[These fliers are in the same blocky, uniform text as the others.]
Predictable Cruelty
The Coats' cruelty is as predictable and inevitable as clockwork. Juliette de Bellavance, for daring to suggest that YOU should have FAIR PAY, she has been cast away into the ASYLUM on FALSE CHARGES.
They kept the trial quiet, didn't give time for a crowd to gather, to call them out on their actions. But we know where the Coats are, don't we?
Hiding behind their walls, in that OTHER CITY with its palaces and lavish balls.
Even now, they prance about with their glitz and glamor and FASHION SHOWS while one of ours rots in a cell for daring to have a voice.
They claim possession of contraband is what condemns her. What liars, what hypocrites. If contraband existed, it was PLANTED BY THE COATS THEMSELVES, as an EXCUSE. A trumped up charge, that they've given a thousand Outlanders a slap on the wrist for, year after year.
No. NO.
We all know the reason, we all know why they'll treat foreigners better than our own flesh and blood. Those foreigners, like sycophants, beg for treats and perform tricks for the nobility, while we, the real citizens, the ones who have our pride, our dignity, must suffer for the crime of struggling to rise up from the boot on our backs.
And of course, the soft dagger slipped into a heart so gently, an afterthought, Juliette has not been sentenced to die. Oh no. Not that. Instead she's to be given over to the Aslyum, that same wretched place her sister wrote a scathing article about mere weeks ago. A wretched enough place of torture and horror already, they'll make one sister WISH she was dead for the other DARING to TELL THE PEOPLE THE TRUTH.
We know that the scant mercy of avoiding the chopping block is only another fig leaf to hide an even greater cruelty. They're LOCKING HER AWAY to TORTURE AND DESTROY HER, to SILENCE one of our VOICES. One of the few PEOPLE WITH THE BRAVERY to SPEAK UP.
They are HOPING WE FORGET ABOUT HER. They are betting that our everyday litany of suffering is too much, that we cannot spare more than a passing prayer for another of our brightest, that she will become another lost hero, slipping quietly into memory.
That's the horrid truth of it. Another. Another. Another.
Who will it be next? Your husband? Your CHILDREN?
What will you do when YOU have had ENOUGH? When you cannot suffer it ANOTHER MOMENT LONGER, and no one raises their voice with yours? If WE DON'T STAND UP AND STOP THIS NOW, IT WILL NEVER END.
But I tell you again.
WE KNOW WHERE THE COATS ARE.
WE KNOW THE PALACE THEY HIDE IN.
We know where one of our sisters, our daughters is, locked away only a few scant meters from the Ouvrier itself. Past that wretched gate they installed so the nobility doesn't have to breathe the same air as us.
If they seek to do this to one of ours who has done nothing wrong save DARE HAVE A VOICE, then we must go KNOCK ON THEIR DOOR.
We must REMIND THEM THAT IF YOU KICK A DOG ENOUGH TIMES IT WILL BITE.
