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She wondered when she'd ever find gold in this river of life she was washing her hands in liberally. How could the men of old find something that she had desperately been searching for her entire life since the moment the hardest of choices plagued her?
She knew, of course, that there was the slightest of chances that she could find something worth the time she had spent on it, but she had let go of that hope a long time ago. Now, she lay on the stormy sea, unwilling to swim. She let it drown her in its undefinable and silent depths without a struggle.
Her calloused fingers twitched and shot towards the purple cup of coffee that was set by her on a little coffee table. Upon the table-basse that she had bought from her home country of France, purple flowers and invitations to balls and charity galas perched dangerously close to the edge.
She ignored all of them. Elegant calligraphy and intricate borders on cream cardstock didn't hold as much of her attention as the purple-smeared easel in front of her and the distant and peaceful sounds of sea waves crashing against the sands of the shore did.
Her mind wandered to all that fate had thrown at her. There wasn't one day when she hadn't begged all forces, kind and evil, that existed to just let up a bit, go easy on her poor little heart. She had been but a child when she had been thrust into this world of corruption and menace.
She hadn't had the chance to see and feel anything but the smell of gunpowder and the sight of crimson staining her hands from the person in front of her that she had just condemned to death with a swift convulse of the muscles of her index finger, regardless of how much she had tried to break free. After all, child soldiers were hardly ever allowed to go free.
It was with a swell of pride in the deepest hollows of her stone heart that she looked at the progress she had made in all the years she had spent in the World. From a measly 15-year-old who had joined the ranks as a soldier to a powerful 30-year-old who had millions under her command.
And it was only when she had taken up the position of power that she had realized, with a sinking heart, that it meant that there was no room for change. The fact that she had risen this much ensured that she was so deeply stuck in her ways that she couldn't live a day without shooting someone with a quick movement.
There is no success without sacrifice.
Regardless of how unique and powerful she was, this one rule didn't exempt her. Over the fifteen years that she had been a part of this World, she had changed the essence of who she was to put the two lights of her life first, and she did so to this very day. She was nestled dangerously close to the edge of giving up, but she hadn't let go yet.
She didn't intend to, at least in the near future.
Soft hands covered her eyes from behind, and her hand jerked towards the holster that hung against her hips before she relaxed, recognizing the hands as those of someone safe and trusted beyond anyone else. A smile bloomed on her face, as she placed the paintbrush in her hand in the bowl of water sitting beside her and moved her hands to place them upon the ones on her eyes.
A giggle sounded from behind her, along with a heavy sigh. She gently pried the hands off of her face, and then stood up. Turning around, her eyes caught sight of a pair that was identical to hers and embellished with a mischievous gleam that hers had long lost. She hugged the teenager to her, planting a kiss on the crown of a head covered in blond hair that fell down in beach waves.
She held her other arm out, making room for the other light of her life in her arms. He smiled and rushed into the embrace of his two sisters. His lips brushed against his older sister's cheek, in a manner of greeting, before burying his face in her shoulder.
Two fifteen-year-olds pulled away from her, two pairs of sea-blue eyes looking into hers. The girl caught sight of the invitations kept on the coffee table and disentangled herself from the mess of limbs to go over there and pick one up. Her eyes skimmed over the gold engravings, and with a smile, she turned to her sister and said, "Can we please go?"
And in response to that pleading face, not even Jeanette Moreau could refuse. The twins, these children that she had raised were her one true Hamartia. The fatal flaw of the most lethal woman, no, the most lethal person in the whole wide world.
She had put them before her at all times, in all the aspects of these past 15 years since they had become hers. To keep, to look after, to protect, and to love.
They were the sole paradox of her life; she often wondered why it was that she would live through a million years for them but also die in an instant, again, for them. For the past fifteen years, her life had revolved around these two, and it was in their happiness that she found hers.
This was love, she supposed. The ability to care for someone so much that you'd be willing to do anything for them. She had come into this world for them, grown to love this world for them, risen to the top of this world for them, and if falling to the bottom meant protecting them, she would do that too.
So, Jeanette Moreau said yes to making a public appearance with her family at the ball of one of the most prominent families in the mafia world, not knowing that the outcome of this would shake her world to its core.
She had no idea that the one word could begin the start of the hellfire lows in her life.
