She passed the imposing town hall, its grand façade illuminated by torches. A group of well-dressed men emerged, their laughter boisterous and their voices thick with wine. They spoke of lucrative government contracts and "necessary sacrifices" for the good of the nation. Éloise recognized the glint of gold on their fingers, the fine wool of their coats – all paid for, she suspected, by the taxes squeezed from the likes of her.
Reaching her cramped apartment, she found her children huddled together, their eyes wide with hunger. She had nothing to offer them but a thin gruel made from the last of their meager flour. As she stirred the pot, a bitter thought took root in her heart: Monsieur Bastiat was right. The men in the town hall weren't just taking her bread; they were stealing her children's future, cloaking their greed in the language of patriotism and necessity.
Suddenly, a crash from the street shattered the silence. She rushed to the window and peered out. A crowd had gathered, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of a burning carriage. The air crackled with shouts and the clang of metal. A young man, his face streaked with soot, stood atop the overturned carriage, waving a tattered tricolor flag.
"Enough!" he roared, his voice hoarse but filled with a fierce determination. "They feast while we starve! They build their fortunes on our misery! We will not be plundered any longer!"
The crowd surged forward, a wave of desperate humanity crashing against the gilded gates of the town hall. Éloise watched, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but one thing was certain: the old order, the system that justified plunder, was beginning to crumble. And in its place, something new, something raw and untamed, was about to be born.
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