Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

The Birth of Atonement - Juliette Germain

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Water Lily:

--- Quote ---
"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.'


--- End quote ---

Water Lily:

--- Quote ---
'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?"




--- End quote ---

Water Lily:

--- Quote ---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?'





--- End quote ---

Water Lily:

--- Quote ---'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."




--- End quote ---

Water Lily:

--- Quote ---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.'





--- End quote ---

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