Author Topic: Vivienne Valois  (Read 1614 times)

Apsalar

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Vivienne Valois
« on: January 18, 2015, 02:30:45 AM »


Artwork by Tomasz Namielski

Portrait available here.

Apsalar

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Re: Vivienne Valois
« Reply #1 on: January 18, 2015, 02:32:22 AM »
744 BC

A pained scream tore through the estate.

“What are you doing to her?!” Lucien roared in panic and rage. A terrified nurse quaked before him. Lucien had been about to storm into the room from whence the scream came before the nurse stepped in front of him, pleading with him.

“The d-doctor is doing everything he can, monsieur Valois, I assure you! There are complications with the pregnancy, the child is-”

“My wife!” the nurse was cut off by another roar. “What are you doing to my wife!

“P-please, monsieur Valois, calm down, the child is-”

“Do not tell me to calm down, madame, as my wife screams in pain!” He raised his hand, causing the nurse to flinch in expectation of a blow, but Lucien took a deep breath and made a visible effort to control his emotions. “Tell me what they are doing in there.” His voice now possessed a shaky calm, his anger ready to erupt again given sufficient provocation.

 “The child is twisted around, monsieur, they are having difficulty delivering. Please be patient; doctor Girard is doing everything he can.”

Lucien stared at the nurse with eyes full of hatred and she could not help but back away from the weight of their gaze upon her.

“You tell him,” spoke Lucien in a soft tone that did nothing to conceal the danger behind it. “You tell him that if anything happens to her... anything, I will have his damned head.”

“O-oui, monsieur Valois,” the nurse stuttered as she backed into the room. Another screech of agony emanated from the room before the doors were shut. Lucien saw a glimpse of the bed, of sheets soaked in red.

He sat down in the next room, shaking. The love of his life screamed in agony again.

*   *   *

“I'm sorry, monsieur Valois. We did everything we could, but the birth caused internal haemorrhaging and we cannot stop the bleeding. It's only a matter of time before we lose her.”

Lucien stared at the grey haired doctor, eyes cold and dead. His wife had stopped screaming an hour ago, the child soon filling the silence with its own wailing. The nurse had continued keeping him from his wife and so he had waited, a sense of dread settling upon him, and now finally the doctor had confirmed his fears.

“But you have a child, monsieur,” the doctor continued, “a healthy girl. The nurse has her if you'd like to se-”

“No,” spoke Lucien, “I wish to see my wife.”

“Of course, monsieur,” the doctor stepped aside, finally allowing him entry into the room. It had been tidied, his wife now covered in clean white sheets to conceal the damage done to her. Her beautiful golden hair, slick with the sweat of exertion, haloed her deathly pale features where her head lay upon the pillow. Her lips, normally so full of life, twitched into a pained smile as she rested her eyes upon him. Each step taken to stand by her side felt like a league, he hurried to her as he felt his dread crushing his heart.

“Fran,” he spoke softly, taking her hand. “Fran. My love, I-”

“Lucien.” That same weak smile. It broke his heart. “We've a girl. A baby girl. Have you seen her? She's beautiful. So beautiful.”

“I haven't, mon amour. I shall see to her presently.” He felt his eyes brim with tears and he wiped them away angrily.

“Vivienne,” spoke Fran, weakly. “I want to call her Vivienne. After my mother.”

“Vivienne shall be her name, Françoise. Whatever you wish.”

Françoise closed her eyes, smiling. Lucien opened his mouth to speak, fearing that he had lost her already, before she spoke again.

“I believe I'm dying.”

Lucien shook his head, the tears coming again. “No, Françoise. You are not dying. You cannot leave me, mon amour. What would I do without you? You are my light.”

“You will have to continue without me, Lucien.” Lucien was shocked, as ever, by how she was able to remain so calm, even in the direst of circumstances. Her strength was always a source of amazement to him.

“I cannot.” Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. “I love you, Françoise.”

“I love you, Lucien.” She closed her eyes again for the last time. He clutched her hand, sobbing.

The light had gone from his life.

Apsalar

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Re: Vivienne Valois
« Reply #2 on: January 23, 2015, 02:37:52 PM »
751 BC

Vivienne stood demurely before her father's desk as she had been taught, hands behind her and legs together. Mariette had informed her at breakfast that her father wished to see her and Vivienne had learned not to keep her father waiting. After she had been made presentable with her bright blue dress and her long golden hair brushed to a shine, she has rushed to her father's office as quick as she was able, knocking upon the door before letting herself in as instructed.

Her father was a tall man with severe features, a hawkish nose, prematurely greying hair and pale, impassive eyes. He hated her, the young girl knew, though she did not know why. She knew it instinctively by the way he stared at her with his searing, judging gaze, and the few harsh words he spared her whenever she irritated him with her presence. She wished desperately to know why he hated her but she dared not ask. Her back still bore the mark he had left her the last time she had spoken out of turn. Instead she stared at her father, who sat writing a letter.

After what seemed an eternity he looked up at her. She flinched at the force of his irritated, bitter expression as it came to rest upon her as if she were a hideous insect that had found itself into his office rather than his daughter of seven years. He regarded her in silence as she shuddered under his gaze before he finally spoke.

“You are seven today, Vivienne,” he said in an impassive, disinterested tone.

“Oui, monsieur,” she spoke precisely. She had learned already what her father thought of mumbling.

“Do you know what that means?”

“Non, monsieur.” She flinched again, expecting anger in response to her ignorance, but instead he continued watching with his uncaring eyes.

“It means it is time to begin your education properly. If Mariette has been performing her job adequately, you should already know your letters and your arithmetic, as well as basic geography.”

Vivienne nodded in response. Her lessons with Mariette, her nanny, had been difficult; her father had pressed for Vivienne to be taught well beyond what is usual for a seven year old girl. Mariette had made no secret of her disapproval, or the harsh treatment of her ward, but rarely did her displeasure last in the face of Lucien’s anger. Vivienne, too, had learned swiftly to mind her studies and learn quickly if she was to avoid the back of her fathers hand, or worse.

“Beginning next week you will be taking lessons with me every day except for fifth day, which will be reserved for attending church. We will start at seven o’clock sharp every morning whereupon I will teach you grammar, logic, rhetoric, astronomy, arithmetic, and geometry. You will have a thirty minute lunch break at one o’clock in the afternoon and lessons will end at four o’clock. Do you have any questions, Vivienne?”

Vivienne gaped at her father before noting his displeasure at her expression. She forced herself to speak. “What about Mariette?”

“Mariette will still be attending to your meals and your lessons in etiquette, however you will be seeing much less of her. It is time you learn to become the adult your mother wished for you to be and you will not do so hanging upon the skirts of your nanny. Now, that will be all.”

“But papa-” she began to protest, halting with a shriek as her father slammed his fist upon his desk and flew to his feet, marching to stand before her and grabbing her tightly by the wrist. Pain shot up her arm and tears sprung to her eyes.

“What have I told you?!” he roared at her face.

“D- Papa-” Vivienne stammered to answer, overcome by the force of her father's sudden fury.

“Do not call me that!” her father spoke furiously, his anger lending a terrifying edge to his words. “You will address me as ‘monsieur’ when you must address me at all!” His hand shot out to snatch up his cane, forcing her around and roughly pulling down her dress to expose her back.

“Please, monsieur,” Vivienne begged, tears flowing from her eyes as she sobbed, “I’m sorry!” She shrieked as the cane struck her back, pain flooding her little body.

“You should be sorry, you dull-witted child. You force my hand until you learn to do as you are told.” He struck her with the cane thrice more, each blow producing a cry of pain, before releasing her. “Get out of my sight!”

Vivienne fled, weeping, from her father's presence. She soon found herself cowering in the hiding hole she normally used when she had met with her father's fury, which was often. A quiet closet in an unused room, nestled among old, neglected dresses. She had often wondered if they had belonged to her mother.

Why does father hate me? she thought to herself, tears streaming down her cheeks between wracking sobs. She buried her face in a dress, sobbing quietly and dreading the lessons to come with the man who despised her so.
« Last Edit: January 23, 2015, 02:41:12 PM by Apsalar »