Madeleine Voland: The Road Called Duty

[Clementine]

Madeleine Voland



Voland Family History

[Clementine]

The youngest member of the Voland household stared listlessly out the window of the family estate. Around her, the household staff went about their daily routines. The maids dusted and polished, the gardeners pruned and trimmed, the kitchen staff bustled in their duties to provide daily nourishment to all. For Madeleine, they may as well have not been there at all. It had been nearly two years since she left Port-a-Lucine, and she still thought of him.

She despised herself for that weakness. To think of the man who would take a mistress, before they were even wed. A man who would shatter her trust for the sake of carnal pleasure. In all this, her heart tugged in pain. Was he dead? Alive? Did he think of her also? She had long since laid aside any romantic notions of love for him in her heart, but it was too painful to hate him. Instead, she grieved. She grieved for the life they had fought for, the dreams they had dared, the stolen kisses they shared in the moonlight.

A sense of shame overshadowed her sorrow. In hindsight, she knew she had never been enough for him. He told her from the beginning he would ask much of her. He always asked more of her, and she always found herself not quite as brave as he. Brave or foolish? She had tried to rise to his expectations, but in her heart, she had only wanted him. His paths had led him to ruin and destruction, and forever parted from his homeland. She looked down at the bare finger that should have held a wedding ring, but instead shouted to the world of her failure. To everyone on the outside, a statement of her dereliction of duty. For herself, in her most secret utmost being, it signified her failure to save him. If only she could have been more.

Heavy boot steps behind her forced her to claw her thoughts from the past and focus on the present. She did not need to look to know the approach of Yvoire’s baron and leader. Her one parent left in the world, and the benefactor of her existence.

“Maddie?” He called out to her softly, coaxing her to turn. “We still need to discuss this ridiculous request of yours. How can you even consider such a notion?” She took a deep breath and faced him, trying desperately not to stutter in his presence.

“F-Father…. Please. I n-need… t-to be out in the w-world. I n-need air. Space. Light.” She gestured ambiguously to the sunbeams streaming through the glass. “I b-beg you… p-please consider my request-” Her pleas were cut off by a wheezing gasp, and she fumbled for a fresh medicinal cigarette.

“Is there not the finest space and light in the whole of the gardens that surround us?! Why do you need to leave to seek such?! The last time we sent you out into the world, you nearly married a title-less philanderer who betrayed his country! You went to war! You pursued a degree in /Medicine/ of all things!” He blustered and scolded the girl. “And your health! It’s a wonder you came home alive the last time! Do you really wish to force me to bury my only daughter? For your brother to see you destroy yourself? Think of your dear departed mother!” Madeleine’s shoulders hung heavy and she closed her eyes to shield herself from the burden of his accusations. Every single allegation lashed upon her with the sting of truth. Pascal’s face softened with dismay as he surveyed his young daughter. “....dear one, it’s well past time you were settled and properly matched. I know I can never do the justice your mother would have done were she here, but you must move on. You have a duty to this family, to your future husband, and to Dementlieu that was set in place generations before you were even born.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, bright with tears that she refused to give the satisfaction of falling.

“P-Please, Father. I s-swear to you I h-have l-learned from my mistakes. I w-will not let you down. I b-beg you for one more chance. Let me r-return to P-Port-a-Lucine f-for a time.”

He rested a hand on his chin and sternly regarded her. “...I will allow one more opportunity. But you will go without ongoing financial support. I will give you a sum to see you managed for a short time. If you are serious about re-entering society, I am certain you can find a way to occupy your time appropriately. And if I get wind of a single error of judgment… you will come straight home. Do we understand one another?”

Madeleine took a long nervous breath of smoke from the cigarette in her trembling hand and nodded.

“I will not fail in my duty.”

[Clementine]

12 Avril 777

Little songbird at my window. I hear you in the early morning hours. I marvel at your commitment and resolve to your short and small life. Did anyone instruct you to sing? Did your mother teach you in the nest of your place in life, before she pushed you out to fly? Is it your duty or your choice?

Whatever drives you, you always appear, under the sill, even in the foggiest rain. When you first came to me, I retreated beneath the warmth of my pillow. I admit I was inconvenienced and put out by your ardent call to rise with the dawn. Yet for all my efforts, my shunning did not dissuade you, and you persisted in your consistent arrival, morning after morning. There are Hawks that would seek to consume you, to snuff out your shine before you even begin. Yet each morning you leave your cradle of feathers and sticks to uphold the life you were born to.

Eventually, I did come to embrace you. To understand you. I still do not rise, most days I do not even open my eyes. But I do lay here in the quiet stillness of first light and I listen to your innate ballad. Whether I give my attention, or whether I slumber makes no difference to you. You are the herald of the spring morning's light. One of many, and in the Grand Scheme? Often regarded inconsequential. Yet if your song were suddenly taken from us, the Spring morning would hold only the deafening silence of your absence, only pierced by the hoarse scream of triumph of the Hawks. To others you are simply ornamental, a fleeting pleasure at best. But those who know… those who understand. They see you for who you truly are.

Duty.

It is the duty of noble Houses to ensure the future for their country. For every citizen. To serve.

It is the duty of sons to inherit. To inherit and safeguard the leadership of what has been entrusted to them. To serve.

And daughters? It is the duty of daughters to improve upon the integrity of the foundation upon which they were born. To sing.

A family with no sons is mourned, and yet a family without daughters scarcely bears any mention of such. Daughters. Presumed to be ornamental. Inconsequental. Save for one matter of importance. My duty. To Dementlieu, to my family, to myself. Only in upholding my fidelity to duty can I fulfill the role the Grand Scheme saw fit to place upon my shoulders.

My name is Madeleine Voland.

Devoted daughter to the Baron d’Yvoire, Pascal Voland VI, and Evelyne Voland, nee Brodeur.

Beloved sister of Pascal Voland VII, heir.

Brave soldier in La Jeune Compagnie.

Dedicated Citizen of Dementlieu.

Humble supplicant of Ezra.

Just a girl. Not unlike countless others. Trying not to be consumed by the Hawks. Trying not to fail everyone depending on me to be a songbird.

Heart, please don’t fail me.

[Clementine]

She lay in her bed, surrounded by darkness. Only the fading dim of the firelight was seen. He'd come. Papa had finally made time for a visit. Her heart had felt as if it would burst out of her chest upon seeing him at her door. He was here for her today, not his favorite first born son. She silently chastised herself. She hadn't even asked about her brother.

Today, she'd held a dinner party and every guest invited had attended. Even him. Certainly he had been cordial. Poised. Kind even. The model of a Dementlieuese aristocrat. He had dined, shown interest in the others stories, and even almost smiled. Maybe. Perhaps that had been a trick of the light or fanciful thinking. But she heard the unspoken words in his voice. The veiled disappointment and damaged expectations of her. She thought back to her conversation with the Maitre, just a couple days prior.

"I was allowed, even sent to war by my father." She'd said. "It was necessary and unavoidable that the honor of our name be represented. But I was never expected to come home. My being alive wasn't part of the plan. It's an unexpected burden."

She watched an ember extinguish entirely, leaving nothing but ash and smoke.

"Whatever will they do with me now?"

[Clementine]

One tiny stab. And then another. The needle moved fluidly in and out of the fine silk and lace that she clasped delicately in her hands. Pull the thread too tight, and the fabric would bunch. Leave it too loose, and it would gap and reveal. Try to rush, and stitch too large, and it would be utterly ruined. As she pieced together what would eventually be her wedding gown, Madeleine reflected on the events of the past weeks.

Married. She was to be married. What she had expected to take months more, perhaps even years if she’d had her way, was now swiftly upon her within the month. What was more, her husband-to-be was not an arrogant man, or even unkind. He was good, and patient, and had no interest in her father’s profitable business affairs. There were surely those who saw this as a lucrative step up for the freshly knighted Sargeant. In her heart however, she wondered if she herself was truly good enough for him. In her mind, she silently berated herself.

“Too impulsive.” She shoved the needle through.

“Stubborn as a mule.” The needle was drawn back out.

“Head in the clouds.” She stabbed the fabric again aggressively.

“Sick.” She paused and stared at her work, her hands unmoving.

Were they both doomed to repeat their old mistakes? Her to take up with a man she would always have to share with the law. Him to pursue a woman who could be taken from him at any moment.

She thought back to the day of the council meeting. The day her father had agreed so readily to Sieur Dorian’s request for her hand in marriage.

“I want you to know that I love her.” Dorian had said.

“And that is precisely the problem.” Her father had replied. “Had you gone about this properly, you would have not formed such attachments."

Even after her previous failed entanglement, she still struggled to see justice in a world that did not cherish or see the value in love. She knew of course what her father would say. What the Maitre would say. To base one’s decisions solely on love was to prioritize one’s self above duty. The duty she was born to, the duty she was beholden to keep to her country, and to her family.

She knew what most saw on the outside. A quiet, timid young mademoiselle. Privileged. Well-bred. Naïve of the true ways of the world. Only she knew what secrets she carried in her heart. They were carefully boxed away neatly within her heart, locked by the fear of what could occur if anything were to ever escape it’s confines.

The rapidly moving needle suddenly jabbed into her fingertip and scarlet drops stained the otherwise immaculate fabric. One mistake was all it took. One distraction. Now, this piece would have to be purged and replaced.

Some would say secrets made no friends. To them, Madeleine would say, her secrets needed no friends, only a guard.

Her secrets were too dangerous to be known.

They would remain trapped however.

Safekept by her dutiful silence.

[Clementine]

Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick
Tick

Don't stop. Keep moving. So much to do. So many to answer to. So many hats. Daughter. Wife. Friend. Citizen. Keep up Madeleine. Don't trip. Not for a second.

The moments were flashing by faster then she could fathom. The sound was deafening. In her heart, she knew there would never be enough time. But she had to try.

"Maddie... we have to talk."

Why did he sound so serious? When did his voice learn that tone?

"Stella's dead. It appears to be an overdose of some kind."

Tick.


Tick.


Tick


.......

Was it possible for time to freeze? For life to suspend? Eyes of disbelief locked onto the pain in his gaze. The ever present smile remained fixated upon her lips. Surely, there must be a misunderstanding. Anything but what had just been spoken.

"Stella's dead."

What was that sound? Who was sucking the air rushing from the room? From her lungs? Why was she on the floor? Who was screaming? Shouting? Sobbing? Surely not from her. It couldn't be. Could it?

A hollow voice she did not recognize whispered softly from the void that threatened to overtake her.

"I'll kill them all."