A/N: So, this is the partial product of an afternoon of writing. It hasn't been beta read at all, so if you see any mistakes let me know. The rest of it will be up later tonight or tomorrow. Also, if anyone has a better idea for a story name, please let me know!
Charlotte's first memory is of tall, gaunt, serious-looking men in white coats swarming through her house. She is five years old, holding a worn teddy bear in one hand, the thumb of the other hand firmly in her mouth as she stares wide-eyed at the doctors who argue over how best to treat her mother. In the end it didn't matter though. Mama died while Daddy cried over her withered hand. It is then, standing in the doorway of her parent's room, watching Daddy cry like his heart is shattering into millions of pieces, that Charlotte decides that she wants this kind of love. She wants love that shines through her beloved's eyes when he looks at her, like Daddy's used to when he looked at Mama. The kind of love where two people fall irrevocably in love with each other at first sight, and one cannot live without the other from that moment on. Just like in the fairy tales Mama used to read her.
When Mama is buried, it takes a long time for Daddy to look at her without crying. It takes even longer for him to smile and laugh again, almost like he used to. Except the smile never quite reaches his eyes anymore, and the laugh sounds just a little bit hollow. But when Daddy brings her a new toy, or her precious kitty, or commissions Tia's Mama for a new princess dress, Charlotte can see him trying. Trying to give Charlotte enough love so that she won't feel Mama's absence like he does. Tia doesn't understand this kind of love, doesn't understand why Charlotte wants to marry a prince so bad. But Tia goes home to both parents every night, is enveloped by such selfless love every night and day, that she doesn't understand what it's like to have Daddy burst into heartbroken tears when he looks at you, because you remind him of your dead Mama. Charlotte knows that Tia won't understand, so she doesn't tell her. She remains Tia's spoiled, crazy, rich friend and she tells herself that she's okay with that.
When Charlotte meets her prince for the first time, she is disappointed. She doesn't fall madly in love with him at first sight; in fact she finds his nasally snobbish tone irritating. Love doesn't shine in his eyes when he looks at her; and when he leaves her in the evenings, he doesn't look back longingly for one more moment with her. In fact, there is nothing romantic at all in their courtship, but he is a prince and maybe he will give her the love she needs. She plans out their Mardi Gras wedding, lavish enough to make a real princess pale at the cost, but doubt lurks in her mind and makes her heart hurt. Doubt that maybe the prince is only after Daddy's money and will never really love her, but she viscously shoves that doubt aside and throws herself into the planning. She wishes Tia would come visit, so they could talk and laugh, and maybe Tia could ease this painful doubt, but she hasn't seen Tia since the masquerade ball, when that pair of slimy frogs had gone down the back of her dress.
Her wedding is beautiful, everything she ever wanted for her fairy-tale wedding. The prince, her prince, seemed a little distracted, but that was to be expected. It was all perfect, just like she planned, except as soon as the words I do left her lips Daddy fell down and didn't get up. "Daddy!" Her scream tore the night and everything stopped, music and laughter stopping as if someone had cut it off with a giant pair of scissors. The only sound was Daddy gasping for air and her own heart thundering like it was going to tear from her chest. "Daddy, Daddy, please be okay. Please Daddy."
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was her wedding. Everything was supposed to be perfect, except Daddy was lying there with an ashen face and wide eyes. She knelt beside him, cradled his head in her lap, and cried.
"It's okay, darlin'. I'm gonna go be with your Mama now. I've missed her so much…"
Charlotte screams her sorrow to the night as her Daddy slips away. She's crying so hard that she barely notices people pulling her away, carrying her off the float, and taking her home. Except it's not home anymore, not without Daddy. She curls up in her fairy-tale wedding dress, on her fairy-tale bed, in her fairy-tale room and sobs herself to sleep. Her prince doesn't come in to hold her, whisper everything will be okay, my heart. I'm here. She has never felt so alone and unloved in her life.
It takes days before she gets up from the bed and changes into more sedate clothing. It takes several more before she bathes and leaves the room. She hasn't seen her prince since they were married and Daddy don't think about it. She leaves her room, which seems stuffy and close now, and walks through her childhood home like a ghost. She hears her prince down the hall, in her father's study. She creeps down the hall, peeks in through the keyhole like she used to do when she was a little girl. Naveen is smoking a cigar, his feet up on her father's desk, a bottle of expensive champagne at his elbow. Something in Charlotte rebels and she flings the door open.
"You don't belong in here, get out!" She screams. Naveen has the good grace to seem guilty, but it passes quickly, replaced by irritation.
"I think you'll find, my dear, that you are the one without the right to be here," his nasally voice says. "You are no longer allowed in this room and the one adjoining it. Furthermore, I have taken over your dear, departed father's finances and have put you on an allowance. Here is this week's." He takes out a ten-dollar bill and puts it on the desk. His expression says that she has been dismissed. She stiffly takes the money and leaves, tears dripping down her face. As her hand touches the doorknob, Naveen imparts another piece of information. "While you were indulging in hysterics I took the liberty of having your father buried, next to your mother in accordance with his will."
The tears flow faster and her hand clenches around the money in her hand. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain, instead opening the door and leaving quietly. Shock stops her from raging further.
She leaves the house, which seems so much colder and subdued now, and goes to see her parents. Darkness is falling when she reaches the cemetery, when she kneels in front of Daddy's fresh grave and Mama's weathered tombstone. She cries openly in the empty graveyard, feeling her heart break. Her Daddy is dead and her prince turned out to be nothing more than a royal bastard. She looks up at the evening star, just barely visible, and pleads for things to go back to the way they were. To sit beside Daddy and eat Tia's heavenly beignets just one more time. She still hasn't seen Tia since the masquerade and that is just one more thing that drives home this whole surreal situation.
Movement to her right makes her flinch away. She turns to see a lanky, roguish-looking black man in a top hat and burgundy coat watching her. Shadowman. She remembered Tia whispering the name in fear when they saw him walk by Tia's workplace a few months ago. He looks gaunter than he had then, more careworn and tired. His shoulders are slumped and he leans upon his fancy cane like it is the only thing holding him up.
"Shadowman," Charlotte whispers, and the fierce hope that made her wish upon a star so many times reignites in her breast. The Shadowman can do impossible things; make all your dreams come true, for a price.
"Miss La Bouff," he says, touching the brim of his hat. His voice is like silk and sin, and she doesn't mind that he calls her miss. Charlotte stands, swaying, and suddenly the days of not eating and barely sleeping catch up to her, and darkness clouds her vision.
Facilier watches the woman in front of him as she sways, and darts forward to catch her when her eyes roll back into her head and her knees give way. He lowers her carefully to the ground, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't want this complication. All he wanted was ten minutes alone to feel sorry for himself. Ten minutes! Apparently that was too much time to take for himself. Shadow, almost invisible in the deepening twilight, coiled around his ankles like a cat, expressing worry about the situation.
"I know, I know! It's not like I planned for this!" Facilier grumbles. "Lawrence was supposed to be keeping her happy, tucked away in that mansion of hers." Shadow slides over Miss La Bouff in a way that is almost obscene given the place and circumstances.
"What the hell are you doing now?" Facilier is more irritated than anything else; Shadow has been acting more and more erratically since Facilier's "friends" have taken over their lives. His shadow melds with a headstone so it can be level with him, transmitting thoughts in the indescribable way they communicate with each other.
The girl is dying Shadow's words have a hissing, static quality that signifies anger on its part. Facilier's eyes narrow, and he looks carefully at the collapsed woman at his feet. He can't see much in this light, but Shadow has never lied to him yet. He stoops, carefully picking Miss La Bouff up, and strides away to the cramped shop he calls home.
He's laying out cards when she wakes up, not for any real purpose other than a way to pass the time. He hears her stir on the bed behind him and turns, a mug of cooling soup in one long fingered hand. She's just sitting up, blinking confusedly at her surroundings. "Drink this, chere. It'll do you good." He holds the mug out to her and she takes it quietly, her sky-blue eyes not meeting his. As she sips from the mug Facilier looks her over. In the light of the multitude of candles he has burning he can see what Shadow meant. She looks washed out, gaunt, no longer the vivacious girl who was the light and life of every party. He is shocked by the change in her, the hopelessness that radiates from her. His shadow moves on the wall behind her, Facilier can tell it is looking at him.
Help her