"Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers."
Robespierre closed the Bible in his hands quietly. The Psalms were words of power in the hands of a Poet, but they were just as equally words of prayer. His faith in God had wavered with Lia's death and the revelations of his country, but his faith was still his own. He knew the irony in the Psalm he had chosen to read as a prayer, but he was not the one sitting in the Emperor's box. Royalty did delight in murder throughout history, didn't they?
As the man began to speak, Robespierre deposited the Bible in the inner pocket of his jacket, setting a hand instead on the sword at his side. He wished that the opponent he would face would not make him draw his sword. The Psalms themselves were all together more swift and merciful with the death they caused. He stepped into the arena, glancing without a word to the hourglass and the man in the box.
His expression told nothing, passing no judgment. And the silent stare soon fell upon his opponent, instead. Robespierre said nothing, waiting first for his opponent to speak.
no subject
As the man began to speak, Robespierre deposited the Bible in the inner pocket of his jacket, setting a hand instead on the sword at his side. He wished that the opponent he would face would not make him draw his sword. The Psalms themselves were all together more swift and merciful with the death they caused. He stepped into the arena, glancing without a word to the hourglass and the man in the box.
His expression told nothing, passing no judgment. And the silent stare soon fell upon his opponent, instead. Robespierre said nothing, waiting first for his opponent to speak.