The Cradle of Liberty

“Excuse me- excuse me” Remy seemed to say every four seconds. She attempted her best to skirt around the business of Paris, the crowds of people being nothing like back home. She stood out almost like a sore thumb, everything seemed so modern and fine compared to the woodsy harbor of home. But she wasn’t here to admire, the tight grip around a leather letter cover clutched close in her hands reminded of her travel here. 

André paced through the Hotel de Ville, holding documents regarding to finances. He needed to get them signed today, but to his frustration, couldn’t find the person in question. 

Remy turned around to the greeting, a part of relief and anxiety siezing her with the approach. The man dressed well in comparison to Elliot, but that being Elliot never attempted to dress more than a farmer.

It’s a privilege to be loved by you.