𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒚 | 𝑲.𝑩

0.3

━━━─── • ───━━━

"Lu?" a small voice could be heard coming up the stairs.

"Lu? Are you up here?" the voice slowly got louder until Jacques appeared in the doorway of the ragged wooden room, soaked to the bone from the rain storm he returned from. That's when he finally found her, stationed at the small window, hand pressed against the cool glass, watching the small drops fall down.

The boy sighed, dropping his bag on the floor, walking closer to her, and putting a hand on her shoulder, "You ok?"

She flinched when his skin touched hers, ripping her arm away from the contact. The boy took several large steps back, scolding himself in his head for his forgetfulness.

When in contact with water—or rain—it would give her burns.

The young girl could only endure quick methodical sponge baths. She hated being dirty and would endure the pain once a week just to rid herself of the smell and feeling of dirt on her skin.

"I'm so sorry. I— I just forgot."

She turned, looking at him sadly, rubbing her shoulder where his damp skin had touched hers, "It's ok." she mumbled, forcing her lips to form a polite smile before turning to face the window once more.

The two sat in silence after that. Jacques had been out earlier, running quick errands for one of the other adults in the house while Lucille stayed tucked away inside. The two children sat peacefully together, breathing heavily and shivering.

The boy, because of rain-soaked clothes from hours of sprinting up and down the muddy Frazen streets in the downpour.

The girl, from trying to keep her tears at bay. 

After several minutes, she broke the silence with a shakey voice "It's not fair." she sniffled, "I want to be able to go out too. Just like in the books Jack. It's just not fair." 

"Well, think about it this way," he scooted closer, careful not to touch her this time, "you don't have to do the chores for Mr. Moulin today. You can avoid Madame Boisseau at the patisserie for just a little longer."

She looked up at him with glassy eyes, "Don't pick on me," she pouted, "you'd be afraid of her too if she tried to shoo you out with a broom like a rat every time you entered the door."

Jacques shrugged innocently, fighting back his laughter at her words, "Maybe you shouldn't have short-circuited her oven, then."

A pointer finger was suddenly within inches of his face, pointing directly at him, "For the last time, that was your fault."

"I don't see how—"

"Des gamins!" a shrill voice cut through the air, coming from the bottom level of the Town-home.

Lucilles' eyes widen at him, "What did you do?"

"Children!" the voice calls once more, much more angry than the last time. 

Jacques threw his hands in the air exasperated "Why do you think it was me?"

Her jaw dropped as she whisper-yelled back "Because it always is!"

After two calls and no response, Madame Duplantier stumbled up the first two narrow wooden stairs, "Ou etes vous—vous petits rats!"

The two pause for a moment in shock before rushing out the door and scrambling down the stairs. 

Jacques muttered to his friend as he sprinted down the stairwell, "Perhaps you are a rat after all." only receiving a sharp glare as they hit the bottom stair.