Some French Terms Used: chéris amis – beloved friends / très mignon – very cute / grand frère – big brother
Warnings: Mildly graphic depictions of child abuse, blood, violence, torture, and death. Oh, and I almost forgot— corsets. 83
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Story #151:
"Je t'aime En Vogue"
Prologue - All Is Fair In Fashion & Passion
The singular, most outstanding memory he had of him… was when they first met… No, not that time by the lake when he declared his greatest dream was conquest of the other- the true first moment they saw each other…
-x-
The earliest England stands on the edge of Dover overlooking the Channel, imagining what wonders lay in the strange land beyond— when he appeared (whom then England perceived was a 'she'), and they met eye to eye. The neighbouring stranger with sunlit hair, teetered precariously at the very edge of Calais, as she waved in his direction eagerly.
She's sightly, though a bit peculiar… Maybe… we could become friends…?
Those were England's very first thoughts on the matter… And it could be said, that they still very much are.
-x-
"You summoned, your Majesty?"
"Yes, come quickly!"
The queen swept aside, revealing a life-like doll on a wooden chair. On it, a flowing dress of intricate embroidery, glimmering gems in different shapes and sizes, and opulent layers of frills and ribbons sewn seamlessly into the fabric; all enhancing a stunning, slender hourglass-shaped contour.
"Don't you think it pretty?"
The dress was indeed pretty… if not exquisitely grotesque.
Curious, the doll donned shoulder-length vanilla-blond waves where the queen's rich mane was crimped and brunette; It was easy to tell the ensemble was not for the queen. There were more differences… The doll was much smaller, yet elongated- mimicking the would-be body of a young flat-chested girl. Though, it was unlikely to fit any living girl he knew… In fact, the more England stared at it, the more the dress looked like some macabre instrument of torture.
"Inspired by the latest fashion from our— chéris amis across la Manche, as you may have been wondering…" the queen droned, a flitting pang of derision in her tone but quickly reverting to her usual cloying demeanour. "La petite belle France… I hear her beauty rivals that of the sun!* I've been dying to see her with my own two eyes! You are friends, are you not…?"
England almost wrinkled his nose at that but managed to keep his countenance neutral. "We have our exchanges your Majesty, but we're not accurately—"
"Excellent!" the queen trilled dismissively, bejewelled fingers clasping together.
Gliding over to the life-size figure, she wrapped her arms around it from behind, affectionately brushing aside wisps of hair from its blank face. Her long painted fingernail ran up its cheek tracing patterns that seemed to bleed scarlet…
And for the longest instant, it was suddenly France's supine body in the queen's arms… France's vacant glazed eyes staring up at him accusatorily. England's blood ran cold.
"Because…" the queen's voice broke through the young Nation's stupor. "…it would be a shame to waste this dress, wouldn't you agree…?"
End of Prologue.
Continued in Part I.