cannibal; kendall roy

61

Marguerite Roy made it to Paris in the middle of the night. Three in the morning to be exact, and she wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. She hadn't been in the city for two years. A lot can change in two years. Hell, her father had died, she'd nearly died, gotten married and had a son. A lot can fucking happen.

For the best, or worst.

But as she and her son walked through the airport, attempting to find their way to the car she had arranged her, she couldn't help but whisper to him, about how this had once been her home.

The air felt nicer. Everything felt nicer.

She could speak in her native tongue to the people around her, and they would smile, happy to have a Frenchwoman in their presence, rather than the American she ought to be.

She wasn't an outsider.

She was in her home.

Finally, she finds the car and slips into it, hoisting her son up onto her shoulder as she climbed into the backseat, holding him slightly tighter as the car pulled off and away. Marguerite didn't recognize the driver, but asked him to roll the partition up anyway, especially as she began to talk to her son, probably for the first time with genuine love and interest.

"This is where your Mama-" she cuts herself off "C'est là que ta mère a grandi"

She was in her country, and her home. She could speak her own damn language.

"Et autant que vous êtes un Roy, vous êtes aussi un Garnier. Tout comme c'est ma maison, et la vôtre, mais New York aussi."

He seemed to almost be enchanted by how she sounded, as he seemed to react to almost every word, his tiny eyes seeming to beam. She hadn't ever felt connected, or as close to her son as she now did. It was an odd feeling.

She stroked his head gently, running her fingers through his hair and found herself laughing a little bit, then watching him plop over onto his stomach, kicking his little legs as his hands and arms stretched out.

Time seemed to pass slowly for Marguerite, but in reality the long and steady car ride had been quite quick. As within the hour, she found herself recognizing her surroundings.

They were outside of the city, just barely, in the familiar haunts of her childhood.

"Bonjour petit.." Marguerite says, trailing off as she picked him up again, cradling him in her arms, watching as the car begin to approach the gates of her family estate. She almost seemed to hold her breath as they passed through the gates, hurling the car onto the rocky gravel that led up to the home.

Tall trees covering the pathway and shielding them from the yard, the home beginning to appear as they grew closer. It was as towering and elegant as it always had been.

"Nous sommes à la maison." She murmurs, stepping out of the car and onto the gravel path, the circle leading around and to the house.

However, she doesn't even need to walk up to the house alone, as she notices another car already sitting in the circular driveway, and a staff member, one she can vaguely place in her home when her father was found, standing in front of the steps.

A grin spreading across her face, as she spots the woman walking towards her. It has been too long since a Garnier has stepped foot inside the house.

There have been weddings and ceremonies held on the grounds, events sanctioned and approved by Marguerite, but she has not yet come home. Not until now.

"Is he here?" She asks, motioning to the other car

"Your guest arrived about thirty minutes ago, he's been taking a tour with our chief of staff." The woman beams a little, then adding "It's good to put a face to the portraits."