The Birth of Atonement - Juliette Germain

[Water Lily]

"Prison Log, Day One--"

Cutting herself off, she shakes her head with a sigh. The cell was dark, light barely filtered through the tiny barred window in the door. "No, no that's not right..." Taking a deep breath, she clears her throat before trying again.

"Prison Log, Night--"

Pausing in her pacing across the stone floor, she frowns, looking towards the window. "Is it even night? Is it even day /one/?" A hand raises to rub the bridge of her nose in frustration as she wonders aloud.

"LET ME OUT! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

"THEY HAVEN'T FED ME IN OVER A DAY!"

Closing her eyes, she takes another deep breath. "Just ignore them, Juliette, just ignore them..."

"I'M INNOCENT! PLEASE! SOMEONE LET ME OUT! I HAVE CHILDREN TO FEED!"

Walking over to the furthest wall from the door as the screams grow louder and more frequent, she places her back against the cold stone and slides down it to the floor, both hands moving to cover her ears as tears blur her multicolored eyes.

"ARGH! I'M SO HUNGRY!"

Thin streams of water slide down the brunette's cheeks as she takes a deep breath. "You've been through worse, you can do this. You can do this." Her words to herself lacked confidence, broken by a sob.


Struggling against the rope binding her arms and legs, she groans in frustration before falling limp back on the floor. The room was dark, lit only by a single candle, the light flickering across her bruised and cut features. Foot steps could be heard behind the closed door, coming towards the room.

'I'm going to die.'

[Water Lily]

'Freedom.'

Exiting the Gendarmerie in almost disbelief, she takes her first deep breath of the cool air, eyes closed to savor the experience. While many may feel relieved, this newly freed peasant did not. Despair gripped her along with a sharpened pain in her heart, betrayal filling her with a sense of bitterness.

Opening her eyes slowly, she looks to the man in green robes across from her, a symbol of everything she hates, yet... The symbol is cracked now. The painting's colors have dried and begun falling down in chips. There's something beneath, something hidden behind what's been seen her entire life.


Sitting down in the carriage, hands clasped with her elbows resting on her knees, she leans forward. Her gaze was on the one-eyed man seated across from her, his expression hard, though not unkind. Middle-aged and appearing similar to the rest of the Borcans, his hair is neatly trimmed. There was a powerful aura about him and at his fingertips if her bruised and swelling cheek that throbbed now and then on was anything to go by.

"So an anchorite can't have a shield /and/ be a tyrant to the people?"

The green jacket he wore had seen better days, hiding his warrior's physique beneath. His shoulders were back, head held high as if he were fearless. Proud, though not in the traditional sense. He would embrace his part in the Grand Scheme and do so without question. The man answers without hesitation, his voice stern as he speaks. His faith is strong and conviction clear, befitting a man of his position.

"Not their own, no. The clergy always tries to look after their own flock, regardless of Revelation. Hrmph, except maybe the Third; but I blame their negligence."


The sky opened to a morning rain, dawn overcast in a shadow of clouds and thunder. How fitting for her release from prison. Scowling, she stares at the man in green robes, angry with him, herself, and the entire situation that brought her to this very moment.

"Right. You wanted to speak?"

[Water Lily]

The night sky was shrouded in clouds, breaking open to a light rain as she reached the graveyard. A bouquet of lilies was held in hand, a worried and irritated frown forming on her lips. Another was waiting for her, smoking despite the rain that had begun, as if not even the weather could move him to an action he disliked.

"Good, bad luck not to leave flowers."

Squinting in the darkness, the flame from his cigarette lighting up his cruel features only briefly, she walks towards him with bouquet in hand, held awkwardly. Gesturing to the graveyard, she asks, "Visitin' someone special?"

Turning, the man who sooner belongs in a brothel as the owner than a graveyard heads off for the graves. "We are."

The dimly lit graveyard always held an eerie feeling for her, paired with the fact she hadn't visited in years. Trying to avoid the crawling of her skin with their moonless walk, she responds as casually as she can. "Didn't take you for the sentimental type."

Looking for something in particular, they wandered seemingly aimlessly as she followed him blindly into the night. "I'm not, but I do believe rituals hold deep importance."

After small talk, they made their way through the graves to the oldest part of the cemetery. As bid by her new companion, she placed the lilies before a long forgotten gravestone.


Today was the best day so far in her young life. Fifth Day. Seven years of age, she ran through the streets with a five-year-old in tow. The morning sun shone down on them favorable, the streets thankfully free of any bodies this dawn. "Hurry, Capucine! He's goin' to catch us!"

Giggling in glee, enjoying the brief moment of freedom they have in their oppressive world, the two girls were chased by a burly man. Plain in appearance, he had the muscles and tanned skin of a hard worker, his hair and eyes the same dull shade of brown. Panting, he sped up and grabbed each one, the children never having a chance to outrun him.

Holding a small girl in each arm, he grinned wildly as the smaller one cried, "No! He caught us!" Turning with his squirming charges held firmly to him, he released a boisterous laugh. "Yes, and now we must take you back to get dressed. The foreman doesn't give us every fifth day off, but I convinced him this time so let's make the most of it, hmm? If you're good, I'll give you each a flower."

The eyes of both girls lit up at the mention of the pretty flora they normally never had time to pick or weren't allowed to touch. "Flowers?! You mean it, pa?" The small brunette held in his right arm widened her multicolored eyes in excitement. The smaller redhead in his left arm raised her arms in victory towards the sky, doe brown eyes filled with glee. "Flowers!" She exclaims.

After a few minutes of walking through the slums, the man carrying them carefully avoiding the worst parts of it as best he can, they reach their house. Each girl was set down on the ground after entering, the tiny brunette bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. Too small to see what was on the table next to them, the large man picked something up and then leaned down, tucking a yellow tulip into fiery red locks.

"A tulip for my Tulipucine," the man grinned before getting another flower, this one a startling shade of white. Pristine. Not even a single scratch was found on the flower. With more care, he tucked it behind the older of the two children's ear as she smiled brightly. "And a lily for my Julily."


Finishing her cigarette as the memories overcome her, she tosses the bud onto the ancient stone in front of her. Not one for respecting the dead it seems. Standing, the brunette grabs her drenched coat and throws it back on before heading outside the forlorn crypt.

Walking past the gravestones, she stopped, turning back around. It was daylight now, the sunlight illuminating a decayed gravestone with only dead leaves blanketing it. The flowers, the lilies, that she had placed before it not moments prior were nowhere to be seen.

'If it's bad luck to not leave flowers, what does it mean for the flowers to be taken?'

[Water Lily]

'Ezra forgive me.'

"How long has it been since your last confession, Mademoiselle?"

The dark of the night gave her a sense of tranquility in the decaying cathedral. Sitting on a stool, her cloak folded in her lap, she tries to relax. Choosing the higher dialect, as this was a more formal occasion and something sacred, she answers him. "Six years now, and three months."

A silence fell over the two briefly. His velvety tone, each word properly enunciated and spoken with a higher education, held a teasing lilt. "It sounds like we have a considerable archive to sort through, then."

Snorting, the corners of her lips twitch in amusement. The gallows humor was a welcome relief to the thoughts of what her future held. "I did tell you before it would take awhile to get through it."

Even while praying, his words were spoken softly, with a feeling of warmth. Though the dark curtain separated the two, she could hear the sound of rustling cloth as he moved, likely bowing his head. "O Blessed be Ezra, Our Guardian in the Mists, we are humbled before Thee. We ask that You grant Juliette Germain clarity of mind and courage of the tongue, that she may confess her sins truly...and without fear of Your holy retribution. Amen."

Bowing her head deeply as he prayed, she clutched her father's amulet tightly, with desperation. Crude in design, Ezra's holy symbol roughly carved into the metal, it meant the world to her. Now, it held a special meaning for several reasons compared to mere sentimental value. Her hand hesitantly lifted from the amulet as she paused before making the five-fold sign, going through the motion for the first time in years. "Amen."

There was compassion in his tone, as befitting one of his faith, though his words caused a strike of anxious self-doubt run through her. "As it's been some time... I will remind you that the intent of confession is to speak freely, in unburdening your soul. To rid yourself of the sins that haunt you, or dark, worrisome thoughts."


Pulling her rapier from the back of the man's neck, she watches his body crumple helplessly before the privy. Blood coated the ground and the wall, sprayed from the lethal wound she inflicted. Leaning down, she uses his emerald cloak to wipe his blood from her thin blade quickly.

Walking towards the entrance, she sheathes her rapier and grabs the mop, trying to assess the situation for her next move. Near the closed door, her head tilts to see if the blood or the fresh corpse was visible past the screens shielding the privy.

The temperature in the room dropped quickly and exponentially. Breathing out, she could see a cloud of smoke form in front of her lips, goosebumps appearing across her skin as she shivered.

Strange shadows grew from the torches and began to dance around the room as something appeared. Unseen, its presence was felt heavily with a sense of foreboding. Something old had taken hold of the room, time freezing for the lone survivor within.

Petrified with fear at the unnatural display, she looks around.


"I...know that you are a good woman, Madamoiselle Germain. You have saved yourself, with Ezra's hand guiding."

Guilt and sorrow tore at the woman in the confessional booth, her green and blue hazel eyes blurred with unfallen tears. His words caused a hint of bitter amusement to appear briefly. "I'm not a good woman." Hands on the table, she clenches them into fists. A sense of determination took hold of her then, a spark of hope appearing. "But I want to be."

The silence that followed was deafening. Her hope, her determination, began to fade with each passing second as fear settled in. At the sound of his throat clearing, she jumps in her seat, expecting the worst.

"None of us are perfect. We are all like unto a work of art that's not yet finished being painted. Only... we get to choose the stroke of the brush with every moment of our lives."

[Water Lily]

A light shiver ran through her as the morning rain soaked her beneath her dark leather coat. Dawn bathed the city in pinkish light, the cathedral behind her casting a great shadow on the other side. One hand gripping the railing tightly, she stared off at the distant Gendarmerie.

Despite the rain, a half-gone cigarette was perched in her mouth as she smoked heavily, weather be damned. The rain gently falling on her face mixed with her tears as memories washed over her with barbed recollection.


Her tone was desperate as she explained the previous night's conversation, the pulsing pang in her heart unrelenting in its doses of pained sorrow. Sitting on the bed, knees apart with her hands clasped between them, she stares at her lover somberly, watching the candlelight flicker over his pale features. Pale blue eyes held a sense of fearless calm, which only worried her even more.

"It's already bad enough you're seen with me, but alone, as a man and a woman... My reputation is already poor. I would only drag you down. We can't continue what we were doing so far away from home. It will /ruin/ you. That's all the blue bloods care about, reputation. I don't want to be the reason your father throws you out onto the streets. They would eat you alive just because you're a nobleman's son--"


"But?" Staring at the darkly clothed man across from her, panic tried to seize the woman. Arms crossed over her chest, she watches him carefully.

Clearly conflicted, he softly responds in the higher dialect, further distanced from her as she used the lower one. "I just don't see myself doing that sort of thing, especially with the war and well..."

While she blended in with the run down room, he was dressed in attire worth more than the entire building. Raising a hand, she waved at him nonchalantly, trying to dismiss his words as well as the pain of rejection in her heart. "I won't press you. I should leave soon to prepare. Remember that you swore not to tell. I don't want my hand to be forced--"

"Who am I going to tell...? The First Revelation...?"

His hushed words brought a hint of comfort to her heart, though the feeling of rejection was quickly replaced with fear and loneliness.


Sitting down at the large meeting table, her hands tapped nervously at the wooden surface. Glancing between the three Gendarmes seated to the side of her and in front, she bit the inside of her cheek to hold off the rising anxiety and dread.

"Well, the problem that I had you dealing with kind of solved itself, but I would appreciate cooperation. Not forcing it on you however... but withholding information in an investigation is a crime, you should know that."


An opened letter is clutched tightly in her hand, the seal somehow surviving her grip.

"We are watching."

Trembling in fear and dread, she slowly looks up from the desk.

"We know."

Multicolored eyes blur as tears form and spill over her cheeks.

"You are shackled."

A sob of agonized despair breaks free from her lips.

"Enlightenment will be given if you abide."

Slamming a hand down onto the wooden surface, she crumples over the desk.

"We will find you."

Head pressed against the wood, she nearly screams in frustration and despair, blood running cold at the words.


The sound of rubble scuffing against the cobblestone draws her attention as her head tilts slightly to the side. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, the brunette turning as she searched the shadows to no avail. Grim determination took hold of the somber Dementlieuse, the bud of her cigarette flicked onto the stone beneath her feet. If they wanted an assassin, they would have one.

'Death is my verdict.'

[Water Lily]

Dreams of days past greet the woman as she falls into blissful slumber...


Walking through the Marchand Quarter nearing dusk were two young adult women, a beautiful redhead and a brunette that was overshadowed by the younger woman next to her. Though they both wore drab clothes with patches stitched throughout, the redhead was clearly a diamond in the rough.

The brunette winces and places a hand on her back. "Capsie, I feel like I got run over by one of them Vistani bears..."

Giggling, the redhead, Capucine, smiles softly at her sister. "That jus' means we got to find you a husband real quick like!" Entwining her arm through the brunettes, she skips as she walks.

Unable to help herself, the brunette shakes her head and smiles at her sister's antics. "Yeah, yeah. Good luck with that. How can anyone see this ol' pile o' mud next to the one an' only Tulipucine," she lightly teases with a laugh.

The redhead giggles more before pointing towards a dockworker that appeared to be near their age, his hair a dirty blonde framing amber eyes. In his early twenties, he had paused in his work, staring at the brunette. "I think I jus' found one, Juli."

Looking over to the young man, Juliette looks at him in bashful surprise, a deep blush brushing across her cheeks as she's greeted with a flirtatious wink.


Sobbing echoed across the small room, a lone candle flickering light over two thin figures alone in the room. One, a woman with hair a deep scarlet, was crying in the arms of another, a woman with light brunette locks bound in a braid.

"What are we goin' to do, Juli?! Ma's too drunk to take care o' herself, let alone us! We'll starve!" Capucine gripped the woman's shirt tightly, drenching it in her tears.

Holding her sister with a firm embrace, her own eyes began to water. "I don't know, Capsie... I don't know." The brunette lowers her fore head onto the other woman's shoulder.

After several long moments of sobbing, the redhead slowly quiets down before offering, in a hoarse voice, "I'll become a lady o' the night."

The brunette froze, moving a hand to quickly lift her sister's face from her shirt as her multicolored gaze snapped to her. "Not a chance in the mists! You ain't becomin' a harlot!"

The redhead smiled at her in sorrow, despair in her doe brown eyes. "I have to, Juli... It's the only way we'll have enough bits an' lunars to feed all three o' us now that... now that pa's gone. Besides, I'm pretty enough for it..."

Any and all hope had long since drained from Juliette at her words, shoulders slumping. After a moment of silence, hardened resolve takes hold of her, jaw clenched to keep from trembling.

"...I'll do it, Capsie. Just 'til you find a man that can take care o' you. I'll sell my body so we got enough for us here."


With a gasp, she jerks awake only to find pitch darkness greet her, cheeks wet from despair.

[Water Lily]

'Who do I trust? What is the price for true freedom?'

Relaxing in the bed, undressed, she looks down to the bruises covering her body. Not even a wince was found on her features, nor were her muscles tense from the abuse she's suffered in days past. A hand raises to her lips to take a deep drag of the cigarette held between two fingers, smoke soon billowing around her.


Strapped to the cold, metal bed, her body tense, she stares at the creature across from her with a flat gaze. "What do you want?"

A gauntleted hand continues to run through her hair, a fiendish grin all too smug as he leans closer to her. "I will free you, and give you means to escape this place - in the condition that you forfeit something you never truly needed in return. It is personal and you never even noticed it. Your soul."

Brows furrowing, the bruised woman stares at him in disbelief. She would laugh were it not for the metal bars beneath her biting into the flesh of her back. "You're joking..."

"Not at all." The hellish glow of his eyes cast an eerie light on both of their features, the reality of the situation fighting against the culture she was raised in.


"Did you kill him?" Eyebrows raised, the dark garbed man stands across from her, remorseless.

Embittered fury remained present in an aura of restrained violence, the brunette doing all she could to speak with him calmly. A leveled gaze was aimed at him. "What do you think?"

"You at least /were/ an assassin." Though his words were spoken simply, casually, the emphasized word held a hint of disappointment, much to her frustration.


"Everything's a prison," she murmurs. The cigarette had long since burnt out, palm red with the faint scent of burning flesh as it cooled in her hand. "This city, the shadows, those people...These feelings..."

Looking down at her burnt hand, she releases a long, helpless sigh. "This body."

[Water Lily]

The small woman, a gnome, holds out a flask of Bullet with one hand while the other stifles a burp. "Drink this, please." Her shadow laughed beneath her feet, almost crawling across the floor as the gnome approached her.

Pressing her back further against the wall to get every inch of distance between her and the shadow, the brunette recoils in its presence, forcing her gaze to tear away from the shadow to look back at the gnome before she was overcome with flashbacks. "Yeah... I don't really drink alcohol..." Spoken in Low Mordentish for comfort, she adds, "Gesture's nice and all, though."

"Mmm. No, I need to know if this sensory dulling is physiological. I'm not allowed whisper spider poison in the country we could use that." Others in the room seemed to share her discomfort, mostly the albino, though like her, he was subdued by the necessity of the situation. Her words make the brunette's shoulders slump in defeat, a sigh pulled from her lips as she begrudgingly takes the flask.


An empty bottle of cheap wine was thrown against the wall, shattering. Beneath its previous path was a woman with dark hair having ducked to avoid it. "This is different, ma!"

The assailant, while similar in appearance to the one who was crouched, had vibrant red hair and pale, ghostly blue eyes narrowed in anger. A half full bottle was in one hand, raising it to take another swig as she swayed on her feet. "This ain't different, Juliette!" Her words were heavily slurred and it was a miracle she was still conscious, breath reeking with alcohol.

Tears were in her eyes as she regarded her mother for the first time in almost a year. "Fleury is /different/, ma! I ain't sayin' I love him, but--"

"But what?!" The drunkard demanded as she took a few unsteady steps towards the brunette, glaring into her mutlicolored eyes. "You /want/ to love him? Ivories ain't any good! None of 'em! They lie to you, Juli! That take what they want and then leave you like you're trash!" Raising her bottle with a scowl, the older woman downs half of what remained.

"It ain't like that, ma! He cares... I want you to meet him." Tears in her eyes as she faced her mother, she tried to adopt a non-aggressive stance. Despite being full grown and certainly capable of defending herself against an old, drunken woman, she felt like a child in the presence of this figure.

"Stupid girl!" Lurching forward, the redhead reaches out to harshly grab the brunette's shoulder. "Because of you, they're goin' to laugh at me again like they did before you was born!  Leave him now! Before you embarrass me further!"

With a soft sob, she shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Ma, I... I can't. I don't want to, I--"

Her sentence was cut off as her mother raises her other hand, nearly empty bottle swinging down harshly.


Taking a deep breath as she tries to chase the memories away, she lifts the bottle to her lips and downs several sips, as she's seen her mother do so many times before. For it being her first taste of alcohol, it went down easily. Glancing down with a hint of confusion, the brunette says, "Tastes like water."

Others in the room grimaced as one asked, "Was that bullet...?"

"Of course-- I wouldn't have her drink swill."

'Ezra's blood, now I'm just like /her/.'

[Water Lily]

'Is this divine punishment or a test?'

"...You said you were abroad?" A freshly lit cigarette slowly burned away between his fingers, smoke drifting up into the fading light of dusk.

The mask the woman wore was only uncomfortable in that it hindered her vision. The heavy garments she wore, the feathers, even the elegant fan she waved at herself... Nothing could be felt. "Yes. I...went to visit hedge-witches."

"Was there any luck?" His words, always spoken in a kind tone, held a hint of hope.

Contrary to him, the costumed woman only filled with despair, her tone embittered. "No, they're all charlatans."

"...We will find a way to mend you." His reassurances were spoken sympathetically, and despite his position, lacked any animosity or condescension.

"I hope so..." Her shoulders slump as her tone becomes lost, the mask hiding her heartbroken features. "I didn't think not being able to feel pain, or anything, would leave me this...empty."


"Why me? Why not you?" Incredulous, she lifts a hand to gesture to the man in front of her. Despite her state of undress, and the constant rein she kept on her fury, she seemed completely at ease.

"You found them, you found me, you found Thalion. Resourceful." Each word was spoken as a fact, the man not one to waste breath in a conversation. His blunt words were without a hint of remorse or pity. "Hells you got out - That may have been planned too."

"Hardly! /You're/ the one who decrypted their notes! Me escaping wasn't planned." Infuriated, she paused as she was given time for his words to sink in, the brunette shaking her head vehemently. "...No, it couldn't have been planned."

Two words were all it took to give her doubt, to make her question everything. To force paranoia onto her during the worst period of her life and ensure her reliance upon him.

"Couldn't it?"


Pulled from her dark thoughts were comforting words, a lit candle in the dark room of her mind.

"I would not give you platitudes... But when I was a young man, I was...often taken a bed. I could feel, of course, but I would hear my brother playing outside the window, but be myself unable to stir for months."

"I could be mended for a time, healed by faith, or tonics, or leeching..." The nobleman adjusts one of his cuffs uncomfortably, though his posture is strong. Shoulders back, it's clear his past no longer weighs as heavily. "But it seldom lasted."

It was one thing to hear rumors, and another for the subject of interest to speak to you about it directly. Surprised, entranced by his tale, she couldn't help but ask, "How did you recover?"

"Time. I was never truly well, but enough to be sent to boarding school from time to time as I grew older. The bouts became less frequent, and when I became an anchorite in my own right, it became a trivial thing to see my health... But faith did carry me, even when I was young."

"I read the Third Book first, of course. I was... skeptical and willful. I didn't believe mercy could exist when one twin was blessed with health, and another...not." Taking a drag of his cigarette, the nobleman's words were wizened not with age, but with experience. Though he was far younger than her, he couldn't help but make someone feel naive and inexperienced in the face of all he's witnessed.

"But faith is sometimes akin to a flower. It blooms after much nurturing." A kind smile plays on his lips as he looks over to her.

[Water Lily]

Another quip from behind her as she spoke with the knight in bloodied white armor. Nearly rolling her eyes, she playfully replies, "I would have planned ahead, but someone gets a little skittish when I pop up next to him." Joking, there was a smile under her hood only for it to fall in surprise at his next words.

"A few drinks certainly helps ease my nerves, madamoiselle." The knight snorted in amusement at her antics.

The situation was dire, they were all covered in blood and mostly healed wounds, and exhaustion pulled at them. Perhaps because of this, despite her inability to feel anything, she desperately held onto something to get her through the night. To get through this hellish castle they've all set upon purging. "Alright, Quinnie. We both get out of here alive, and I'll get you all the drinks you want. How's that?"

The lopsided smile was heard in the albino knight's voice, his helm doing little to hide his emotions as he glances to the former assassin. "That's a deal."

The excitement and hope she felt was quickly crushed at the snobbish, yet eloquent, "You know she was a prostitute, right?"

Angered, yet not unused to the treatment, she offers her correction as she shoves down the emotional pain from the verbal laceration. "Was. Past tense."

Bitter, an emotion that was her close companion since her liaisons with the nobleman, she felt hope enter her once more, warmth softening her demeanor and the negativity that filled her at his kind, yet stern murmur. "She is still a person, madame."


A shaking hand moves to slowly place the intelligencer mask over her features, hiding them. Hiding the pained grimace as her hope faded. Hiding the tears in her eyes that began to drench the mask. Hiding the bitter hatred that blossomed within her.

Blue-green eyes stared at the fallen knight. The radiance of his armor was gone, along with the light within him. His tabard was in tatters, once pristine plate covered in blood. The smell of burning flesh wafted off of him. Kind blue eyes were now empty, white hair clinging to his face.

Yet even as his spirit hovered above, reaching for the light of Ezra with a smile, her gaze remained on what was left behind. Words passed in a blur as she moved to pick up his corpse, determined to bear the burden of seeing him home. Seeing him to rest. With each passing second she carried him upon her back, more cracks appeared in the woman.

'Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Death is my verdict. Deathismyverdict. Deathismyverdict. Deathismyverdict. Deathismyverdict. DeathismyverdictDeathismyverdictDeathismyverdictDeathismyverdict. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death.'