Zoé

The happiness

"How did you find out about Zoé?"

Monsieur Fontaine sat at his desk and gestured for Angel to sit down. Reluctantly, he did.

"She, uhh," he coughed to ease the nervousness out of his voice. "She told me, sir."

"What?" He got up his chair and paced around the room. "Why would she do that? She knows better. We've taught her better. What if you had gone to the press? What was she thinking?"

He was no longer talking to Angel. He was only addressing himself, lost in his world of worries.

"We're..." Angel barely knew how to label their relationship. Friendship seemed too limited meanwhile there was never any declaration of love. Only the heaviness in his heart every time he was in her presence. "We're friends," he said, not wanting to overstep.

"Friends," he tasted the word. It seemed to repulse him. "How can you be friends with someone in a painting? You'll be dead by the time she's out of that painting. We'll all be dead."

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. His face hardened but his eyes remained an open book of pain and helplessness. A man like Monsieur Fontaine was never used to feel helpless.

With his back turned to Angel, he tried not to scream in agony. What had happened to the perfect family he had envisioned? The one he had spent half of his life working for?

He used to blame his wife, Magdalene, for tricking him. Perhaps it wasn't trickery but his mind needed someone to pin the blame on when he had to watch both his wife and daughter leave. A long time dead witch from a faraway land was not enough for him. So his wife was the unfortunate innocent who took the fall for driving love away from him.

Now, there was a naive young man sitting in his office with the same look in his eyes he had when he met Magdalene. The worst part was that unlike him, this man knew what he was getting himself into and still jumped in head first.

"Where is she?" Angel asked when he felt that the man was not going to deliberately offer information.

"Somewhere," he answered without leaving room for more questions.

Angel was tenacious. He wasn't going to give up on Zoé like her father had done. "Where did you put her?"

He continued to stare at space. "Don't worry, she's safe. You can leave now."

"No," he replied. "I can help her."

Monsieur Fontaine abruptly. "What can you do I haven't tried yet?" He shouted in fury.

Who was this man who thought he was going to free his daughter from a curse? Something he had failed to do despite countless of attempts. This was no fairytale. His daughter didn't need a knight in shining armor to rescue her.

"Let me try to help her," Angel pleaded. "Maybe I can..."

"You can't," he interrupted harshly. "No one can."

"I don't believe that. There must be something."

Monsieur Fontaine suddenly left his spot that was facing a framed drawing of white roses. Zoé's favorites. He rummaged through a cabinet. He came back to Angel with a heavy volume. He dropped the thick book on Angel's lap.

"What is this?" Angel ran his hands over the aged book. The rough covers left a long scratch in the middle of his palm.

"The crusher of your dreams," Monsieur Fontaine rounded the desk and sat in his chair. "This is the only lead that the family have had for centuries. It was the witch's. It has all the curses and potions. I've read it from cover to cover but there are no loopholes."