A/N: My first CatCF fic. Written in various tenses (past and present) and various points of view. There'll be a plot, it just isn't there yet.
Miss Letitia Winston had always been strict with her girls. They were not allowed to watch TV. They were not allowed to eat candy, even on Halloween, or Christmas, or any other lovely holiday. They were not allowed to speak the name of the Lord in vain, nor were they allowed to think of anything but God, and how he would want them to live.
It was little better than a convent, that orphanage. Each girl wore the same thing, pleated khaki skirt, and a navy blue pullover or cardigan over a white peter pan blouse, buttoned to the throat. On special occasions, they could put a rhinestone pin in their hair, but they never had a rhinestone pin anyway.
It was no deviation from the rules, however, to wear a hair ribbon. It was, however, a severe offense to wear any other color than blue.
Emmanuelle's favorite color was not a color at all, but a shade.
Emmanuelle's favorite shade was black.
"Emmanuelle," Miss Winston says, barely bridling her rage, under the will of God, "the girls tell me you wore that black ribbon again."
Emmanuelle stands before the woman and takes the scolding, twisting the ribbon in her hands, behind her back. She has heard this many times before, for wearing her favorite ribbon. Miss Winston is a woman of God, she knows, and means well. However, the woman had never been taught the gentler side of the Lord, had never been taught of his forgiveness and his love for children. Emmanuelle forgives her. It's in her nature, and she doesn't like to hate people. She does hate some people, though, and it hurts her soul.
"What have you to say for yourself, Emmanuelle?" Miss Winston demands.
"Only that I am very sorry for my sins, Miss Winston, and I shall strive to obey, as is God's will," Emmanuelle says quietly. She folds the ribbon, over and over again, and tucks it gently in her pocket as Miss Winston turns away and crosses herself.
"Go," Miss Winston orders. "Go out to the church and go to confession. And pray the rosary, for the sake of your soul!"
Emmanuelle runs at the chance to leave. She is only twelve, nearly thirteen, but Miss Winston knows that, despite her occasional rule-breaking, she is a mature and responsible, and a strong girl to boot. Besides, she has been there the longest-since she was barely six months old, and Miss Winston has an itsy-bitsy soft spot for her.
She flies down the street to the church, her lovely, richly-dark, coppery-chestnut hair flowing behind her as she runs against the wind. Emmanuelle is often seen running down that street to the church, the pretty young girl whom every shop owner on the street knows affectionately as Emmy.
At the church, she dips her fingers in baptismal font and crosses herself, facing the crucifix. Emmanuelle loves the church; she always has. It has always been a place for her to wish and to dream, and to tell God all about her life and to thank him for her blessings.
It doesn't take long to confess her sins. There is no one there but the kindly old priest, who loves her almost as much as he loves his faith. He is like a father to her, and he is, after all, her priest.
After she prays the rosary, though, Emmanuelle leaves quickly. She wants to run by the library to check out another book before four-thirty, when she will have to run back to the orphanage. Every time she goes, she reads another book about the magic and mystery of candy. Emmanuelle loves candy, even though she's never tasted it. She loves the idea of something so whimsical, something so unnecessary. It rivals her love of masks, and being something you're not, for a while. She thinks that masks and candy must go hand in hand, that someone might wear a mask to hide from the world, and eat candy to comfort themselves from the word.
It's a perfect idea, and it isn't alone. She has many ideas.
As she runs out of the church she accidentally bumps into someone, a tall someone, and lands on her rump, apologizing profusely.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm terribly, terribly sorry," she cries quickly.
The tall someone leans over and puts a hand over her mouth. "Enough of that, now. Where are you going so fast, Emmy?"
Emmanuelle looks up into the fact of the dentist who sometimes runs by the area. His name escapes her suddenly, and she quails at the prospect of guessing, when she should know it well. "Oh! I'm going to the library, to find another book on candy..." She trails off as the dentist's expression darkens a little. "...and its harmful effects on the enamel of the teeth," she adds quickly.
"Good girl," he tells her, his dark expression lifted. "Mind you brush and floss at least twice a day."
"I do, sir, religiously," she says, and nearly giggles at the fact that she makes the statement just outside of a church.
Emmanuelle sets off for the library again, a little more slowly. She's noticing everything today, and today, she notices the enormous factory on the other side of the street. Somehow, she's never noticed it before. Of course, there are a lot of things she hasn't noticed, but there are many more subtle things that she has.
And arm wraps around her waist, and a hand claps over her mouth. There's nobody else on the street, no one to scream to. She can't scream, anyway. The smell of alcohol drifts over her, and she wrinkles her nose. Then the urge to escape over comes her, and she bites the hand over her mouth. She is released, and she runs again, runs like tomorrow won't come and she has to make today last.
Emmanuelle sees only the gates before her, the gates of that great factory. Somehow, she leaps up and scales the gates like a spider. She wears a mask again, this of some prey, like the fox chased by the hunters, or the rabbit chased by the fox.
And her talent for clumsiness runs her smack-dab into a door as she glances behind her.