spotted him, I made my way through the crowds and toward his seat.
A hand landed on my shoulder and I tensed, whipping my head around, a slew of comments ready on my tongue.
"Ah, if it isn't Danton," I replied, raising an eyebrow.
His scarred lips twisted into a smile. "Saint-Just." He nodded.
"Did you need something?"
His smile widened. "I just wanted to tell you that last night, I had a dream about you."
"Aw, really?" I asked, keeping my face measured, my tone thankful, and my eyes mocking.
He laughed boomingly and his eyes were full of mischief. "You died."
I let the corner of my mouth curl into a smile. "Yes, well, I'm sure I was still more beautiful than you." Letting the comment hang, I continued on my way.
"Ah, you made it," Maximilien said.
I nodded, taking the seat next to him. "Here." I whipped a paper from my portfolio and handed it to him.
Adjusting his glasses, he looked at it. "Thank you."
I nodded again. "Of course."
YOU ARE READING
The Blood of Paris - Short Stories, Incorrect Quotes, and Characters
Historical FictionShort stories about, funny anecdotes from, and descriptions of some of the major players in my (hopefully) to-be book, "The Blood of Paris".
