Revolution (or The Death of Princess Mme de Lamballe)

Pre-Script: This is an uncensored view of the horrors of the French Revolution. Not intended for younger readers.

  While they held her down, I debated what to do with her. We had to show the nobility just what we would do for our own salvation. While a part of me was saying that such methods would damn us much sooner than it would save us, the truth was that these ‘nobles’ were inhuman. The way they see us, the lower class, is as though we were cattle, only in existence to make life easier for them. They were monsters.
  I decided, and retrieved my sword from my side. As I held it up, she stopped moving; her eyes wide and full of fear. In them, I had hoped to see some sort of regret, to see her apologizing in her mind. Even now, she felt as though we were mistreating her. For this reason, I reconsidered her fate.
  I turned my sword around, and slid it under her fancy dress. The other men saw what I was doing, and immediately began to assist me. Within moments, she was stripped bare before us, and I could see the hunger growing in my companions’ eyes. So, not wanting to keep them waiting, I said,
  “Well? Have at her.”
  As they descended on her, she began screaming. For that moment, I almost felt her to be human. Her voice had been so full of feeling, full of terror, that it was as if she could, in fact, feel, but my senses returned quickly enough. Nothing human could allow our torment to continue as it had for so long. Satisfied, I stood back while they used her. Fitting, I felt, that she get used by us, just as we had been used by the nobles.
  After a time, I pushed my way in, and had my way with the ‘Princess’. Her body had been horribly cut up, and both her eyes were swollen shut. She was not screaming anymore, her mouth incapable of forming words. As I finished, she reached out as though to push me away, to be done with me. Apparently, she had not quite learned what we had been trying to teach her.
  In order to drive the point home, I picked up my sword once again. I ran it over her chest, but I could not tell if she even noticed. Thinking of all the times she must have laughed at our predicament, all the times she gloated over us, all the wrongs she and her kind had committed against us, I let the hate rise up inside of me. Taking control of that hate, I grabbed hold of her breast, and used my other hand to cut it off.
  She found it inside of herself to start screaming as the blood ran out of her body. I calmly walked to the other side and finished the job. Never again would she look down upon us. No more gloating, no more cruelty, no more anything, she was dead. I backed away, and another stepped forward. He slammed his hand into the hole I had put into her chest, and, in accompaniment with the worst sound to ever violate my ears, he ripped out her heart.
  Then, to finish it, he proceeded to eat it.
  Another man took my sword from me, and used it to saw off her head. Picking it off by her once-lovely hair, he jammed a spike into the bottom and walked away with a few others. The blood did not flow from the cut, but it drained out of her head and made her pale. The small party yelled something as they walked away, but I could not hear it. I turned back to the body, mutilated beyond recognition, but I never questioned myself.
  This was the way to show them. This was how we would show them.

Post-Script: I am not out to write horrific porn, this was a study to try and get into the minds of those responsible for such heinous crimes.