• She held her head high, she was still of noble blood, she had honor, pride, she would not stoop to their level no matter what anyone else says. She looked up at the heavens, closing her eyes, her face smoothing itself emotionless. She could feel it all, her hair was gone– chopped roughly as to not impede the blade, the bland white dress they put her in. But most of all she felt every taunt, jeer, insult they threw at her as the cart clattered past the populace. Opening her eyes and blinking the tears away, she is still Queen no matter what they say. Swallowing the lump in her throat, this was not a moment for her to break down. She will stay strong, for her children that she will never see again, for her throne so roughly taken away from her. Even as the cart grew closer and closer to the glorified butcher’s block where “justice” happens, she had not uttered a noise. But she need not say anything, everything from her rigid yet proper posture, hands folded on her lap, her cool gaze showed anything but defeat. She held herself with such grace as the Queen she still believed she is as she ascended to her doom, even apologizing to stepping on the foot of her executioner. Even as the blade loomed above her neck, she held herself in a manner worthy of her former royal title. Hail Marie Antoinette, Queen to the last.