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...
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Even the quiet plunge into oblivion brought along by blessed sleep denied me. I could feel the night settle, and the dawn slowly approaching. I threw on my shift and a robe, and sat down, watching the sun slowly begin to rise. Victor lay tossing in the sheets, a leg thrown out from under the covers, and an arm drawn up over his head. I envied the peace he found within his impending doom. He often promised me I would understand as the centuries turned, but I did not want the time I was granted.
The sun was just beginning to make its appearance, turning the landscape a serene coppery-gold. Time was as short as my breathing. I wandered out of my room and into the hall, unsure of where I wanted to go, but knowing I couldn't stay at what felt like my lover's deathbed. Would I even be able to watch the execution? I thought it might be best if I stayed behind, but couldn't bear the thought of letting Victor face the unknown alone.
I sat on a chair outside my bedroom door, breathing in a deep sigh. The hallway was still dark and quiet. No one had yet awakened, or so I thought. Genevieve came up the stairs, her sleek hair falling out of the intricate bun she had woven it into earlier today. She was in a bit of disarray, which certainly surprised me. She was startled when she saw me.
"Oh. I wasn't expecting to find you here. Shouldn't you be with Victor?" She asked, sitting down beside me. Her smile was warm, but her near amber eyes brimmed with liquid concern.
"He's resting." I told her. "I came out here, for some space to think, I suppose." I picked at a loose thread on the robe. She reached out and stilled my hand.
"Pulling a thread will only make it fray worse, you know. As much as I appreciate your business and want more of it, I don't need you to employ me single-handedly." She chuckled softly. "But I understand what you mean. This old place is stuffy on a good day."
She smiled to herself. "I don't suppose Victor told you how we met, did he?" I shook my head, and she settled herself in for a story. It was as good of a diversion as any. "I know you've heard about the colonies across the sea, yes? Well, my father went to the New World early in the beginning of the fur trade. He was having next to no luck here at home finding any type of work he felt suited him. A bit of a free spirit, he longed for the freedom to be his own man, and what better place to find that but in a wild land yet to be tamed?"
Her eyes lit up with pride as she began her next part. "Well, it would come about that the land was quite well settled before the first of the Frenchmen ever set foot on the land. The people he encountered were my mother's people, the Innu. They had lived there hundreds, if not thousands of years before we even knew the New World truly existed. Naturally, when my father met my mother, he was determined to make her his wife. She was sold to him for a few dozen beaver skins and guns brought over by the colonialists. She used to swear to me she was happy, but the longing in her eyes never escaped my notice. My father built her a home, gave her land to farm on and raise animals, but in the end, it was a cage she died in." I wasn't sure how to express my regrets and sympathies for Genevieve. Her experience, while understandable, felt so alien in some ways. I had a hundred questions for her, without the time to ask them.
