2 September 1792, Paris France

The light falls in the daunting, dark, empty room settling upon scattered papers on a desk. The bold writing slants across the page "The homeland in danger: Austrians at the border". Hands draw out of the shadow and clutch the piece, hands shaking. A man clasps the paper in his hand, his eyes darting across each line, each word casting the man deeper and deeper into fear. His face is consumed with erosion as he casts the paper to the floor, panic overcoming him. His long white robe follows as the figure stumbles in a hectic state, his hands clutching and reaching around the room grasping at anything his eyes fall upon.

The room lit by a thin light from the few candles real what is hiding within. The furniture lay overturned, books spread across the floor, glass smashed and the dominant words of 'traitor' are branded on the wall. The sense of violation in terror is infectious as the figure scrambles in the dark depths.

The pounding at the door is enough to unhinge the man and he falls to the floor, his hands reaching up to cover his face in defence. A burst of light invades the room. "Prochtierre, Proctierre they be horrid, these be no sense within them," a woman's voice echoes around the room.

"Marie, I saw the Papers, God has left us, the devil consumes us all'. The figure of Proctierre bellows as he attempts to rise up from the stone floor.

Marie, a woman of twenty, a harsh life etched onto her face; rushes over to Proctierre and helps the old week bones of that is Proctierre, to its feet. "Father, your cross, it is broken. You be a mere skeleton, those times have bid you a touch of death", Marie's concern is evident as she lays Proctierre down into an armchair.

Proctierre looks into Mare's eyes, which bear a dark, hopelessness within them. "Child, be still", Proctierre reaches out to Marie, "they be not here yet, the scoundrels are halted at the border".

"No Proctierre that not be it," Panic once again becoming dominant upon her fair face, "the people, our people, the very people we call brothers. They be rounding up all those they see a threat, or hold even the slightest tilt of opposition to our sacred cause. They fear the enemy within". Marie grasps Proctierre's hand. "They be rounding up priests who refuse to take the oath, the oath of loyalty to the revolution!"

"I be not against the revolution Marie, I have nothing to fear" Proctierre's voice is empty of all meaning and belief. He seeks to reassure himself as he rises above the now weeping Marie. "I be a priest Marie. I believe in our father above. He will do us no harm". Proctierre lifts Marie back up so she is standing, she leans heavily upon him.

"You understand not father", she pushes Proctierre away in desperation, "the people, they are overcome with fear, the unnatural hold a place in their core, I be certain of it. Please Proctierre, take the oath and no harm will fall upon your soul. Swear to the nation you be on our side, cast away all doubt amongst them, no harm will come to you". Marie is on her knees pleading, pulling his hand closer in desperation for him to understand.

Proctierre slowly lifts his hands from hers, "I cannot Marie, to swear this oath to the nation, to a nation who does not recognise the very lord above, that I have given my life to. I be no heathen Marie, I will not let those possessed with evil, condemn me in the eyes of my lord" Proctierre's voice rising. "A man be nothing if he allows those of corruption to influence his faith."

Marie rises, "God above will forgive, I be overcome with fear of what will happen if you deny the state, if you deny these mobs that be roaming the streets".

Proctierre gestures to speak, before the figure of Parrise burst through the door, turning within a moment to force it shut. Parrise, a fellow priest, is a vengeful and corrupt being. His white robes are tight around his enormous stomach, a red sash slung over his broad shoulders and a red bonnet atop his extravagant hair. "Proctierre, they be coming for you, a mob all encrazed, hungering for the blood of the enemy within". Parrise strides forward to Proctierre. "They say you be against the revolution, tales of your corruption wander the street. Aye, you be relinquished of like if you be caught," an almost sly smile escapes Parrise, but the two figures do not see it. "Then who will be given your new position as bishop?" Parrise's attempts to keep the hint of delight within in shadow, the tone of concern he displays is nothing of true substance.

Proctierre surges forward to Parrise halting a mere inch from the sly smile of Parrise, his face contorted in a fit of range. "You be selling yourself to the nation, turning your life from God, but that no be me Parrise! The devil will hold no place in my heart, that oath will not be justified in the eyes of our lord, yet you take it? Why? For greed, you seek justification within the eyes of the lord…from the very being you turned away from."

Proctierre turns away from Parrise, "be gone with you Parrise, I'll no longer have the devils servant within my sight'.

Parrise fist clenched, turns to the door, "Be seeing you Proctierre", the door slams and the house is cloaked in darkness once again.

Marie left forgotten on the floor, stares at Proctierre her face filled with sorrow. Proctierre collapses to the chair, his eyes, close, his body relaxes, releasing all tension, the still scene holds for a moment, a sense of peace overcome.

The raspy voice sounds throughout the room, the door flies open, hands tug at the robesof Proctierre. He is risen above heads and lifted outside. His face collides with the cold stone as he is flung to the ground. His eyes fling open to see a figure looming over, blood smeared across his clothes, his hands wielding a bloodied pike. "You be an enemy of the people, us as the people condemn you to death" the voice is met with a crowd of cheers.

Proctierre's eyes dart around the circle of mob surrounding him. Their eyes falling upon him in a wave of hatred, their bodies tense ready for the brutal deed to follow. "Putname, I be no enemy. I want revolution, I have no love for those opposed, I swear" Proctierre protests to the over looming man. A voice rises above the crowd, "the devil has been seen with the enemy, plotting to restore the old regime and murder those who want revolution, he be seen spitting on our flag, declaring his all mighty God to be no longer with us!" The slender woman is drenched in blood, her face contorted, her hands clutching an axe.

"I be none of that. I cannot sanction those words to be true. I be no enemy of the cause". Proctierres eyes darting from one to the other, a sense of hopelessness within his eyes,. He scrambles from one fact to another as the crowd tightens. "But you deny the oath?" the recognisable voice of Parrise sounds, Pleasure etched into his face. "I deny the oath because…".

Proctierre is immediately converged upon by the crowd. Hands claw at his skin, metal collides with bone, this firm boots crunch into his sides. Voices taunt and words of hatred consume the scene. Rope is attached to his limbs as he is bare skin ripped of its clothing and is dragged down the street, a trail of blood trailing behind. Proctierre lays within an inch of death as his eyes barely lay open. He feels the tough wood under his neck, the cold clasp of metal secure his hands in place. The mob withdraw leaving his bare neck to the cold stinging of the guillotine, they look up to the figure, a combination of blood, torn flesh and black bruises is seen as Proctierre's jaw hangs loosely to his face.

Putname's hands clasp the worn rope that holds the life of Proctierre. His muscles tense, the crowd goes silent, the grey clouds above darken the scene. His fingers hold tight…

"Be still he be no threat. No devil is held within him" Marie shouts as she sifts through the crowd to Putname. "I know him sir, he be not an enemy".

Putname glares at Marie, "Be silent woman, this man be an enemy and you be protecting him?"

The crowd roars at the two figures. "She be helping him! Kill her too".

Marie paralysed with fear "I be no enemy either she shouts as the crowd once again converge, arms clasp within an inch before Marie in desperation turns. "He be no enemy…he be the devil! I saw this man trample upon our flag, He is a traitor." She thrusts her hands in the direction of Proctierre.

Putname releases the rope and the sound of metal upon bon+ silences the crowd, as the blood of Proctierre flows down onto the stone beneath their feet.