Maximilien Robespierre
Book 1: Darkness Rising - Chapter 1: Rarely, They Meet
Despite the revolting presence of drab, white-washed, not that he had much of a distaste for the lack of color as he did for its blatant, uninspired overuse, and the horrifically disorganized furniture, papers, and garbage littering the room a young boy was pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere of the room, and on that note the entirety of this wing of the asylum to be honest. It was hard to discern whether it was the soft moonlight drifting through opaque, dirtied glass, the chaotic state of everything located inside, most of it strewn about as if an earthquake had hit just prior to their entrance, the seemingly empty abandonment the cluttered, but empty space screamed of, or the dead guards which were littering the hallways and various rooms. Probably some combination of all of these elements were what sparked that inferno burning within his chest, and deepened Melpomene’s insatiable hunger, he had to take in every ounce of what the various rooms had to offer him, so that later he would be able to harness its raw essence into something of beauty, taking the raw materials provided and transforming the sum of the parts into something transcendent.
Maybe that was the reason Maximilien had crouched over the body of a slain guard, some fool who had been paying more attention to some filthy magazine and coffee than his job, a very dangerous decision given his employ within an insane asylum with characters such as Cheshire stalking about. That didn’t matter though, the guard was merely a supply of fresh sketching materials, the sticky substance being replenished at a much quicker pace than it was being utilized, which was quite a feat given the ferocity with which the artist stroked and brushed his fingers against the hard-wood of a desk, giving off the same appearance as a finger-painting child, maybe somewhat malicious, but still child-like none-the-less. Anything involving painting, sketching, drawing, or what-have-you were always his least favorite activities, they seemed so infantile and easily destructible that they weren’t worth the time or effort they took, but at times they served to put his thoughts to paper, materializing the mental images in such a way he could only manage.
Voices sounded off in the background, but they were of little consequence now, Maximilien had to finish this image, someone needed to bring it to life so that others could experience the grim beauty of this moment, and only he could perform such a task. Unfortunately for the artist though, his supply of finger-paints had run out, and a defeated sigh breathed out of his full-lips slowly, knowing full-well that the moment was lost and his current masterpiece would go unfinished. His mind changed its trajectory, turning to the conversation being had by his compatriots, motley to say the least, and for the most part incapable of producing any works of art such as he, except the one who was smiling, their “leader” at this point in time, seemed slightly different. His art may not have been as quintessentially pure and everlasting as his own, but the scenes he had seen him craft with the murders he committed were something beautiful in their own right, and the way he described gore was remarkable. Maximilien had spent many an hour trying to recreate the images painted by this smiling savant of murder.
A haughty scoff echoed through the quiet room after the artist registered their comments about a map, what amateurs could not merely feel the layout of a building from its design? This building was made for utilitarian purposes and to keep others in, it wasn’t very hard to figure out where they needed to go if they deciphered the designer’s creative process via the layout of the building, something that was rather simplistic given the complete lack of creativity in any part of this building. “Open your mind. Maps are only useful when you cannot see what is right in front of you. There is nothing special about this building; the designer lacked any artistic talent whatsoever. Figuring out the right path is but a trifle.”