Satine [ONGOING]

CLEMENTINE (III)

Clementine marched home with a heavy step. She hated the way her eyes had filled with tears when Satine talked of her parents instead of just her mother. She had never enjoyed displaying emotions in front of others, because it so often warranted an inordinate amount of pity, which never made things better. She didn't want to make others feel uncomfortable, she didn't like the way the room went silent as soon as she mentioned her father and she had not wished to see it in Satine Dumont's face today. When her house finally came into view a wash of relief came over her. She longed for the familiar scent of her room and some peace and quiet. She thought perhaps she could spend the day out in the fields with the lamb that were now growing at a rapid rate, soon enough they would be regular sized sheep. However, as she opened the door, the idea of her idyllic little afternoon disappeared into thin air. The noise was first to startle her, whimpers of pain coming from the kitchen,the clean rip of fabric and metallic objects clinking and clattering. Her eyes widened as she cautiously walked through the corridor. A scream tore through the air. "Give me some of that." her aunt's voice was stern, urgent, only in a way it could be during an emergency. Clementine peaked into the kitchen, letting the door creak as it slid open.
"Tante Marguerite?" She inquired before the sight of the massacre-like scene in the kitchen turned her completely silent. There was blood all over the kitchen counter, bottles and vials spread all around an older man whose skin was white as chalk. His trousers were stained red and ripped open, to reveal a broken bone, piercing through the skin of his left knee. Clementine was hit with a wave of nausea at the sight of its ivory colour.

Her aunt's eyes suddenly met her. "Oh my dieu," her voice bellow a whisper, and before Clementine could even process what was going on, a woman she had not cared to notice nor recognise put two delicate hands on her shoulder and led her out of the room. The door closed behind them. Clementine met the woman's wide brown eyes as she crouched down to below her level.

"Constance is it?" She asked. Clementine could only shake her head, a low whimper filled the air around them again and all the poor girl could think about was the sharp bone piercing through the man's leg, covered in blood.

"Clementine then." The woman concluded. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

She was not necessarily listening, too lost in her own thoughts, but despite that Clementine could sense the woman was impatient to get back into the kitchen, and the situation seemed urgent enough that she understood, but she didn't wish to be left alone in the desolate corridor under any circumstance with all these swirling questions. She would tie knots around herself out of worry.

"What- what is going on? Who is that?" She asked, her voice shaking just as much as her hands.
"His name is Hubert, he'll be fine, don't you worry, your aunt is a good nurse, is she not?"

Clementine found herself nodding again, she was but would he not need a doctor? Her aunt could only do so much in their kitchen.

"What about a doctor-"
"Don't you worry about anything." The woman swiftly interrupted. "Everything will be fine, you understand? Don't you worry."

'But why?-" Clementine began to ask, but she did not get the chance to finish.
"Florence!" Marguerite's voice called urgently, and the woman let go of the young girl's shoulder, smoothed her dress and marched into the kitchen again. Florence. Florence was the woman who had arrived with Satine, was it not? Clementine had a vague memory of Gabrielle telling her some stories about their new guest. What was she doing here?

The way she had repeated that she didn't have to worry certainly didn't have the desired effect, Clementine remained livid, impatient to understand. She stood staring at the closed door completely frozen into place until the doorbell rang and her head snapped toward it. Cautiously she made her way toward it and unlocked the door with a clean click. Her cousin Constance stood before her, hair wet hair draping over her shoulders in clumps of curls.