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Post by Les Jondrette Femmes on Aug 4, 2009 18:28:09 GMT -5
Marie clicked her little heels together, the black polish of her shoes impeccable. She was, as always, well dressed, with not a stain or wrinkle upon her laced, fashionable dress. Her surroundings were also as such, perfectly arranged and pleasant. It was all such a stark contrast to the bed on which Marie sat, and the woman that lounged within it. Marie was sketching--meaning scribbling, at her age--and humming to herself. She was the last fragment of the carefully pruned and perfected world of Nicolette Marcellinus, the young girl who had become a woman, a wife, a mother, a murderess, and an invalid at all too tender an age. Nicolette lay beneath the sheet, trying to remember the last time that she had still remained in her night shift at such a late hour of the morning and failing to recall. Her hair was undone and spread around her head on the pillow like a splash of blood. The little curls around her forehead were slick with sweat, and her skin was extremely pale. Her lips were as white as her cheeks, pressed tight against a bloody cough.
Marie was so blissfully unaware. The comforts of Liana had saved her from hysterics, and with the usual childlike elasticity of mood, she had recovered entirely to calm innocence. That composure was a comfort to her mother, who stared long at her daughter's face, so perfect in her eyes. She had had a great deal of time to think about things and come to conclusions less than desirable, but they were inevitable.
Her husband; she had never possessed him, and never would have. She had lost nothing, really. His great remorse, surfaced by her eminent death, only held her down to foolish hopes, and she resented him for it more than she ever had for his unfaithfulness. Such is things when a person dies--it is all about letting go.
The Lord Maxemillion... Max. She must see him again. He represented to her something unprecedented, a passion and longing that she had never before experienced. She refused to die before she could drink in his powerful presence one last time.
Nicole, Angel, Marie, her precious family--she would need to leave for them as much safety and comfort as she could eek out of her sorry existence. She had sent the assassin in her place to the house of Deloncre, meant to pose as the penitent Nicole returned to her father in exchange for Formorian's freedom. She had gone with the knowledge that a pistol had been hidden beneath her skirts. There was nothing more certain: Gerard Delocnre, for the sake of all that she loved, must die.
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Post by Jean Jondrette on Aug 5, 2009 19:32:14 GMT -5
Well, the day where Nicolette was bedridden had finally come and most likely it was one of her last days. Jean couldn't believe that the woman who was once so full of life, the one who lived her whole life as a display of perfect grace and style was going to be overthrown by the one enemy she could not topple: consumption. It was a state he did not want to see her in, not at all, even though he had been enraged at her, Jean never wanted to wish death upon someone. Besides, he wanted to ask forgiveness one last time. The last time he had asked, neither of them were in the best of moods, what with the arguing. However, with a more calm atmosphere, it was a better time.
Jean had left his and Hana's apartment and went back to the neighborhood he had left months ago. He had been there recently for the affair in his honor as well as the Opera's honor, but it hadn't been long since his ex-wife's little episode which had seemed to end the party as well as the announcement of the Marquis Deloncre's "engagement" to Mademoiselle Carlisle. But he remembered how he acted when she did collapse. There was some friendly concern for her well-being, perhaps it was because he could now tolerate her. If it were that, it certainly came at an inconvenient time.
He knocked on the door, despite it being his own home, but he didn't feel like it was his any longer. A servant answered, smiling at him having missed his presence and let him into the house. She asked if he was here to see his wife and Jean nodded slowly, after which he went upstairs to the bedroom that they had shared those many nights together. The house was dead silent, there was no one to be heard except for a soft mumbling from afar, which he assumed was coming from the bedroom. Jean closed his eyes and thought of his darling little Marie and how he missed her.
Jean walked up to the closed door and after taking a deep breath he walked into the room and saw Nicolette laying in bed, so frail, so lifeless it was almost too much to bare. Then there was darling little Marie sitting by her side, scribbling on paper until he finally spoke up. "Marie...mon princesse. I'm home..."
Home...was it really home...
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Post by Les Jondrette Femmes on Aug 5, 2009 23:30:13 GMT -5
There was no warning to Jean's coming. No one called from the hallway, no servant preceded him, and her own mind was too muddled to have heard his approach. So when his voice burst into the room, a quiet plea to his beloved daughter with no word to his dying wife, it was like Nicolette had imagined it. She believed for several moments that she had, for Marie made no move to greet Jean. The quiet child was in the midst of a childish fit, the type that exists within short term memory and goes away quickly but can cause long-term damage to the hearts of those who love them. Her eyes had lifted and alighted upon her father, then her lip stiffened, and she went back to her sketching, her shoulders a bit more hunched over and her humming ceased. She was upset with Jean for not being there during the difficult night and the morning that had followed, for not fawning over her mother, and now for still not doing so when he had arrived. So she shunned him, her lips set into a firm pout.
Colette turned her head and her cloudy blue eyes fell upon her husband. She sighed, a long, shaky outburst of breath, and on that breath uttered "Marie..." The little girl looked up and pouted at her mother, expecting retribution. Colette had no energy to give it. "Go to your father. He is troubled." Marie squared her shoulders stubbornly and stood slowly as if to emphasize her reluctance, but when she went to her father it was with obvious relief. She held her little arms out for him to pick her up, forgetting momentarily that she had ever been upset with him.
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on Aug 6, 2009 0:34:38 GMT -5
Angel had paced the house nearly a thousand times, there wasn’t a hallway that hadn’t had the disheveled man stalk through. He had arrived late the other night only minutes after he had heard of Colette’s failing health. He was in utter distraught when arriving and couldn’t be consoled. He fretted over her until he was banished to the chair on the opposite side of her room because “His constant hovering was not helping in the least” a miffed servant said annoyed at him. What else was he supposed to do? Sit calmly as his sister lay there dying? The only thing that had kept him from going insane with the fact that he couldn’t do anything at all was little Marie. He tried to be keep composed around her but all he could say was “It’s going to be ok. Don’t worry.” and give her a weary smile.
He knew that wasn’t true though. Since was all to familiar to him. Colette looked exactly how their mother looked before she died of consumption. Why hadn’t he noticed before? She was so frail the last time he saw her, but he had chalked it up to being heart broken. He had damned himself many time for being so stupid and not noticing. But really what could he have done?
Angel had stayed up all night watching Colette as she suffered. What would he do without her? She was the only one that truly understood him and accepted him for who he was. Even when he did get married he doubted it would be with someone that he could confide in, it would be some poor witless noblewoman that would be terrified if she knew the true him. Colette was his pillar in his unstable world. Would he be able to survive without her? Yes, but already he could feel the loneliness surround him like when he was a little child. Sure he had plenty of people around him, but none of them were as important as Colette. Even Marie, the second most important person to him would be gone, living with her father.
Putting his hands in his head Angel slumped against the wall outside her room and slide down to the floor. He was exhausted and a wreck. “She has to live.” he mumbled, people have lived through consumption before hadn’t they? Yet there was hardly any conviction in his own thought.
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Post by Jean Jondrette on Aug 6, 2009 12:15:45 GMT -5
Jean waited for Marie to rush over to him and embrace him as she once had, but now...now she didn't even give him a second look. Had he become nothing in her eyes, except for a man who came and went as he pleased? It was a fate worse than death for a father, his only child not bringing themselves to look upon them. But he looked into the past, his and Marie's relationship had not been solid, friendly and loving, but definitely not solid. Jean now knew he couldn't rely on her just immediately accepting him when he came around.
Then Colette, the woman who he had not greeted, beckoned Marie to go see him for he was troubled. Indeed he was a troubled man, a man who simply wanted to start things all over again and avoid this entire mess. He would have traded anything for a new life, a new name, a new story to tell...but he always denied it. Perhaps...perhaps once Nicolette died it would all...
Damn it to hell! He couldn't allow himself to think such thoughts. It always seemed to make Nicolette the villain when she was not anything of the sort. No, life would still be heard after Colette died, there was no doubt about it, but what would matter was that Jean could have Marie and live with Hana in peace, only occasionally going to the deep part of the city in order to shop or see the Opera. The Opera...when was the last time he had seen it? The inside of it had to be even more beautiful now than it ever was...
Finally Marie got off the bed and walked over to him, reluctantly, Jean's eyes grew soft, tears on the brink of forming at the site of his child. She had once again grown a little more since he last saw her and she was becoming even beautiful and ladylike. She had her father's hair, her mother's eyes but the face, the face was all her own...a beautiful face that would have men flocking to Jean to ask for her hand. That would be excruciating.
Marie's little arms raised for Jean to pick her up, and he did so but in a more somber manner than he usually did. "Marie...I've missed you and I promise you..." he paused to gain composure. "I promise you I will never leave again and if I do...then you have the right to never speak to me again." That he meant, for what good was a father when he wasn't there. He walked with Marie in his strong arms over to Colette. "Colette..." he said, looking upon her pale face and faded eyes. "I....I....You don't deserve this kind of ending. No one does. I didn't want it to be like this..." That's all he could say before finally letting the tears fall. "I'm sorry...I was not the husband you deserved..."
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Post by Les Jondrette Femmes on Aug 7, 2009 3:16:51 GMT -5
Colette watched in mute, dizzy attentiveness as her daughter was lifted into the arms of the father she had only recently met. Although she had spent many hours pondering upon the subject, with the limited number of hours left to her--if she had that plurality at all--it was inadvisable that she continue to wonder at the singular durability of a child's nature. She did not know how much of this Marie would survive; how much of Marie would survive, that is, as she currently was. The vaguest of childhood impressions could still convey to Colette that in the case of herself, her brother, and her dear near-sister Nicole, the loss of friend and mother had been a devastating loss of self. Each of them had lost some part of them that had not yet fully developed, a part that had needed the extended care of a loving parent. She wondered what part of her daughter--perfect being that she was--would follow her to the grave.
The keen, sunken and too-milky eyes watched the pair. At the end of her life, Colette was sinking into stark clarity. While formerly she had seen everything as grey, a spectrum reigned over by thought and human nature, and had denied the existence of good and evil, she now saw purely black and white. Be it that neither perspective was altogether the truth, did not matter in the slightest. Her spectrum disappeared and what remained to her suddenly was on one end those that she loved, and on the other end those that held at risk their welfare. And surely, inevitably, as her deep anger and resentment for Jean Jondrette slipped away into a peaceful calm, it was replaced by a terrible conviction: Jean would not destroy their daughter. He was a fool; he would marry his lover, a foreigner and a common prostitute in the eyes of French society. No amount of money could then purchase the tolerance of a truly respectable family, or their willingness to forbear such a living, openly flaunted challenge to propreity as a relative. In short, the greatest tool of security for a woman, marriage, would be tarnished for Marie. Marie would be shunned, shamed, and rejected, despite beauty, intelligence, and money. Colette knew this. It had happened to her. She had married the son of a business associate, a working man, which although Jean was handsome and quite rich, was less than reputable.
She smiled wanly at her husband and child; Marie's eyes sparkled with tears. She did not fully understand--and what she did understand, she rejected entirely. The only thing that she could muster to say in response to Jean's promise was a stubborn, choked, "I want Mama." Colette's face did not twitch into an expression, but her heart burned. Such grief overwhelmed her, to not be able to see the growth of her daughter, to miss so much in the life of one so precious. Almost as horrifying was the fact that it was very likely that Marie would forget almost all fact and aspect of her mother. A child's memory is so little cemented in an adult; and though she had been quite a bit older, Colette mournfully admitted that she, herself, did not remember much of her mother.
"She will discover it all, Jean," she croaked, her voice brittle and dry. A cough, filled with blood and disease, hovered at the edge of her throat. "The betrayal. The absence, my death, the misery that will follow, all of these things will become ingrained in the heart of our daughter." It was not meant to be a punishment, but she knew that it would be. Perhaps it was very slightly a motive. "We shall not see her grown to full age, a ripe young woman of promise and hope."
Marie sunk back, pretending not to listen, as children do when they know that serious talk is being done, and involving them, but of things that they have no interest in (or do not wish to). Her mother turned and coughed, foregoing the cloth in favour of the pillow. There was obviously no use of discretion now in regards to her ailment. With a gasp, shudders, she managed the names of her brother and best friend. "Angel--? Nicole--? M-M" More coughing.
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on Aug 7, 2009 21:58:39 GMT -5
Having finally stopped moving, against Angel’s will, his body forced itself into unconsciousness. He had been absolutely exhausted from lack of sleep and had only been running on nerves. It had only been for about ten minutes though when he was startled out of his sleep because of a weak cough he heard through the wall. Without thinking he practically sprang to his feet and had a hand on the door knob when he heard the mumbling of Colette speaking to someone. When had someone else gotten here? When he was pacing the other halls, or had someone entered without waking his alert nerves? Whenever it was if Colette had allowed someone in her room at this moment to talk he should probably stay out until they left or he was called in.
Angel stood in front of the doorway and ran both hands through and let out a huge sigh. Right now he just wanted to be by his sister side and comfort her, but he didn’t want his upset state to make things worse for Colette and Marie. Still. Another cough. Why was this happening to her? She had done nothing to deserve such a fate! Yet there she lay in her bed, the strongest women he knew, dying.
"Angel--? Nicole--? M-M" Again Angel’s body reacted without being prompted by thought and he was looking at the frail figure of Colette with depressed eyes. He stepped in and closed the catching a glance at the other man in the room. Man? Angel took another look at the man and his gaze grew cold and full of hatred. What was Jean doing here? Despite the fact that he was still married to Colette and was Marie’s father he had no right to be here. Oh the things he wished he could do to that man to avenge Colette.
The coughing brought Angel back to what really mattered at the moment. In three quick strides he was kneeling by her bed. “What is it dear sister?” He saw the blood on the pillow and his brow furrowed. It really was consumption that was taking her life away. Forcing a smile he placed his hand gently on top hers trying to be comforting.
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Post by Jean Jondrette on Aug 8, 2009 11:53:48 GMT -5
It had been one of those short crying spells, ones that last only a few tear drops. Mainly he wanted to cut it short in order to look strong in front of Marie, who was still in his arms, almost trying to avoid gaze with her dying mother. Jean didn't blame her, she had seen Colette in her prime, but now she was just a mere shadow of the person she once was. He held onto Marie tightly, just for comfort in knowing that she was still alive, that she was still his daughter.
Then Colette went on to say that their daughter would discover everything about what he had done, his sin, and that she would scarred with it forever. Jean wondered if that was true, if Marie would ever find out about his love affair, but he certainly hoped she wouldn't, a father was an important figure in a girl's life and when he was someone she couldn't look to...well, it wasn't very good. Jean wouldn't care if he lost everything, but he did care if Marie's chance for a well provided future was compromised. But what that necessarily mean that she would be unhappy?
"Nicolette...Colette," he corrected himself. "She can't forget you, she may forget your appearance but she cannot forget that you were her m--" That's when the coughing started, when blood had fallen upon the pillow and sheets. "Colette, you must rest now..." Jean had never seen such a thing, much less Colette being the one to cause it. It was a mess, and his hand went to the back of Marie's head so she wouldn't be able to see her mother like this...if he let her Colette would hate him even more. That was the last thing he needed right now.
They were joined by another person, Angel, Colette's brother who was never really too keen with Jean, after having left his sister for such a long time. He could tell from the way Angel completely ignored his presence that the feelings remained the same. Obviously not a situation to make small talk, the awkwardness was quite enough. He was asking Colette what was wrong as if she would be able to tell him. She was dying, that was what was wrong in her mind. Jean decided to allow Marie to see her mother, who was more calm right now, by letting her turn in his arms.
From the looks of it, Colette's time was indeed near.
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Post by Byron Maxemillion on Sept 2, 2009 12:20:18 GMT -5
The events of the Ball in the Jondrette home had plagued the Duke, long after they had occurred. He'd sat in his villa like a brooding animal, caged in his own home to stare at the finery without really seeing them. Nicolette had fallen like an angel from the heavens; her red hair spilling out around her like a deaths halo. Leaving him utterly powerless, unable to rush to her side and draw her frail body into the crimson velvet of his attire. Where he could shield her from the eyes of the French society, even in the aftermath of what had transpired between Miss Carlisle and Monsieur Deloncre.
Emerald eyes smoldered like the gems of the good earth, staring pointedly forward where he sat. Fixated upon a painting at the far wall of the room, his long legs splayed out before him, stretched with the glass of scotch in hand. Nowhere near intoxication did the Duke raise his glass, to his thoughts, toasting how much France was not best for him did he sip. Remembering how broken his Madame Murderess had looked, only certain things replayed in his mind aside from her. Well...Most of it...all of it was her.
How her cheeks had flushed when he'd touched her, kissed her, lain her before him like a missing portion of himself there in the brothel. Her words that she uttered; the strength of which she held herself, poised like a piece of artwork. But the words he could not forget...words uttered upon Monsieur Deloncre who now made himself prominently known, worth a death if Byron could arrange for it, which he could. As well as the most disturbing of her requests, a plead, a final reach so she could be at peace.
'Will you consider watching over my daughter?' She had once said to him, then perhaps yes they had been strangers. Taking another sip did he almost growl like a primal animal; much how he'd done in his desires unbridled for her. This woman seeking him in that moment for the most base of the females duties. To watch over her daughter, like some guardian, protector. If? If her health was not in the state she had so told him, only worse.
"Monsieur?" Byron was drawn from his thoughts; rising up as a dainty maid brought forth a message, followed closely by his investigator, hired souly for the information that could be found on Le Jondrette le Femmes. Waving the man over did they speak in hushed tones, a conversation that had the Duke well groomed, and out into the streets of Paris. One destination in mind, for he now had an answer for the woman..Nicolette.
Rapping hard against the door of the Jondrette home did the Duke await with a impatience that was easily read upon the opening of the portal. Stating quite simply his business, the servant tried their greater extent of politeness to deny such a high power, somewhere beneath monarchy, and God...that he had no right, or permission to see Madame Jondrette as she was ill. Yes he knew..ill. An illness that bordered death, a death he'd not let go without seeing her once more to give her his answer and if able, with his mortal body. Demand of God to not take her from him; not like this, nor so soon.
Seeing himself in was just the partial battle as he gave orders, as though he lorded the house. Never had Max acted in this manner; a lie that he had been a mess once upon a time at Adaline's side. Now there was no stopping the end that would so take the woman he'd just discovered through sources lay upon her sickbed. Two-three steps at a time did the Duke ascend the stairs without a chance save for God to stop him. Seeing himself into the rooms before one door opened to spy the fuss.
Dressed in his finery of a gentleman's attire; the cane held securely in hand as he strode with a determination to the room holding the woman who had consumed him throughout the days and nights since their first encounter. Pressing his way in did he see her there; stopping short even as a few servants searched desperately to see him out, the other two men in the room fading except for her, and the lovely child with innocent eyes gazing at his sudden appearance.
Upon the bed was his Madame Murderess swallowed whole, his tall frame, broad as it were filled the door way as he took a tentative step in. Clenching his jaw, willing his composure for himself, for her, for the girl. Larger than life could he be for as he stood without shame and without reason other than to be there aside his Murderess' family..Judgingly he knew enough to know Jean Jondrette, as to the other he was not acquainted. None need tell him of the daughter. Clenched as his jaw was did he swallow, his voice sure and firm as his emerald gaze burned into the filmy distanced look of Nicolette Jondrette. A woman who had been sharp and keen those eyes sparkling. Twas no sickbed he saw only that of impending death.
"Madame Jondrette...my pardons but I was informed you were ill and would not take no as answer to not see you well again. 'Tis I Duke of Northumberland, Byron Maxemillion Madame..I will remain if you would permit me?" He cast a dangerous glance to Jean Jondrette, a silent glare that almost spoke volumes of what he only half knew but in it did the proclamation ring: I know everything and something you don't.
I hope this post was okay, I re-read all the threads with Max and tried to keep his impression of the Duke going!
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Post by Les Jondrette Femmes on Sept 6, 2009 0:04:49 GMT -5
Colette smiled wanly as her dear brother entered the room, taking in the sight of his red, exhausted eyes and the bags under them with acceptance and affection. She was worried about him, but not because of his lack of sleep; that was a temporary problem. He would be overcome with loss, she knew, upon her death. They had lost their mother; their father, making Angel the Comte; and now Angel would lose her. He would have Marie, though -- she had the feeling that the child would be her brother's salvation.
She moved her pale hand to lay limply over his, and her blue-tinged lips held their shaky smile. Her eyes were milky and distant, as if she was already half-way gone. "When I am gone, ask my husband what Hecate has to say of Cerberus," she said calmly, her voice the tiniest whisper, so that only he could hear. The smile never left her face, despite the gravity of what she had just requested. Although it was a cryptic request, Angel's knowledge would doubtless serve as the key to unlocking the riddle where others would fail to do so.
Her eyes lifted up and met her daughters'. She coughed, keeping her mouth closed, and then gasped for breath to recover the precious air that she had lost. The air seared through her lungs, doing hardly anything. The blue in her lips deepened. When she sunk back onto the pillow, exhausted, her mouth remained slightly open, and she still struggled to take in deep gulps of air.
Marie's gaze lingered on her mother in watery, silent calm. Her face was completely blank, making her look like a porcelain doll in every way but for her eyes, which although they did not move, sparkled with awareness. She didn't really understand in the sense that she could not comprehend ever being without her mother, but had sense enough to know either way that her mother would be going away. She knew, but could not, would not comprehend.
Suddenly, a disturbance on the lower level gained the attention of the room. There was murmering and shouting of servants, hurried footsteps, and then the determined steps of the intruder upon the stairway. Silently, Colette listened, her eyes and Marie's turned toward the doorway where they were sure the unexpected person would manifest.
Colette sighed as the imposing figure of her lover filled the doorway. Her eyes fluttered closed and then open again, taking in his entire image. Too like a dream, that night seemed. Far away and surreal. Her blurry eyes sought his emerald gaze, the determined cleft of his strong chin, his straight nose, the slight Spanish curls upon his forehead. The English Duke from a dream of passion, many many nights ago. Her daughter stared, obviously effected by the powerful person suddenly and unexpectedly thrust into her life. She could feel that this person was of some importance. When the man spoke, with an English accent to his otherwise very well-formed French, Marie keenly listened.
"Madame Jondrette... my pardons, but I was informed you were ill and would not take no as answer to see you well again. 'Tis I, Duke of Northumberland, Byron Maxemillion, Madame... I will remain if you would permit me?"
Colette stared into his eyes, trying to focus her own through the cottony lightness that was her conciousness. She watched them flick away, over her brother and then to her husband, burning with an intensity that spoke volumes. The cat was out of the bag.
"Of course," she rasped, and then had to pause to regain some breath. "Remain, Your Grace. You are more than welcome." She squeezed Angel's hand weakly for reassurance and then lifted her thin hand to him as if she were receiving him under normal circumstances in one of her famous salons. Her eyes, however, said something else entirely, and the fact that she welcomed the stranger to what was looking to be her deathbed spoke of a more personal relationship as well.
"You have not met my..." a deep breath, some panting, and she turned her head a bit to the side, swallowing down a cough. "My husband. Jean, Angel, may I present Byron Maxemillion, Duke of Northumberland, staying from England. Your Grace -- my husband, Jean Jondrette, le Marquis de Balleroy. And this charming man by my side is my brother, Angel Marcellinus, Comte de Dreux-Brézé. The man that you passed in the hallway was my physician, Monsieur Bernard."
At this, she turned again to Jean, lifting her weak arms up to him in a clear request for her daughter. Marie wiggled a bit, anticipating being laid beside her mother, and arranged herself in her father's arms to make this transition an easy one.
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Post by Angel Marcellinus on Sept 15, 2009 19:03:24 GMT -5
Angel gently squeezed her hand and with one silent tear rolling down his cheek as he gave a pitifully sad smile. He looked at the sickly form of his sister and knew that it was less then a shell of what she had been. She deserved a much more dignified death then this. She deserved a long life of content happiness and to watch Marie grow into a strong woman like her. Despite the fact that Colette was laying there dying before his eyes, it was hard from him to believe that she was sick. Up until very recently he’d always seen her as perfectly healthy, not showing a hint of weakness. Maybe he couldn’t believe it because with their mother it had been very obvious for while, and with Colette he didn’t know she was actually ill until last night. Could she have been suffering this whole time without him knowing?
The thin smile on her lips nearly made him lose whatever composure he still had. Angel leaned forward when a whisper fell from her blue lips. At first his eyes grew with surprise at what she had just asked of him. Was she really asking him that on her deathbed? Or putting it another way, was she giving him permission to do so? It was an incredibly grave request, even for their family, but it wasn’t more than what they had done and rumored to have done before. In fact ever since he had heard of Jean’s infidelity he’d been waiting for that request of her. Angel’s genuine smirk appeared then, “I promise I will.” he whispered back. He will gladly carry out his dear little sister’s revenge. The smirked disappeared though and he winced when she gasped for air. If only he could do more for her.
The disturbance downstairs made Angel grit his teeth in anger to whoever was causing the commotion. Did they not have respect enough for their mistress to keep things quiet? His head whipped around to look at the man the suddenly burst into the room, obviously the one that had been the cause of the noise. Half confused and anger he glared at the man and was about to shout at him for being so unceremoniously rude. He didn’t care if the man was some Duke, he didn’t know who the man and thus thought of him as an intruder. Before he could excuse The Duke Colette confirmed that he could stay. He looked at Colette who then squeezed his hand in reassurance.
Glancing between his sister and Byron he noticed something more than some type of friendship. It was easy to tell by the way they looked at each other and the sudden change of atmosphere generated by the two. Where they lovers? He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He would have been glad for her if he had known that Colette had moved on to another man, ecstatic actually. But she had kept it a secret from him, which made him a bit unsettled. At the introduction he merely nodded his head in acknowledgement to the man he hardly knew but was apart of his sisters life. First the illness, and now a lover? Angel couldn’t and wouldn’t hold it against her now though. Those secrets weren’t important now.
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Post by Liana Marceau on Sept 15, 2009 19:51:25 GMT -5
This was possibly the most dangerous thing Liana had ever done besides fleeing home. That at least she could live with. There had been nothing but danger and unhappiness for her there. But now it was completely different. For the last few months she had found a place she belonged with friends and started developing a family. She had found her dearest friend again. But little had she know she would lose her so soon. It seemed such a short time since they had met in the cemetery and an even shorter time since they had laughed and sung together in the chapel at the opera company. Still, while seemed such a short span the last few days seemed to stretch on the longest of any time Liana had ever known and the situation had taken quite a toll on her.
Her face had grown paler in the last few days and a little thinner due to her lack of sleep and hunger for all her worry about her safety, and Mori's safety, Marie's future, and of course, Nicolette's health. It seemed such a cruel trick of fate to take away a dearest friend only when they were most needed. It seemed to be a pattern in Liana's life. One which she did not wish to live with any more, but what could she do to stop death. Her own perhaps momentarily by running away once, but everyone knew there was nothing you could do to stop this. Every doctor and medicine in the world could not find a match for Nicolette's disease no matter how they tried and how much money was given, nothing seemed to stop the fever raging or the blood from spilling from her body.
A breath caught in Liana's throat at the memory of her best friend's body lying on the ground, blood spilling in slight drops to the clean floor. Poor Marie. Poor Angel. Angel had seen his mother die like this and now his sister too. It was more than unfair. It was almost a divine decree of hate against the family to have them suffer this much. Of course Liana had little sympathy for the husband who had made Nicolette's life so cruel, but for the rest of them her heart bled. Especially her darling little Marie. Her darling goddaughter Marie. Poor child motherless with a replacement in what could only be assumed days after the funeral. She doubted Angel could obtain the child while the husband was still alive. Even if he was gone what kind of father would Angel make. Liana did not know enough about him and how he had changed these past years to get any ideas.
The large stately house loomed in front of her as Liana opened the door without the slightest courtesy of a knock or anything to announce her presence at all. Had it been any other day or any other situation she might have done such a thing but with the situation as it was there was no time. She had to see Nicolette. She had to be there for Marie no matter what the danger. It was her friend's request that she be there. It was her dying best friend's wish that she take the child and help raise her. Liana would do it even if it meant her life. Even if it meant her freedom. But first she had to get up to the room. First she had to get inside dressed as she was- an opera rat; a plain, poor girl wearing the best clothes she could find in the opera house that would suit the situation.
As the door creaked open Liana could see the flustered, worried faces of many servants in the Jonderette house. She could tell it had been many sleepless nights for more than herself because of the situation. It seemed that no one had slept here for a good few days. Their faces matched hers- drawn, pale, almost lifeless with aggravation and concern. But they were not to tired to do their jobs; they were not too tired to try to keep her out for the sake of the family's honor and privacy. A few servants tried to steer her back to the door. One even demanded she leave and started pushing her lightly out the door. Frantically Liana's hands rushed to her pockets. She pulled out the crumpled letter of request and turned waving it in front of them. For a moment, it seemed all the world stopped. Calmly, the man pushing her out the door took the letter and nodded quietly. He seemed to doubt the validity of the note, but noting the seal and the writing he warily led her upstairs.
Every step made Liana's heart beat faster, and her face grow warmer. Already she tried to harden her eyes against tears and grit her teeth into a determined line to keep her from whimpering with quiet sobs. She had to be strong for Marie. Nicolette would want her to be strong for her daughter, her future ward. A swallow got caught in her throat as she was left at the door- which was only slightly ajar. Apparently she had not been the only one summoned, nor had she been the only one to burst in. Angel looked slightly upset at the man leaning at Nicolette's bedside. A man who Liana did not know by anything but the loving looks he was giving the woman on the bed. He must be her lover. How funny it seemed that she knew so little about her dearest companion. And yet, had she the chance to really get to know her again once they had met?
Quietly Liana stood in the back of the room. Waiting for her moment and hoping no one would notice her until her time to speak had come. Even they she knew not what she was to say. After all. The men in the room would recognize her. And Nicolette.....Well, she was sure her friend had thought about this, and even if she had not it would be a comfort to speak to her one last time.
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