Girl
She was but a girl when she met him. Or so Lise told herself. Paris had been a charm, an uncontrollable whirlwind of emotion, sight and smell. The Paris countryside, the Paris balls, the Paris fashion. And him. Of course, how could she forget him. Or his brother, that obnoxious, adorable child who tried to stick his nose into everyone's business but only meaning well. She hardly remembered his sister, and that was all for the better as Helene didn't seem to be inclined to give her the time of day. He was about Andrei's age, but they were incomparable.

Secret
"Hush. Why are you crying? Mademoiselle Meinen—"

"Lise. Call me Lise, I beg you," Lise chokes out through the tears that well up in her eyes.

"Lise, why are you crying?" Hippolyte repeats. He's holding her hand and in its white glove it looks very small in his much larger one.

"Prince Bolkonski. I'm engaged to him. I can't…we can't…" She can't look at him, into those Kuragin-grey eyes.

"Why can't you?"

"Because I'm betrothed!"

Hippolyte watched her for a moment, then reached out and tilted her face upwards, kissing her until her breath caught. "It'll be our secret."

Blood
Andrei isn't rough on their wedding night. She is relieved though not surprised. He's a good man; she wouldn't have married him if she didn't believe that. In the morning he is gone before she wakes up however and the morning sun pours into her eyes as the maid draws back the curtains. "Where's Andrei?" The girl gives her no adequate answer before leaving the room. Lise sits up and pulls back the blanket. There's blood on the sheets but that's normal. And it's proof, if only to herself, that despite Paris, she was still pure on her wedding night.

Magic
Being pregnant is like magic. It seems to wipe away all her worries, all her uncertainties, all the anger she feels lately. Andrei actually smiles at her these days. She was afraid he never would look at her fondly again. Somehow she'd displeased him, though she couldn't say what she had done to make him so unhappy. Although his sudden fondness toward her didn't last, she didn't care anymore. This child – her baby – would be her salvation. It would love her purely, unconditionally and she would love it. The saying goes that pregnant women glow. Lise thinks she knows why.

Slayer
"Is it really such an effort for you to come to this soirée, Andrei?"

"It's no effort, dear. It's torture." Andrei untangles himself from her and heads toward an acquaintance.

Lise sighs. She feels eyes on her and turns, meeting crystal-grey eyes. Him? No, thank God – his brother. How Anatole has grown! The boy gives her a nod and Lise smiles back. She looks around for Hippolyte but doesn't find him. Lise takes a glass of wine and goes to find her husband. The man who so obviously despises her. He'd slain her dreams. Or perhaps she'd done that herself.