Welcome to Gaia! ::

Characters:
Ruben Albert
Pascal Albert
Servants

He drew his collar up, avoiding the gazes of fearful nuns, and marched out the heavy wooden doors of the cold stone institute, leaving a hefty bag of gold coins on a small table just beside the exit. They did not thank him. He carried the little corpse outside and disappeared into a whirl of shadows.

The dial shifted and the door opened. Belle froze in her tracks and let her glass of milk fall to the marble floors. The man caught it and handed it back to her, un-spilt, seeming to have omitted a few strides to make it in time. “Is she home?”
“No.”
“She is. I can smell her.” His brow furrowed and he passed her hastily.
“She doesn’t want to see you, Aleron!” He ignored her.

“You’re leaving a trail again,” he burst into the young woman’s chambers. She was combing her wet hair while burning incense: sandalwood, dressed in a thin white night gown that betrayed her form and the light hue of her skin underneath. Aleron did not avert his gaze, nor did he blush or think the sight unusual.
“Knocking is quite common now, you know,” the woman greeted. Her agitation was passive and her voice light and ethereal. He only perked an eyebrow at her to which she sighed and turned toward the mirror, braiding her hair. “They’re orphans. No one will miss them.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“I made her laugh,” she offered a justification. Aleron was adamant in his annoyance. “It would be her sweetest memory.”
“Your technique matters little to me. Clean up afterwards.”
“What did you do with her?”
“Burned it.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.” He offered no more. “You are wanted at the palace.”
“Ah, there’s the real reason you came.” She smiled and brushed passed him to a drawer, tying her hair with a shimmering violet band.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than Asmodeus.”
“You flatter me.” He frowned at her. “Ah, but you’re always charming when you’re angry.” She patted his cheek and poured them a drink. He took it, but did not trust her enough to drink it.
“What will you do?”
“Run. Hide—”
“You can’t hide forever.”
“I don’t recall that the likes of you can order around the likes of me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“New master?”
“Every day,” he smirked and she laughed.
“You amuse me, Aleron.”
“And you are they eye of my irate affections.”
“Affections?” There ignited a surprised flicker in her eyes, but he did not seem to notice. “What do you wish me to do?”
“Overthrow them.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then mature. I’ll present you the means.” He did not stay long enough to take an answer.
“He’s so boorish,” she huffed angrily and then went to join Belle in the parlour.

Belle was playing a lullaby on the grand piano. “Is he gone?” Her tone was apprehensive.
“Yes.” The woman sat next to her, kissed her forehead and added to the melody, converting it into a drowsy duet.
“I’m so glad he never stays for long. What did he want?”
“He wants us to join his little army.” Belle stopped playing and looked at her with large, frightened eyes. “Oh, I did not agree.”
“You mean, he did not give you chance to agree. Oh, Jasmine! I’m not strong enough.”
“Yes, you are. Don’t you fret, poppet. You will have my heart combust.” She offered the girl a soft smile and sat her down on the piano stool once more. “I shall write to Steinar tonight. Get some sleep, my dove.” Belle nodded, kissed her good night and retired to her bedroom.

The letter was simple.



She added the title as though he needed a reminder of his due favours and loyalty, and delivered it personally in the disguise of a downy orange cat.

Hélène Devereux

Hélène admired herself in the full length mirror. After her perfumed bath she had oiled herself, leaving her skin smooth and flawless. She stood in the outfit she handpicked for tonight’s show. It was created mostly from silk, lace and satin; soft and feminine, perfectly adding to her overall appearance. Her eyes found the clock near her bedroom door; it was almost time for her to depart. Dressing slowly, she thought about her routine for the night. It was an acrobatic piece, which she knew she could perform with the grace that would befit a ballet piece. Dressed, Hélène made her way downstairs and called for all the servants. Most of them knew what would follow, but there were a few new servants who were unaccustomed to the inner workings of the Devereux household. “I am to lie down now and as always would prefer not to be disturbed until the morning.” They solemnly nodded and resumed working.

Hélène went back to her room and locked the room from the inside. She bolted the door to make entrance impossible. She took one last appraising look at herself and disappeared through her secret passage. It took her to the end of her estate, opening in an uninhabited cottage. It was registered in the name of yet another alias and secured with magic. Once there, she threw her blue velvet coat over her shoulders and walked into the street heading in the direction of the théâtre.