Be a Revolution!
Your Period Drama Life -For Girls (Lovely pictures, very long and detailed)
You were a firey actress during the tumultuous times of the French Revolotion. Scores of men were after your hand, (meaning they wanted to marry-- not dismember you) but time after time you gave all your suitors the slip, for they all shared the same problem; they loved to hear themselves talk. How you longed for someone who would listen to you for a change, and not expect you to be dazzled by their overly enthusuastic compliments. Why, it was obvious that your acting was astounding, your eyes alluring, and your hair the most beautiful in all of France! The mirror could tell you that. All you wanted was a man who talked less and loved more.
Skip to a cheerier scene. You were attending a ball of significant proportion, and as usual, every eye was upon you as you danced all the men to exhaustion. (Pansies.) During a brief pause in the waltzing, you decided to break away from your flock of admirers and get a glass of punch. Near the buffet table stood a young man who looked bored out of his mind. You asked him if he liked to dance. He said yes, but he was tired that night and had no intention of over exerting himself. You wondered why he took the pains to come at all, then. He replied that balls were also places one could gather information from, and requested rather coldly that you leave him be. This, you took as a challenge, and tormented him mercilessly, until he finally agreed to dance with you.
He danced only one waltz. The single comment he made during the course of your dance was that you talked too much. For some reason, you were very encouraged by his remark, and immediately found out his name and residence from a friend of yours.
At the end of the revelry when the throng of people began to don their cloaks and occupy their carriages, you sought out your new acquaintance. Upon finding him, you removed a rose from your hair and repositioned it into his button hole. The man accepted it more graciously than you had first anticiptated, and you left for home with a subtle smile spreading across your face.
It was pitch black and freezing cold when a friend of a friend knocked on your door in the middle of the night, begging for your help. The man you met at the ball had been imprisoned for having not-so-revolutionary-sentiments and was sentenced to be guillotined the next morning. Determinted to save him, you sent for a clever English friend of yours, and together began making plans for his rescue.
At the prison, all was being settled by your Englishman's cohorts, except for one guard who blocked their route to freedom. Using your incredible acting capabilities, you devised an elaborate story, and presented it with such honey coated words that the clever guard was shamefully outwitted, and your friends were able to escape with the prisoner.
Day after day, as the man recovered from his poor treatment recieved by the hands of the revolutionaries, you regularly reminded him of the fact that he owed you his life. It was always pressed upon; you brought it up in every conversation and said that he'd have to be imaginative to come up with the proper payment. All this was said in a half-joking manner, and all the while you faithfully nursed him back to perfect health. Surprisingly, his pride hadn't been wounded by the constant badgering about the great debt he owed you, and not long after his recovery, he came to the conclusion that there was only one way to repay you; he'd just have to marry you. You supposed you had an obligation to accept. Or so you told him, but the rest of us know how it really was.
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