This isn't going to be a short story. I already have at least 20 chapters written, but they're all over the place so I need to write fillers before I post them. This is my first fan fiction so any critique would make my day.

(Evangeline)

I leaned against the wall of the nursing home, my feet aching. One last patient and I would be able to escape this self-inflicted hell. It was my job as a volunteer to keep company with the elderly. Only trained professionals were allowed near the more troubled or mentally and physically unfit patients, so it was my job to read or take the others on walks. My brain was swimming with a combination of stories on how life used to be and numerous games of chess.

I rallied the last of my energy knowing it was all for the cause, college. The more extracurricular activities I did along with outstanding grades would help me rise from foster care to completely independent. The sight that greeted my tired eyes brightened my increasingly depressed mood as I contemplated the few months I still had to wait between now and graduation.

She had the sweetest smile on her kind, lined face. There was something imperial about the woman standing in front of the window, her slim, tall form outlined with the sinking sun. Her white curls were pinned elegantly away from her wrinkled face; brown eyes seemed to visibly ooze warmth. A shawl hung from her thin shoulders, covering the line of an outdated black dress.

"My goodness, don't you look tired. Would you care for a seat?" She had the exuberance of tone usually reserved for younger woman. I couldn't help cheering up, this woman's presence washed away any morose thoughts. "Thank you," I said taking the proffered chair. She floated away from the window to sit on the edge of the bed beside me.

"I just had some tea brought up from the kitchen, would you care for some?" I nodded mutely, confused. She acted as if this was a social visit taken in her home, instead of a stranger visiting her hospital room. I looked around trying to get a better feel for this strange person.

There were no signs of recent visitors. A picture of a handsomely dressed older man sat beside her bed in an ornate silver frame. Her cream colored bedspread was decorated with tiny pink roses, similar to the ones that grew in a pot on her brightly lit window sill except that these were a deep crimson. "Sugar?" she asked breaking me from my examination.

'Yes please," I immediately slipped into a more formal voice, an impolite yeah would seem out of place. She tore open the yellow packets pouring a few into each hospital commissioned, sterile white mug. "It's not actually sugar. They won't let us have it, but it's easier to ask one if they care for sugar than for processed, unnatural sweetener. Given a choice I doubt one would actually pick a factory-made chemical over something that grows from the earth, it just doesn't sound appetizing."

I took the sip of the clear, brown liquid and grimaced. I never cared much for sweeteners either. There was something fake and synthetic about them that ruined whatever they were mixed with. She laughed at the disgusted look on my face, "my point exactly. You get used to it over time. I don't actually expect you to drink the rest of that. I won't be offended." I put the cup down from where I was about to take a second sip for the sake of politeness. Instead I held it in my hands, letting the warmth sink into my fingers and revive me.

"That is awful," I exclaimed, my tongue still feeling coated with the imitation sugar. Her eyes widened and she abruptly placed her cup on the plastic tray on wheels. "Where are my manners? My name is Christine." I pried one hand away from the tea cup to grasp her delicate hand, "Je M'appelle Evangeline."

She almost squealed in delight, "vous parlez français." I wasn't fluent even after being on my fourth year of taking the class, but it was more her accent that had inspired me to use her obviously native tongue. "A little," I admitted modestly, "is that where you came from?"

She shook her head a faraway look in her eyes, "I was born in Sweden, but I came to live in Paris at a very young age." I sensed an interesting tale behind her words and even though I was supposed to offer to read to her I found myself distracted with questions. "How did you end up in England?"

She handed me the picture of the distinguished man and I put down my forgotten tea to take it. "My husband, Raoul, took me here shortly after we were married. I loved France, but I couldn't stay." There was a loving smile on her face as she stared at the black and white photograph. I gathered he had died but I didn't feel comfortable enough to ask about it.

"Why couldn't you?" There was a curiously sad look on her face and I speculated about all the possibilities that would force someone to leave the home they loved. "It is a very traumatic tale, too long and twisted to explain in just an hour. If you like one day I may tell it to you, but not today."

I nodded accepting not to push her any farther. As strong as she had seemed a moment ago a sudden frailness over took her features. I looked about for a distraction and remembered the book sitting beside me on the chair. "Would you like me to read to you?"

She glanced at the novel, "Depends on what it's about." There was a list of pre-approve novels I could pick from to read to patients. Almost all of the books were picked because they were dry and boring with little controversy. Weak hearts and medication didn't mix well with drama. "The Secrets Daffodils Keep" I tried to keep the disgust out of my voice. I didn't want to skew her perception about the book before she could make up her mind.

She winced slightly, "No thank you. I'd swear they think we're children with the choices they come up with." I laughed, my heart warming even more towards this odd woman. "I can bring my favorite book tomorrow, if it would interest you more." She looked at me expectantly, her eyes luminous with curiosity. "The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas." I answered her unasked question.

She seemed to perk up a bit, "it's been a long time since I've read a good book and if you recommend it…"

"Then I'll bring it. I have a lot of battered classics at home if you'd like to borrow some." I felt sad seeing the joy the promise of a few worn down paperbacks brought to her face. I couldn't imagine going a day without a novel within arm's reach, let alone the torture of searching through the hospital's small monitored selection for some sort of honorable literature.

"Goodness, look at the time. You ought to be home eating supper by now." I followed her gaze towards the clock inching its way in the direction of 6:30. I stood up, scrambling for my things, "I didn't even realize." It wasn't like my foster parents would even have noticed my absence, but I still should have left the hospital at six so I wouldn't be doing homework until late tonight. I headed for the door before turning around and tipping an imaginary top hat at Christine, "good day Madame, until tomorrow." She seemed overly delighted with the gesture and returned it, "and you Mademoiselle."