Featured on @HistoricalFiction @NARomance
🥇2023 Rose Gold Awards
🥇Literary Book Awards
Story of Edith&Andre:
"O'Lady Liberty divine!
For thee alone, my life I'd resign:
I beseech all to carve thy name so fair,
On my tombstone, for all to stare...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The tumultuous waves of revolution in Paris did not in the slightest disturb the tranquility of the Saint-Matilda Convent.
On the Feast of Pentecost, Fiona was unquestionably chosen to be the central flower girl in the chapel parades. Like the other pretty girls, she wore a seven-coloured floral wreath upon her head and held fiery red flowers in her hands. With proud steps, she followed behind the leading big girls representing the "virgins" in all her innocence.
The girl's lush red hair was gathered into a small white cap at the back of her head, revealing a full and gleaming forehead. Only the strands of hair left on the top shimmered in the radiant summer sun, evoking irresistible thoughts of the miraculous fiery tongues that accompanied the descent of the Holy Spirit.
Being selected for the procession was considered the highest honour and supreme happiness for the chosen girls. Each of their uplifted faces reflected an enraptured expression.
After this grand festival, Fiona became an even greater focus of envy for the children. It was not only due to the exclusive glory bestowed upon her in the ceremony by her blessed beauty, but also because she possessed the privilege of frequenting that small visiting room.
The Marquis de Sèvremont came to visit his adopted daughter once again.
As the Marquis approached the fence, Fiona gracefully turned around. Her fiery red curls, resembling flames, cascaded like a waterfall around her entire upper body. Today, the Mother had made an exception and allowed this charming little girl to put on a soft satin bonnet adorned with a perfectly placed dew-kissed lily of the valley, which accentuated her attire with a blend of simplicity and grandeur.
Employing the etiquette she had learned during her months at the school, Fiona gave an elegant yet playful curtsy before the Marquis.
"Now you truly look like a young lady, Fiona," the Marquis exclaimed, a genuine stunned look gleaming in his eyes. "I can hardly wait to witness the day when you fully blossom into adulthood."
To Fiona's delight, her father had sought permission from the abbess, granting her the privilege of strolling arm in arm with him through the blossoming courtyard.
With her apple-like radiant face turned upwards, the girl eagerly chirped to the Marquis about her various fresh experiences during the Feast of Pentecost. Her guardian listened attentively, occasionally casting immensely affectionate glances at the sprite by his side.
After the initial excitement had subsided, a shadow suddenly clouded Fiona's round face.
"Monsieur the Marquis, where has Mother Agatha gone? Did she truly... die?" she hesitantly inquired.
"You need not concern yourself with her whereabouts, Fiona. It is enough for you to understand that the nun has paid the price for her doings," the Marquis replied in a composed tone.
