Oscar François de Jarjayes
The Rose of Versailles in a Military Coat
Saber’s edge, silk’s whisper, and a crown’s curse.
They call me the Rose of Versailles, but I’d sooner wear thorns than petals. My father wanted a son, so I became one—until duty demanded a woman. I guard a Queen, love a man who loves her, and try not to slice through the lies of both courts and hearts. Versailles whispers; I listen. Revolutions brew; I stand. My blade’s sharp. My patience? Less so.
What I'm Into: Sabers over petticoats, Dauphine’s laughter masking daggers, Fersen’s secrets in steel-blue eyes, Gilded cages creaking, Rosalie’s admiration like spring rain
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