Carmes Prison, Paris France
July 28 1794
A lone woman stood in a prison cell awaiting the fickle hearts of the mob. The revolution which had devoured France was not done. The terror as some called it was alive and well, and its reach was long and resolute. For this woman, it had found her not long before. She had been at home, awaiting her husband's return from Paris. When they had come for her, she was dressed to visit a friend. She was still in that same dress now three months later. She stood at average height and was disheveled from the many days that had passed. To look at her now her friends would be aghast, but she was not broken. The eyes betrayed what she really was. To most those eyes showed her strength of character and unwillingness to be bowed by the mob. But to a very select few, those eyes would reveal more. Yet still she remained and still she waited, but for what exactly? Certainly, she no longer waited for her husband.
Like most things in life, the end, when it came, was anticlimactic. Her husband, Viscount Beauharnais was noble yes, but ahead of his peers in many things. He had embraced revolution when it had come. Young and intelligent he had seen firsthand in America how liberty would one day affect his people. He had served with Rochambeau in the American Revolution, seeing there a spark. The colonists had wrenched away from England and formed something new, even if few appreciated it. To the untrained eye it was madness sure to fail. But to Alexandre, he knew better. He saw it as an end to things. To a way of life that was considered eternal, an end to the nobility itself. He wasn't alone, some of his fellows knew it too. Even if the older officers could not, or would not see reality forming in front of them.
When revolution had come to his homeland, Alexandre was ready. He sided with those who wished to depose the nobility. While this prevented his immediate arrest, it did not prevent his eventual fate. Many saw Alexandre as a traitor, either as a self-serving royal or a backstabbing fool. Josèphe knew better, Alexandre was no fool. Charming, warm, educated and a good match, he was many things but not a fool. The end, when it came, wasn't because of his noble birth, or because he had said the wrong words, to the wrong person. No, it was because he failed his masters in the Committee of Public Safety. He had been accused of performing poorly in battle. All the other excuses were given, but it was his failure alone, that doomed him.
Josèphe knew the moment they were arrested what their fate would be. Or so it had seemed anyway. Only five days after his death Josèphe fate began to shift when Robespierre himself followed her husband into death. The terror as it was called would go on, Josèphe was sure of that. It would take other forms, and live on in other ways. But it would live on. Even if these fools said otherwise. But not for Alexandre, or his cousin Augustin. They lay beheaded and forgotten to all of France. Symbols of traitorous action or perhaps just the incompetent past. Either way France and those they left behind would move on. Few would morn him, even Josèphe.
For Josèphe, it was difficult to mourn. She was imprisoned herself, awaiting her fate at the hands of the Committee. Alexandre was now gone. As were many of those who were loyal to him. There would be no rescue, no bribe paid to free her. It was only a matter of time before the blunderbuss estate came for her. She smirked at the jab at the mob's intelligence. Still Josèphe wasn't worried, nor was she frightened. For her there was still one card to play. One avenue of escape that she had been safeguarding until the time was right. Josèphe had been reluctant to play that card less it reveal to everyone her true nature. She hadn't stayed hidden this long just to announce herself to the world over these idiots. Josèphe was no girl, nor was she some worthless fop who did not know herself. None of these fools had any clue who she really was.
Josèphe closed her eyes and pushed away the grime and stink of the jail she was residing in. In her many years she had lived in ways that would make this horrible place seem palatable. In a moment she was transported back to a better place and time. One where life had been far easier. That time, now long lost to the winds of her curse, clung to her skirt like so many of her offspring before. It had been nearly 2200 years since that time, yet for Josèphe it lived still. Her first home and her first identity. Something precious to her, and it lived quietly inside herself. The land of her birth, a special place where so much of life had come into clarity for her. Sparta, its people, its ways all of which were written into her stone heart with a chisel. As a spartan woman she had relished the toughness of her people. Her first name, the one she was born with, was not Josèphe, but Cynisca. Josèphe was yet another name in a long line of them over the centuries. She smiled as she remembered hearing her name, her real one spoken aloud. Archidamus her father was king when she was born. He had favored her among her sisters. Even now she could see the pride of her father in her achievements. She smiled relishing in the honor shown her by her fellow Spartans. She wasn't just some random daughter of a king, she had been an Olympian. She had brought honor and glory to her people through her own merit. There was no limit to what she could achieve. It was her most beloved time of her long life, her youth. She cherished and adored that time like no other. But it was also a time of ignorance for her. Cynisca didn't realize just how wonderful she had it. Or just how difficult life could become. How ill-prepared she would prove to be for what was to come.
That time and place was so close, yet so far. In all these years she had not returned to the place of her birth. Not once gone to see the ruins, or to see the Taygetus mountains in all their glory. She would not go to the real Sparta, that was just a ruin. But this… This was the old Sparta the one of her birth. Fully transported she relished in the sights and smells of her home. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her face and smell the Mediterranean on the wind. It was Josèphe's secret place where she went to in her mind when she was upset. There was much she could endure after spending a moment or two in this place. One day she would return to the real Sparta. Settle in the ruin that had once made the world shake in fear. Perhaps she could build up what the idiots in Thebes had torn down. That would be an accomplishment indeed. But after 2000 years the time of rebuilding the Spartan way of life was slipping further and further from her fingers. It would take centuries, and more than just her to do it. Yet it was a noble goal, one far more so than the nobility these fools had just overthrown. She hated the French, so capable with enormous potential. Yet squandered in such foolishness and ignorance. If only she had more time with Alexandre, she could have shaped this rebellion into something more. But she had run out of time, and the mob had ruined everything.
Her melancholy musings were interrupted when she heard the heavy doors of the jail open. Thankfully it wasn't the return of that pig who maintained this place. A man who's hands sought out her body if she did not watch them closely. The man who entered now she knew very well. It wasn't the jailor, but rather monsieur Tallien. Another butcher of Robespierre, come to taunt her. More than one had wished to bed her in exchange for her life. It wasn't uncommon for the wives of the accused to use their bodies to free their husbands this way. But for Josèphe there would be no such trade. Alexandre was gone, and no man in the Committee could possibly tempt her. Yet her irritation at her situation caused her to lose patience with the process. She had been waiting for someone far more interesting than Tallien to show themselves. Still perhaps the time for waiting was over? She had far more to accomplish in this life than what she had done.
The fop came in pleased with himself and full of pride and arrogance. He spoke of Robespierre's death thinking her ignorant of events. Far from it, Josèphe had her ways, and she knew more than he did, she would wager. She had little stomach to listen to him preen on like the stuffed vegetable he was. So, she let him know she didn't care in the slightest about Robespierre's fate. Clearly from his reaction he assumed she would throw herself at him. He expected her to be terrified of her fate, willing to do anything. Hardly terrified, but terribly bored certainty. She smirked at him showing him that she wasn't a flower that could be trampled. She wasn't conquered, and never would be. Her indifference to her situation infuriated him, but clearly it also didn't dull his lust for her. She could read that plainly enough.
Josèphe was beautiful and desirable but there was more. Among those in the Committee it was rumored she was a witch. That she had an unusual pull on the desires of men. That story amused her, it hardly described what she was. Yet in a way it was true. In so much that she "could" have such a pull if she desired it. But she didn't, especially with the likes of monsieur Tallien. Yet living in this place, and having her head removed like her husband, wasn't what she desired either. When Tallien came in close to speak to her, he made a dreadful mistake. He allowed himself to get close enough for her to touch him. The decision, when she reached it, was simple and easy. Her last thrall had been killed and she needed another. It had been far too long since she last fed. Not from bread or water, but from what her kind needed to survive. She reached out to touch him and he thought she was warming to his charms. He was dreadfully wrong in this. Tallien froze not knowing the kind of creature that now held him in her grasp. Her physical strength was that of 10 such men. Josèphe easily held him against the bars as she began the timeless process that sustained her. She lustily fed from him and took what her body needed to fully rejuvenate her ability.
It felt divine to finally feed, the first in weeks. He was hopefully one who had the power to protect her and serve her. Tallien wasn't her first choice, but he would have to do. Eventually she would discard him and choose another. Preferably one who bathed more than he did. After taking his will, his eyes grew full and his mouth fell open. She smirked looking at the fool wondering just what he thought he was getting when he came in. It didn't matter, she would get what she wanted. It would take time, in that there was no doubt.
Once fed she commanded him to answer her questions. Josèphe spent nearly 20 minutes learning just what this worm was able to do for her. It was disappointing, he didn't have access to the kind of things she really desired. But the answers to her questions were useful. Tallien could indeed secure her freedom and more. He would of course, he had little choice otherwise. As an immortal, Josèphe knew how little Tallien could do to stop her. She had enslaved men to her ambition for centuries. Tallien would not be the last in that respect…. Not if Josèphe had anything to say about it. She explained his new reality to him, something he had difficulty coming to terms with. He was a strong-willed man, and because of this, he would buck against her power. But it was futile as she well knew. Josèphe was the daughter of a founder, and unlike the other countless Spartiate's who called themselves immortal. She was truly eternal, her power far exceeded those of the pitiful ones made by the orb. As Tallien departed to secure her release, she began to plot how she would re-invent herself again. She had done so numerous times over the centuries. But unlike other times where she would take a new name and change her age by killing some vagrant. Josèphe would stay as she was, using her reputation and name to go just a bit further.
If Tallien was right the Committee of Public Safety was in disarray and most of the pillars of the revolution were gone. It was a time for the bold and the strong, to take what they desired. And Josèphe was nothing if not those things. Standing in the squalor and reeking of odor, she still smirked and felt her heart rise. In a few hours she would be free of this cell and be in Tallien's home being properly looked after by servants again. A decent meal, another wonderful feeding from Tallien and then…. well then her work would truly begin. Finding one she could use to make France… and by extension Josèphe, strong again. He would have to be more than this pitiful man she had enslaved. He would have to be a meteor, cunning and ruthless. And he would have to be young and attractive if he was to have her. But above all, he had to be ambitious and capable. Someone she could put all her immense skill and power into. A person worthy of her gifts and her time. He would not be easy to find, but she would do so. And then France would reach its potential, they would embrace their "liberty" but one governed by her. Saddled and bridled like the plow horses they were.
The masses were not fit to be called Spartinate's only the chosen were. In Sparta's day, the mob had been called Helots and they were always a threat but a useful tool nonetheless. France unlike Sparta had not properly spent their soldiers keeping their Helots in line. That was the point of the Agoge, to spit out the sharp spears that would keep the Helots, and their neighbors in line. France had nothing like the Agoge, nor was its warriors of said quality. But the potential was there, there was much in the way of France and Josèphe's aspirations for it. Specifically, the English, their never-ending desire to meddle into French affairs seemed nearly as eternal as her. But for now, the first foe was the mob and their thoughtless and brainless governance of themselves. Their thoughts were only for base desires, to rape, to steal. That was hardly a way for a civilized society to function. Only the chosen could lead and govern with any real skill. A chosen few who had the education, and the knowledge to use the Helots the way they were intended.
Josèphe first had to find her meteor, then she could begin to build something with him. Perhaps in time…. France could be a new Sparta? If not well… it wasn't like she had any love for these people anyway.