(In the perspective of Madame Reine Audu)
It is the 6th of November 1789. My march was successful. The king never implemented, or even responded to the suggestions I put in the letter I wrote to him. There are no women allowed in his conventions, so I had to send the message directly. It was just me and a bunch of other women to start. We had demands, and we wanted to see the king. Over the two days it took to march to the palace of Versailles, we were joined by hundreds if not thousands of people, effectively becoming an unruly mob eager for blood if our plights were not heard. We reached the golden gates full of anger and vice. The guards were intent to stop us from reaching the king, so we killed them. That got the kings attention and he ran out in a huff about not killing anyone, and said he would listen and in act all of our demands. Satisfied that the king had finally heard us, and worried about possible reinforcements (I didn’t want that maniac with the grapeshot showing up) we decided to head home, and waited for the changes to happen. Two months later, we were still waiting. The king had played us for fools, and now we were angrier than ever. We were collectively looking for a target for our aggressions, and we all seemed to settle on the prison-fortress of Bastille. Not only was it close and easy to burn, it also had lots of weapons in it. The staffs, even though they were Swiss Guard, were critically short and they would be unable to defend a mass invasion from a mob of our size. We were able to force our way in and smash into the grounds, liberating many weapons and “freeing” some “political” prisoners. It was just moral justification for the crimes we committed. The prison burned, and with it the chances of peace between the Royalty and the Third Estate. Nothing will ever be the same again.