Marienne's life was completely undone when her village went up in flames. Badly burned and her eyesight lost, she awakes in a strange place, with no knowledge of how she arrived there. Her savior was the enigmatic and alluring Victor, the Lord of Az...
Author's Note: Starting off, I wanted to give a brief content warning before anyone proceeds into this chapter. It's nothing major, but there will be mention of blood and violence, and I just wanted my more sensitive readers prepared. On a lighter note, we've reached 1K reads! I am blown away that in less than two months of this story existing, y'all have given it that much love. Thank you all SO much for the love you've shown me and my writing. I couldn't have expected a more welcoming community than you all have been. Happy reading!
P.S. Please forgive me if this chapter isn't the best grammatically. I was very tired when I wrote this, and I'm short on time today going to post it. XD
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Stepping out of Genevieve's parlor, I looked into the street from her house. It was a busy mid-morning, the townsfolk bustling around me. I walked past a cart filled with fresh milk from the distant dairy, two old oxen chewing their cud while their burden was unloaded. They watched me pass by with liquid brown eyes, docile as kittens, but nearly as large as my own carriage horses. I couldn't resist giving one of them a pat, to which the animal hardly reacted.
It was not long before I reached the town square and its crowded market. Peddlers hawking their wares and local farmers with their quaint stands dominated most of the standing ground, leaving me barely elbow room to move within the crowd. Like a leaf caught in a surging stream, I was whisked along with the flow of the foot traffic, and just barely able to break away when something caught my eye.
I stopped first at the baker's cart, the yeasty scent of freshly baked bread catching my nose if not my eyes. The man smiled kindly at me, but I knew he had taken one look at my clothing and knew my money would be good, so in reality, this was all that had concerned him. I moved on, a large loaf wrapped carefully with a spare yard of linen. It was warm to the touch, having arrived from the oven a few minutes before I approached the table.
Next, I wandered over to the cheesemonger, and bought a few varieties of cheese I was sure Marienne would not have tasted. I selected a lovely Brie, prized for its delicately sweet and creamy flavor, along with a small round of dark brown Tomme de Savoie and a wedge of Roquefort, a personal favorite of my own. I paired these with a small jar of strawberry jam and a log of cured meat. I greatly regretted not grabbing a bottle of wine to go along with lunch, but I surmised Marienne and Amelia would also enjoy some of the cold, fresh milk that had just come into the market.
