Chapter One
There are few things I'm absolutely certain of. Some of them are obvious truths, I suppose: I'm unhappy as Claude's wife, and I'm sure that he's aware of that. Most importantly, I'm sure that my life now is nothing compared to what it used to be or what it could've been… should've been…
In writing this, one of the most frustrating things for me is that I don't know how this started. I don't know how this happened to me. Even if given the possibility, I couldn't go back and change the past because I don't know what triggered Claude. I've asked him several times, and every time he lies. He says that it was God's choice, that I was designed for him and given to him from above. I don't believe it. Before, during the first months of our marriage, he'd told me that it was Satan's doing, that I was something to tempt him into Hell. I don't tell him that I know he's lying, but I don't need to either. I think that he can decipher my facial expressions by now, and I can do the same for his.
During the roughest parts of my life, I always held onto hope. When I was imprisoned, I had hoped that my friends would rescue me or preferably Phoebus. It's always been easy for me to hope because hope cannot be taken away. However, when Claude officially made me his wife, I knew there was no hope left. I would be bound to him for the rest of my life in both God's eye and the law. I suppose that would be the real moment that everything changed, where things could never go back…
The night before I was supposed to be executed, I was in my cell. It's a horrible memory. The backstreets of Paris are cleaner than that prison cell I shared with the rodents. It was cold, dark, and I'll never forget the smell. I sometimes wonder if I made up the smell of it. Sometimes, when Claude goes down there, I feel like I can smell it on him, whatever it is. A few hours before daybreak, Claude came into my cell with a candle in-hand and asked me for my confession.
"I've already given a confession. You were present when I did," I stated. I didn't trust the man at all. He didn't honestly expect me to give a confession to his crime. He couldn't.
"You know what will happen tomorrow," he whispered.
"Yes, I do. I only wish it would be sooner."
"Why? Do you not wish to live?" he asked. He appeared distraught. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his face seemed to freeze in his solemn expression.
"This is not life."
"So you do wish to live? Just not like this…"
I thought for a second, "I suppose so, yes."
"Then it has been decided."
"What has?" I asked, looking at him.
"Nothing, it is not your problem… for now," he said. With that, he left.
I was dumbfounded. I wanted to know what the vile man was thinking, but I would find out soon.