ᴡᴍᴍᴀᴘ: ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

Alone.

A crowd gathers under the guillotine, thousands of eyes wide and staring at the empty platform.

Then- a sound.

Heads turn and the commoners and some of the lower nobility that were mixed in with the lot, gaze upon the princess. 

Princess Athanasia, a half-blood, despised by those in power, and- some eyes filled with rage glance up towards the balcony where the useless crown princess Jennette and his majesty sat- beloved by those who knew of her prowess.

The sound of chains clanking against the cobblestones, then the wooden steps as the blonde princess is led up to the platform, and all is still, not a sound to be heard. 

The very few nobles that were of high rank are startled at the lack of jeering and their heads swivel this way and that, trying to make sense of the situation.

Because, why would they have hated her?

They did not.

Her eyes that had been shut blink open, and under the gloomy sky, her gem eyes gleam with something many of them were used to. 

Hopelessness.

Living her life as the forgotten princess, living in the abandoned palace, rejected by those that surrounded her at all sides in high society- the society that her very birth, her rank had placed her in- shoved aside for someone who was lesser.

They too knew what that felt like. 

To be the second, third, fourth, son or daughter that wasn't needed for succession, married off for inter-relations, power, land, without love- what was life if there was no meaning?

What about those who lived without tasting the finest that life had to offer without a title to bear? 

They looked at the blonde princess whose feet were bare, her hair, dirty- her thin figure pushed down and the wood clicking into place around her neck- and they saw themselves being suffocated by those who thought they were better than them because of what their birth gave them.

Jennette sitting above them all squinted down, her ears picking up the sudden sound that made its way to her and father. 

Her hands gripped at her dress, a quivering smile on her face that she hid away. 

For it was too soon to smile, to rejoice in the death of her sister- not until she was gone, for the good of the empire, for Obelia, it was the perfect way for her only rival to the throne to die.

Father sits to her side, emotionless as always, but he shifts in his seat, his black uniform a contrast to her bright blue and red, as if something was making him uncomfortable. 

Perhaps the way the people weren't angry with the execution? 

Claude moves just before the blade falls, and the curtains swish back into place as he goes back into the palace. Jennette shrugged the notion away, that wasn't possible. 

She sat back alone and watched as the blade fell, and with a quick motion, Athanasia de Alger Obelia was dead.

Some with children by their side who looked wide-eyed at the sight of a royal being executed, some with tears in their eyes, but still- no one made a sound. 

Ever so still, except for the rustle of hands moving into pockets, cloth bags, and wicker baskets.

A needle could drop in the square and be heard with how quiet it was, the eerie silence continued as the executioners rushed to get the princess's body away- and all eyes watched as she wasn't even given grace after death.