Born into the lap of luxury and a time of turmoil, Duchesse Eleonore Vigneron experiences her coming of age in the Court of Louis XVI . Embroiled in the chaos that surrounds Versailles, Eleni uses her unique blend of wit, charm, and beauty to ensure...
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"The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time."---William Butler Yeats
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Azalea Parker made her morning vigil through the streets of Aubrey Parish as soon as the sun rose each morning. The pinkish-red hues that usually signified another hot day on the horizon were only visible for about 30 minutes until the perpetual cover of clouds and rain arrived to protect those sensitive to the sun's warmth.
"Look, Mr. Grimm. It's another beautiful morning." The cheerful girl waved as she passed the park and the cemetery, although no one even appeared to be on the streets so early. The dawn glints off of Azzie's curly coppery-red locks and her strangely black eyes are wide as she takes in the familiar sights of the Parish. Azzie was now twenty-four and still walking the streets to greet the town with the same enthusiasm she had when she was a girl of eleven. Barely standing over five feet, she made up for her diminutive size with a contagious laugh and flamboyant accessories. In fact, she had grown into a lovely young woman who lit up the world with excitement over the strangest things.
In a world of people always coming and going, Azalea Rose Parker was an Aubrey Parish fixture. She was one of the few things that not only stood the test of time but bloomed with its passing.
Mr. Grimm had not fared so well. He was starting to go bald and one eye was slightly disjointed from its socket. It was difficult not to stare at the unattractive green orb grown more milky-grey with time. One arm fell limply as Azzie walked with him through the town.
Azzie didn't notice, not really. Every morning and every evening, you could count on the fact that she'd be walking through the streets, her arm holding on to Mr. Grimm's good one. If she was asked why the pair went for a walk every day like clockwork, she'd always give the same reply. "Someone has to say good morning and good night to the Parish. One day, I realised it had to be me."
Mr. Grimm never spoke, but Azzie seemed to understand him without words. Once, the chef at Mudbugs who had taken a liking to the petite redhead suggested that it was time for Mr. Grimm to be in a retirement community. He was old and quickly deteriorating. There were places for those like him to spend their days in safety and comfort.
