Eternal Masquerade

The end or a new beginning?...

"Text" = French

"Text =" english

Geneviève de Beaumont, a Comtesse or Countess known for her grand soirées, steps into her newly acquired estate, Woodstone Manor. Unbeknownst to her, the house is not as empty as it seems; curious eyes peer from unseen corners, captivated by the elegance of the French noblewoman as she glides through the grand sitting room.

Settling into a high-backed chair, Geneviève exudes authority and refinement. Draped in a rich burgundy gown, she holds a delicate lace fan, her commands flowing naturally as she gestures to her waiting servants.

"Jean-Luc, posez les malles là-bas, près de la fenêtre," (Jean-Luc, put the trunks over there, near the window) she instructs firmly, her voice calm yet commanding. Jean-Luc hurries to position the large trunks by the tall, arched windows, obeying her every word.

Another servant approaches, struggling with a heavy, ornate mirror. Geneviève takes a measured sip from her porcelain coffee cup and motions with her fan. "Ah, Clémence, le miroir doit être accroché au-dessus de la cheminée. Un peu plus haut, s'il vous plaît—il doit refléter toute la salle." (Ah, Clémence, the mirror must be hung above the fireplace. A little higher, please—it should reflect the entire room.)

Behind her, a line of attendants waits, each holding an assortment of fine belongings: paintings, porcelain vases, and bound books. She waves her fan, eyeing the arrangement with critical satisfaction. "Et le fauteuil—déplacez-le légèrement vers la droite. Oui, parfait. Maintenant, apportez mes lettres et mon journal là-bas. Et assurez-vous que le piano est bien accordé." (And the chair—move it slightly to the right. Yes, perfect. Now, take my letters and my diary there, and make sure the piano is well-tuned.)

As her instructions fill the room, the mansion begins to transform, slowly shaped into the image of her elegant Parisian life. She leans back, delicately sampling a pastry, her eyes scanning the room with approval. "Très bien. C'est magnifique, comme toujours." (Alright. It's beautiful, as always), she murmurs, a faint smile gracing her lips.

Outside, hidden from view, Thor, Sassapis, Isaac, and Hetty peer in, captivated by the aristocratic figure.

"Fancy lady talk much," Thor mutters. "Many words for simple orders."

Isaac squints, intrigued. "So refined. But... why here?"

"She's got taste," Hetty observes, her interest piqued. "Maybe a little demanding, but there's an air of purpose about her."

Sass leans in, watching as Geneviève takes another sip. "Why would a lady like her buy this old place?"

They watch as she adjusts her tiara, her calm demeanor unwavering.

"I think... I think she might belong to the de Beaumont family," Isaac whispers, a hint of awe in his voice. "You can tell by her dialect and her clothes. Quite the celebrated family back in France, known for their opulent soirées and—"

"De Beaumont?" Hetty's eyes light up, though her posture remains stiff. "Well, that does explain the... extravagance. I wonder if she has any valuable connections. Or good family breeding."

Sass shrugs, watching her with a smirk. "Whether she's got noble blood or not, she's moving in like she owns the place. And something tells me she's the type who's used to getting what she wants."

As they watch, Geneviève takes a delicate bite of a macaron, pausing only to gesture toward the grand staircase. Her servant nods and hurries off, clearly accustomed to her commands.

Thor scoffs. "Lady, act very calm. But does she have strength? If Viking spirits attack, can she fight?"

"I doubt she's concerned about Viking attacks, Thor," Isaac replies dryly. "The French aristocracy preferred diplomacy and decadence over brute force." He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Still... it's odd that she's moved here, so far from her native France. I wonder why?"