A/N: I'm trying for a better story. Please review so I know whether or not to keep it going. :)
Some backround:
Charlotte Danton-fictional daughter of fictional man Christophe Roy, born May 4th, 1760. During her childhood, her mother died fighting Smallpox and her father lavished her and her siblings in affection, until she turned the ripe age of 14 when her father grew interest in a new age of ideas; The Age of Enlightenment.
The Age of Enlightenment.
Chapter One.
Another restless night of sleep. And who could blame me? My father had become less and less interested in his children, only to pursue new ideas that interested him, and new collegues too. My siblings and I were forbidden to ever read through father's newly aqquired books, lest we corrupt our minds as well, he says. Being only 14 and the youngest of three boys, I didn't connect well with others. My mind soared off to incredible heights, just aching to read what father kept away, hoping to educate myself in something other then the boring studies of the Roman Catholic Church that schooling has taught me.
Ever since my mother had passed away, my father lavished my brothers and I in constant attention and affection, sufficating my brothers, yet showering me in the happiness I always wanted. Years after and much to my dismay, my father began to glue himself to books, spending less and less time with me and more time greeting new collegues outside home. As I was forbidden to the books, I was also forbidden to leave our home, or follow father to meet his collegues, which now occured for many hours throughout the night. And this night, was no different.
"Antoine! Is that father's pipe?!" I snatched the wooden stick out of my brother's hand.
"Oh, what's the harm! He has others." Antoine responded smugly, groping for the pipe I held over my head in an attempt to keep it from him. His hands reached above my head, as he was much taller than I, yet his item of interest was kept retained in a grasp too tight to be pried open.
"This is father's pipe! Imagine how cross he'll be if he were to find this with you. Besides, you're far too young to commit to such a heinous act of impurity!" After a few more desprate reaches, Antoine finally gave in and sighed heavily in defeat.
"Charlotte, you need to rid yourself of this 'purity' nonesense. You're only 14, and have done nothing with your life to even know the difference between purity and impurity." he retorted casually. I set the pipe down where my brother had found it and my face fumed with a growing anger. As quickly as I could swing, I slapped my brother on the back of his skull, a painful cry emitting from his lips.
"Ow! Charlotte, you know I hate that!"
"Don't be so ungratful! Would you rather I was a harlot? Roaming around and sleeping with both men and women alike? You should be thankful I care so much for my reputation!"
Antoine was silent.
No response came from my elder brother, as he was stunned into silence. Taking a huff of breath, I turned quick on my heels and retreated back into the dark confides of my bedroom, where I caved in and wept for the remainder of the night. Out of all my brothers, Antoine gave me the most trouble. Like any normal pair of siblings, we fought, however negative feelings between us were not so easily forgotten. As hard as I tried to watch over my elder brother, he insisted that he had reached manhood, by the age of 16, and had every right to do as he pleased. Of course I never told father of his announced maturity, and I only shuttered at the anger Antoine would endure if I did, and hoped and prayed to mother for support.
I crept into my bed with tears still falling, and curled up tight under my blankets. Sleep did not befall me so easily nowadays, as it hadn't for months of recent, pushed father from my reach tonight as a result of my emotional break. I silently sobbed with my face burried in my pillow.
Outside of my bedroom, Antoine blew out heavy smoke into the air, father's pipe hanging so carelessly on his lips.
When my cries finally set me to sleep, I felt hardly rested when I was awoken the next morning by my father. He sent me off to the bath, readying me for the relentlessly boring day of schooling ahead of me. My brothers were filed out of their bedrooms around the same time I had entered the bath, and complained outside the door for my inability to keep track of the time. Finally, my patience grew thin with their consistant bickering and I stood up, still knee deep in the luke-warm water I comforted myself in and quickly pulled out the plug, watching the water twist it's way down the drain. When my brothers overhead the draining of my bath through the wooden bathroom door they quieted down, finally satisified. I breathed out a sigh of relief, finally free of the complains that plagued me from behind the door and reached for my clothes that were folded and pressed on the floor next to the tub.
When I exited the bath fully dressed, my brothers sat surrounding the door, finally relieved that I had left the room vacant only to be refilled with the impatient boys. Father was in the family room, busing himself with another one of his forbidden novels.
"Father?" I slowly inched my way into our family room, trying to get a glimpse of the title of my father's book, only to be disapointed when it was closed too quickly for any attempt when his attention was caught on me. His feet stretched out and he stood, leaving the novel in the cushions of his chair and he smiled a goofy grin while he walked up to me, towering over me as he always had. I tilted my head up in my father's direction.
"Remember that I love you Charlotte. You are my only daughter and I hold so much pride in you." His arms picked my tiny form up off the ground and spun me around in tiny circles, squeezing me tightly before setting me back down. My face flushed. This had been the first time I had seen my father act like, well, like my father, in ages. I smiled up at him and responsed with much enthusiasm;
"I love you too, father."
I was quickly hurried out the door along with my brothers, and they all took off in a different direction than I, (as we attended different schools), leaving me to weather out the falling snow on my own. My cloak was huddled close to my body in an unsuccessful attempt to keep warm as the snow covered the ground and left wet clumps in my hair and on my skin, leaving me in shivers for the rest of my walk.
Schooling today, as every other day, was filled with instructors who preached to us about Catholicism, the word of our Lord, and the great power of the monarchy. I had hardly no interest in such subjects, getting too caught up in daydreams to have any knowledge of what was taught anyway. Somedays, I hoped I would one day be old enough to make my own decisions regarding my educational prefrences, but then other days, I felt hopeless, trapped in a never ending regime that would plague me for years to come. My mother always wanted the best for me, however died a martyr, leaving my father to rule my life, although he slowly stepped down, too enthralled in his own activities to give my life a visible structure. Days were long and heavy now, ending in emotional breaks whether they were anger or sadness, as a result of my father's growing absence. Not a moment went by that I didn't pray for my mother to return and my father to change...
Not a day.
As I packed away my schooling books the final dismissal was announced, and the day was over. I tightened my cloak around my shoulders as I embraced for the cold of the snow, that still fell heavily from the sky. My shoulders shook uncontrollably before I even began to embark on my long journey home, however luckily, my more favoured brother, François, waited outside of the entrance for me, clutching his school books tightly against his chest. A relieved smile crossed my lips and I skipped over to him.
"How was school?" he asked, wrapping a protective arm across my shoulders. I huddled against François' arm, covered under his cloak, giving me warmth that kept me from shivering as we weather the snow, loud crunching noises emitting from each of our steps.
"Uneventful." François chuckled. Atleast he understood my distaste for schooling, "where are our brothers?" I added, peering around for the elder boys. A shrug was my only response. The rest of the walk was silent, aside from the crunching underneath our feet, and the cold soon returned to my body when François removed his arm from my shoulders when our home was in sight. In answer to my earlier question, the missing siblings sat outside in the snow bickering to one another about the absence of François and myself, our presence obviously going unnoticed. As we made our way to our destination, our feet gave our arrival away, and my two elder brothers turned back around quickly, shaking their bodies lose of the accumulating snow.
"Finally!" Antoine complained. François and I seperated, I pushing past the defiant boy and into our home that father was absent from, without a word to any of us. It took minutes before I even shedded my cloak, far too cold to be one layer short. But when I finally did rid myself of my outer layers, I stood shivering in the family room, contemplating whether or not I should return to bed to engulf myself in the warmth of my blankets, but my contemplation ceased when my eyes glued on to a peculiar sight. My father's favourite chair, which hosted him hours before, was now host to the novel he had been so enthralled in.
Perhaps he had forgotten it.
Glancing in every direction, I slowly approached the chair, feeling an omnious aroura in the air, leaving me guilt ridden when my fingers etched over the spine of the book. It felt aged and overread, the spine ripped and pages torn. I wondered how long this book had been in my father's possession...but more importantly, I wondered what was so interesting about this book and why my father forbid my brothers and I from seeing such publications. Slowly, I gripped a fine grip on the book, careful to keep my father's place, and glanced around the room one last time for any peering eyes, and quickly scurried into the safety of my bedroom. My heart pounded with decite as I burried myself underneath my blankets with enough light to barely make out the faded words on each wrinkled pages and flipped back to the beginning of the book.
I quickly read the first sentence, relishing in my luck, but quickly stopped when I realized the very idea this book represented was the very same idea that my educators denounced evil;
The Age of Enlightenment.