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PROLOGUE a gift horse
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
ON THE FIRST of October, 1989, in Dijon, France, Louise Vidal gave birth to a Trojan Horse. Or, in other words, a baby, rosy-cheeked and with the soft down of newly growing blonde hair on her head. Sweet and innocent, swathed in a pink blanket, waving her chubby fists into the air as her first cries filled the world. An angel, some may have called her. A miracle. But in actuality, much like the disguised gift horse filled to the brim with soldiers, the birth of Nadine Vidal was a problem in the shape of a shiny wrapped present.
It had been seven years since Louise and Beau got married, six since they decided they wanted children. It was a mutual decision that came almost simultaneously, on a casual day at the beach. They'd been watching a little girl laughing as her father tossed her into the water when they'd both turned to each other and confessed that they wanted a family like that.
Six years later, however, Louise's pregnancy tests had stubbornly remained negative. She didn't know what she was doing wrong. She'd gone to every doctor, every church, every pharmacy in an attempt to find a solution to her problem, but no amount of medication, prayers, or strange tonics had helped. It was like she was broken, and, judging by her family members and colleagues that often came up to her and asked when she'd be having children, it was like there was a neon sign on her head, proclaiming her failure for the world to see.
All she wanted was a child, but nothing she did was working.
Then came along the Trojan Horse.
Tonight, the restaurant was crowded, but Louise and Beau had nonetheless found a table in the back corner, near a set of fish tanks full of the aquatic creatures. Light chatter from the other patrons provided a nice ambiance, and classical music was pumped from the speakers on the ceiling. A single candle, lit in the centre of the table, provided warmth and an amber glow that illuminated the faces of the couple. Louise could see every freckle on her husband's face, the seafoam green intermingled with the ocean blue of his eyes, and the way his glasses perched daintily on the edge of his nose from her position across from him, and she thought she'd never met anyone so beautiful.
The couple sipped fancy wine and ate Bouillabaisse and duck confit as they celebrated their seventh anniversary. They'd both dressed up for the occasion—Louise in a wine-red dress that dipped at the hemline and flared out at the skirt, and Beau in a powder-blue suit and his hair slicked back with gel—and felt like they were in their twenties again. Louise leaned back in her chair, a smiling teasing at her lips as she twisted her pearl necklace in her hand. Tonight was a night to forget that she was broken, and so far, it'd been working. All she could think of was how lucky she was to have Beau Vidal.
Unfortunately, that sentiment was about to turn out like the set-up of some cosmic joke. In between sips of Le Newbie bloomed an agony in her abdomen akin to a knife slicing into her flesh. As what felt like several lacerations being carved into her skin began to burn like flames licking at her intestines, Louise thought she was floating.
