Maman // A Short Story

Part One

A/N: French is used throughout this story. See the bottom for translations.

Ava Godfrey never had a mother. But she wished that she did.

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Ava snuck through the house, which was still confusing to her with its seemingly infinite halls and stairwells, even after three months. But she knew some things about her new home at least.

She knew which floorboards and steps creaked, and she knew which ones were rough and unfinished and prone to jabbing splinters through her socks and into her feet. Those lessons has taken only a few days to learn.

Mastering the shadows and dark nooks took a bit longer; she was too used to heavy cloud cover and towering trees that blocked out the moonlight. But she managed, plotting careful courses around the pools of light that came through high arching windows.

It was a game of course. She never needed to worry about being seen or heard, after all, she could hide herself from human senses with a thought. But it was a challenge and it was fun.

She walked the same path as she had the previous night, and the night before that, and the one before that.

Out of her bedroom through the adjoining bathroom, then turning right.

Weaving through the study, dodging scattered books and pools of moonlight.

Up two floors, taking the main staircase.

Then stealing through darkened hallways again, until reaching the library.

Into the library, up its back stairs into the reading room, then out to the halls again.

Finding the hidden staircase, and going up the last three floors.

And then freedom.

Ava shut the trapdoor to the spiral staircase behind her and perched beside the chimney. Body still tense with adrenaline, she let out a silent, controlled breath to calm herself. It was quiet on the rooftop, the only quiet she got each day, and she would never dare to spoil it with her own noise.

When her heart slowed and steadied itself, she turned her face to the stars and smiled.

This was her nightly ritual, perfected over years. The stars were different in this world, yes, but they were still beautiful and willing to subject themselves to her storytelling.

She never told her stories aloud, but the stars still heard. That's why Ava liked them.

But this night, she was interrupted before she could even begin.

"Ava?"

She darted around to the other side of the chimney, heart pounding and muscles coiled again. Peeking around the bricks, she looked for the speaker. But no one was—

"Ava, what are you doing?"

The girl threw herself forward, away from the voice that had crept up behind her.

She skidded down the shingles only to be caught around the waist and yanked away from the edge. She struggled, but found her arms pinned as she was pulled into a tight embrace.

"Ava! Par la grâce, ma chèrie! Faites attention!"

Recognizing the woman at last, Ava abruptly fell limp.

"Désolée," she muttered meekly into Elise's chest.

Elise sighed, and Ava felt it through her entire body. Elise said, "Ce n'est pas ta faute. I startled you. I am the one who is sorry."