Margaux

Margaux had been woken in the middle of the night by the shouts of the French soldiers outside her cabin. When she threw off the bedcovers and set her bare feet on the cabin floor, Margaux was jolted by cold water. The Ville de Paris suddenly groaned around her, and the ship tilted dangerously. Margaux barely managed to cling to her trunk as the ship came apart, throwing her into the dark water.

Time passed with the night as Margaux drifted, both in the sea and consciously. When she finally came to her senses, Margaux was laying on cold sand, the shouts of the soldiers much lessened now.

Margaux suddenly realized that this is her change to escape. She jumped to her feet and ran for a small cave, hiding in there as the beach was combed by survivors. Eventually they left, probably for Yorktown. Margaux spent a cold, wet night in the cave without food or water, only emerging when the sun was out and the beach was quiet.

Now she is sitting next to her trunk, trying to decide what to do. ""N'aie pas peur," Margaux whispers as she wrings out the skirts of her dress, the salt already crusting the fine silk, and her skin. Margaux counts her blessings: The sun was shining brightly and her trunk was still dry.

A shadow falls over her and Margaux leaps to her feet, executing a perfect courtesan curtesy. "Bonjour ! Êtes-vous américain?" Margaux blushes deeply and clears her throat. "Hello! My name is Margaux. I was a passenger…" Margaux trails off, gesturing at the wreckage around her.