Unlike how it will be when Blanche Gauthier reigns over this world, some fell for her charm, others did not.
Those who did not, soon would. Among them was Hervé Berteau. Captain Hervé Berteau. He was the captain of an insignificant frigate of the great French Navy. He had arrived hand in hand with Thérèse for the first time at the Gauthier family's house. Blanche was fourteen years old at the time, and she found him to be a horrible man: short, half-bald, with a prominent nose and a pimple on his chin. He would accumulate saliva when he spoke, and as she got to know him, she noticed that he talked too much to say so little. Despite this, when the captain first set foot on the spotless floor of her home's vestibule, François, the phlegmatic father, trembled at his mere presence, as if he were the powerful rival he had never been worthy of. Who would suspect the importance Hervé would have, still secondary, in the configuration of the events of human history? But, of course, at that point, almost no one could know.
François probably imagined that he would take away the only support of the family since his wife had died giving birth. He feared the worst. That house would collapse without his eldest daughter, and he couldn't allow it. But, probably, he couldn't prevent it either.In that scene, from the outside dining room window, you could see the small family sitting at a dark mahogany table, too large for six people. François was a gray-haired, thin man, with brief and nervous movements, dry but courteous manners, and he communicated with his light Alsatian accent when referring to his narrow world of shipping and fishing. Hervé, curiously for a man of the oceans, didn't like fishing. François preferred it that way, so he insisted more on the exciting subject of tuna and albacore. "Hooks aren't just anything, Berteau. They have to be carefully placed..."Blanche looked out the window. From outside, her face of surprise could be seen as she noticed that they were being watched."Dad, there's someone out there.""It must be Jean-Franc, who else would it be?" replied Ottilie. But the gardener didn't work on Sundays, so Blanche pressed her lips together.She looked again. A bluish dress moved among the trees. Then, a silhouette."It's a woman. Ottilie, there's a woman there. Dad...""Blanche, could you let us eat?"François Gauthier showed impatience.
So that mentioned paradox would reach an almost physically impossible, nearly absurd splendor, when Blanche furiously went out to the garden.Her favorite spot was by the water fountain, on one of the benches facing it. They said that her father had seated her mother there, many years ago, to give her grandmother's ring. She had looked him in the eyes and seen love in them. She had said yes, seriously—she was a serious and measured woman, her sisters said—but with the solemnity of someone who does not doubt their words.
Blanche reached the fountain with hesitant steps. Someone was already sitting on the benches. A light-haired woman in a bluish dress. Upon seeing her, the girl vaguely thought she recognized the face and features. In photographs or videos, she had seen them there. Her heart stopped."Mom?"
YOU ARE READING
Ad eternum
Fantasy"Ad Eternum" tells the story of Blanche, a woman who, after committing suicide in the early 21st century, is reborn in the past, condemned to immortality. From the Roman Empire to Colonial America, passing through Constantinople, Jerusalem, England...
