I don't own Night World, or 'Tournent les Violons'.
Tournent les Violons – Again, Again and Forever
1802
Château de Murs
Tournent les violons Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont Grande fête aux rameaux et Manon a seize ans Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont
Grande fête au château il y a bien longtemps
Les belles et les beaux, nobliaux, noble sang
De tout le royaume on est venu dansant
Tournent les violons
Servante en ce château comme sa mère avant
Elle porte les plateaux lourds à ses mains d'enfant
Tournent les violons
She looked outside the dusty, warped window of the slaves' living quarters. It was about an hour before dawn. Jez pulled her red hair back into a hairnet and slid in a couple of hairpins to keep it in place. She smoothed down her skirts and apron, then went down to the main house.
Her job in the morning was to light the fires and set the tables for breakfast. She did the tasks automatically, not needing to think about the same routine every day. After all, she'd been a servant girl her entire life, just like her mother and grandmother before her.
The castle-like building was busier than usual. There was to be a ball that night, to celebrate the return of the militia. Jez kept her head down as she worked at her assigned tasks.
It was about eight o' clock when the family rose and came downstairs to breakfast. Jez's early morning work was done by then. Her next job was to supervise the children at play. The family had four children. Elizabeth, the eldest was a classically beautiful girl with blonde ringlets and blue eyes a bit darker than Jez's silvery-blue. She was twelve years old, four years younger than Jez's sixteen years. Her three brothers, William, George and Harry had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as their sister's, and were ten, eight and six respectively.
Their play only lasted a couple of hours. Before long they requested to go outside for their daily riding lesson. Another slave relieved Jez from the children, allowing her to help in the kitchen. Her hands started stinging again as she helped another slave scrub the marble floor of the ballroom. Thankfully, she was able to stop after only three hours to get ready for the ball.
A few months ago, Mr. Wilford, the master of the house, had decided that all the maids who served should have something different to wear for balls. All the maids were then required to wear the same dress. It had a black lace bodice with a slight pattern. The bodice flared out slightly and came to about six inches above the knee. A white lace dress came out underneath and swirled down to the ankles. The sleeves were the same white lace and were off the shoulders. Jez kept her hair loose. It was slightly curled from being up in the hairnet all day, and hung down to her waist.
Her mother had her one thing before she died, something her own mother had left her. A white-gold hairpin with a laborodite stone cut into petal shapes. It was Jez's most prized possession. She slid it into her hair then went back down to the kitchen in the main house. It was bustling, filled with slaves preparing appetisers and opening bottles of the most expensive champagne, pouring it into crystalline flute glasses.
Jez skirted around all the other slaves to the door. The air outside was warm, and the setting sun cast long shadows over the beautiful grounds. Jez heard the first carriage pull up, a light dog-cart pulled by a small chestnut pony with a flaxen mane and tail. Two passengers were helped down by the footman whilst the pony was led away. The passengers were a young man and an older woman, maybe his mother. She was wearing a fashionable dress, blue muslin, and her hair was up in braids. The young man was in lieutenants garb, with some badges.
Le bel uniforme, oh le beau lieutenant Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont Redoublent la fête et les rires et les danses Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont
Différent des hommes d'ici blond et grand
Le sourire éclatant d'un prince charmant
Tournent les violons
Manon s'émerveille en remplissant les panses
Le bruit, les lumières, c'est lui qui s'avance
Tournent les violons
But that wasn't what caught Jez's eye and held it.
He was the most beautiful person she'd ever seen. Jez had seen hundreds of beautiful people before, fashionably beautiful woman with the perfect figure and perfect clothes, tall, fairy-tale prince men with wavy blonde hair which any lowly slave-girl would kill to marry.
But Jez knew at that moment that the beauty of those people was overrated.
This was what true beauty was. Dark black hair falling across moonlight skin in a slight disarray, and piercing emerald eyes when he turned and saw her. It was immediately as if there was no-one in the entire world but them. His eyes widened as he looked at her, and Jez felt as if she was sinking in a silvery-green light.
She heard her name being called from the kitchen and turned quickly to get away from him, though she felt like she had to physically wrench out her heart to do so.
The head maid had been the one to call her name, and, saying something about the first guests arriving, she almost dropped a platter of champagne in flutes onto her hands. Jez scrabbled with the heavy platter for an instant before being able to centre it on her palms. She'd learnt to do that since her first serving job at eight years old. The head maid pushed her out into the ball-room and Jez ducked her head down, the way she'd been told time and time again.
Before long, the ballroom filled with people, all beautiful and fashionable in their own way, though Jez kept her eye out for the man she'd seen before. The bustling of bodies was what she was used to, and serving didn't require much thinking. Her arms started aching under the large platter, but she managed to keep it elevated. Better aching arms than a lash with a whip or cane, which would happen if she let it fall. Numerous people came up to her, some of them glancing at her, others completely ignoring her, but none of them whatsoever smiling or talking. Not that it bothered her particularly. She was much too used to it.
En prenant son verre auprès d'elle il se penche Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont
Lui glisse à l'oreille en lui frôlant la hanche
"Tu es bien jolie" dans un divin sourire
Tournent les violons
But something strange happened that time. She sensed, rather than saw him, to begin with. She looked up, which she rarely did when she was serving, and saw him. The beautiful man from before. He was even more stunning close up, and he was even getting closer. Jez felt her breath stop, and didn't even bother to try and start it up again. Her lips parted slightly in shock, and she felt a rush of warmth over her face as he took the glass closest to her, his fingers brushing over her neck for a second. He leant closer, and her heart stopped. She was positive that this godling was about to kiss her.
But he turned his head slightly at the last possible moment. His free hand touched her hip gently, and Jez could feel an impossible heat spreading around her heart. He whispered something in her ear, that she was completely beautiful, before straightening up and smiling slightly at her, a smile that shed rainbows and almost blinded her with impossible beauty. He turned away and walked back to his friends, glancing back only once at her.
Jez finally managed to get a handle on her emotions, though in her mind she kept replaying the moment, over and over again. For the rest of the night she had an obvious glow and happiness to her that no-one could miss. Passent les années dures et grises à servir Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont Elle y pense encore et encore et toujours Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont
Une vie de peine et si peu de plaisir
Mais ce trouble là brûle en ses souvenirs
Tournent les violons
Les violons, le décor, et ses mots de velours
Son parfum, ses dents blanches, les moindres détails
Tournent les violins
The next few balls, she kept an eye out for him. Though she met many beautiful men, some who even seemed interested in her, none struck her as much as the unnamed lieutenant had.
But he never returned. She never saw him again.
The years that passed were difficult and grey, filled with the harshness of being a lowly servant girl, and then woman. She always watched for him, but had no news whatsoever.
But, burning through the darkness and the despair, were her memories. The strength and intensity of them were what kept her going, the belief of a romantic that she would find him, that he would sweep her off of her feet and kiss her were strong enough to keep her going to the next ball, the next ball. She could still feel the burning heat of his hand on her hip, the gentle caress of his breath on her neck, and the feeling of a... connection with him when he was nearby. En prenant son verre auprès d'elle il se penche Tournent les vies oh tournent et s'en vont Elle y pense encore et encore et toujours
Lui glisse à l'oreille en lui frôlant la hanche
Juste quatre mots, le trouble d'une vie
Juste quatre mots qu'aussitôt il oublie
Tournent les violons
I know that Morgead is a bit of a horrible creep here, but I had to write a fic about this song at least once. I mean, I grew up with this song! It's that old XD
Don't forget to review to tell me what you think!
~Jynxiii xxx