Mirifical Catharsis

Chapter 1: A Scandal

Lilian spreads her arms wide, seconds before her bare body clashes with the white bedsheets, her pale face sinking into the pillow as her child-like giggles fill the room. Such youth she resonates, full of joy and a peculiar charm that is difficult to come across.

"The peals on this are gorgeous. Where did you find such pieces?" The frail young man closely examines the lengthy necklace.

"Papa bought them for me. Matching earrings, bracelet, and everything. Ils sont magnifiques, no?" She waltzes across the room, delicately taking the jewels from his supple hand and placing them around her elongated neck. "Must've cost him a fortune."

"Oh, please." Gerald huffs, as he carries the waistline of his pants up one leg and then the other.

"Pourquoi? You want to get them for your beloved fiancé?" Lilian teases in a cheery voice, also slipping on one article of clothing after the other. The finest attire, the most over the top jewels drench her from head to toe. She combs through the messy head of dark hair.

"My darling, it's foolish of you to think I'd give her the time of day," he jokes but as Lilian eyes Gerald, a hint of sorrow overtakes her. For that young woman or for him, she isn't quite sure.

The squeaking door bursts open in a hurry, startling them both. The sight wipes the smile off his mother's face who takes small steps back and replaces it with that of mortal shock, color draining from her boney face. A shriek of dread erupts past her wrinkled lips, alerting the whole house.

Little Lilian's head spins whilst quickly hiding her barely clothed body from the eyes of the sudden intruder.

"Gerald?! What in the name of christ happening here?" The wailing woman begins to fan herself as another enters the room with a bulky looking man, both of whom plaster looks of shock and disgust.

"Are you trying to give your mother a heart attack? Qu'est-ce que c'est? You," the bald man turns to Lilian, "your father will hear about this. You dare bring such shame to our family? Foolish harlot!"

"Excusez-moi monsieur?!" She gasps in disbelief, feeling the pit in her chest grow while her heart violently drums.

"In the name of Christ, get dressed." The chunky woman who holds onto Gerald's hyperventilating mother tosses Lilian her petticoat which she had forgotten to slip on before her outer garment. She leads his mother outside, muttering and murmuring phrases of prayer and endearment along with curses upon the- in her own words- "rich hustler".

His man turns away as his son and Lilian rush to fully clothe themselves. She keeps her head down as the squeals and heavy breathing of the women downstairs taunt her.

"Stay there, young man! I am not done with you!" He shuts the door behind the girl which he hurriedly escorts down the stairs and himself. "Is your father home?" Harshly, he speaks, not looking back to her.

"Oui, sir." She speaks with a hint of attitude in her voice as she wraps her arms tightly around the fur coat which she has no intention of putting on, even though they are greeted with heavy May showers. It's the last thing on her mind. Anxiously, she nibbles on her inner cheek, slightly trembling, but she isn't sure if that is from the brisk rain that has now soaked her or the fear and shock that continues to engulf her.

The piercing stares of people are felt on her skin as they judge and ridicule her with their whispers amongst one another, all dressed in costly outfits, decorated with shimmering pieces under the silk umbrellas and squeaky clean cars. Their mid-calf dresses hang loosely down under the cloche hats, topping off their looks with clunky shoes and large fur coats. Mustached men adjust their suits with opinionated glares whilst huffing and puffing out of their pipes. The air smelled of wet grass and alcohol, triggering in many, memories of the previous nights at the local country club.

Lilian's mind rushes and fills with thoughts, making the road to her home seem shorter than usual. Or, possibly it could've been because of the man's quick pace which she struggled to keep up with.

To her, the sharp knock on the wooden door sounds like nails being hammered into a coffin but she keeps quiet and sinks further into herself.
It doesn't take long for the gentle face of her housemaid to greet them. Lilian's heart slightly rests at the sight but she begs and prays silently as the man in front of her demands to have a word with her father. When the weary Emilien LaCroix limps over, the concern is readable all over his rugous face but as the set of previous events is spoken to him, disappointment and bitterness take over his features.

"Is this true, young lady? If I were heartless your hands would soon be stained red from the thrashes of my cane. Get inside."

"Papa, please. I understand you're displeased bu-"

"That is an understatement. You have brought shame to such a virtuous family. Apologize to Sir Bisset and get inside. You will catch a cold."

Lilian turns to the man who's chest has been puffed out and chin reaches the clouds and bows her head briefly. "Je suis désolé, monsieur." She mutters under her breath as tears cloud her vision. The doorway welcomes her inside and in the far distance, amongst the sound of heels clicking against the floor, she hears her father speak.

"She is to be sent away. I see no other option."