[Written in a flowing script in High Mordentish.]
Ah, what it is like to be back in Port-a-Lucine. Jobless. Miserable. The seeds of revolution have been sown from what I hear, and see. It makes me happy. The rich might sometime now know the feeling of the poor. I need to get caught up on the current events, perhaps even try to locate the revolutionaries.
My past is now dead to me. The woman who employed me is dead and her brothel gone. My first employer is dead at my hands, and has been for some time. I am certain my name is long forgotten, however I shant go by Vivienne Dubois anymore. I will pick a suitable name for myself. Find my place here and start fresh.
My hands may be stained with his blood, but that weight is far easier to bear than the abuse I was subject to. The rich think they can get away with anything. It is sickening. They think money grants them the freedom to do as they please, trample those they deem lesser. I've been trampled on, and I don't want to ever experience it again, or anyone else to experience it for that matter. No, the rich must pay, the time for the tables to turn has come.
Let the Revolution come! I will help however I can. From this day forth, I shall call myself Colette LaBrave. For I shall work to protect the common man.
I travelled by the old estate. It lays in ruins. Then again it has been years since Augustine Laroux died. I used a paring knife, I still have it. I keep it as a reminder. No longer will I stand idle while the rich take advantage of the poor.
Mother forgive me, I know you worked hard to get my the position in Laroux's house, I know you just want what's best for me. As does Papa, but for now, you must forget that I exist. I will be working in dangerous places to ensure that the rich pay.
