Alice and Jeanne had never quite seen the town square quite so packed as it was the following morning. The crowd, they knew, were there for Frederic de Marten's execution. Some had come for entertainment, taking immense, sick satisfaction in watching a life be taken, although the twins would never quite understand it. Others came to watch justice be served in the square. The rumors had swirled surrounding the soldier and Barreau. How she had seduced him, coerced the man into stabbing Captain Phoebus, some in the taverns claimed. Alice and Jeanne worked quickly with Clopin to quell those rumors out of existence as fast as they could. They didn't any more trouble coming to the girl. The boy's wife had suffered enough as it was. "Oh! Alice! I was hoping to find you!" came Madellaine's voice, almost as if on cue, startling Alice out of her thoughts as she watched the square in front of Notre Dame continue to fill up. Soon the place would be packed, impossible to get through the front. Sister Alice turned around to face the young woman, surprised to see her up before the crack of dawn, already awake and dressed in a simple brown dress. The gown's long flared trumpet sleeves and delicate embroidering on the sleeves and the dress's scoop neckline was simple and elegant. Perfect for her.
Alice felt the corners of her mouth stretch into a wide grin. "Good morning, child. It's a surprise to see you down here so early before your husband. What are you doing down here anyways? You ought to be off your feet, girl."
Madellaine suddenly looked guilty, painfully wringing her hands together, weaving her fingers in between her knuckles, casting a furtive glance back towards the tower loft stairwell from which she had just come. "I'm going."
Jeanne and Alice did not need to ask her where that meant. "Of course."
"Quasi can't know," Madellaine pleaded desperately, raising a finger to her lips and shushing the sisters. She cocked her head to the side, thinking she'd heard a noise from above. Dismissing it as a sound of morning, she waved it away with an irritable brush of her hand. "He won't let me go witness it, Al."
"That's preposterous," grumbled Jeanne darkly under her breath, setting aside the broom she'd been using. "If anyone deserves to see it, it's you."
"After what he put you through, I would say it's more than warranted."
"I agree," Madellaine replied, nodding her head. "I just…" she bit her lip, hesitant, but relented after a few minutes of seemingly waging war within herself. "I need your help, ladies. To—to distract him," she clarified, seeing the nuns' expression change rapidly from utter confusion to one of mischievous delight. "I wouldn't normally ask this of you, but I have to go."
Alice felt the tug of a wicked grin at the corners of her mouth. "Say no more, child. You don't even have to ask. What about your mother, though?" she asked, glancing around the cathedral and seeing no signs of the older Barreau woman. "Won't she notice that you're missing?" Alice questioned.
"What have you done, child?" piped up Jeanne, seeing the glint in the young blonde's gray eyes. "We know you're up to something, Madellaine."
"Oh, well, I…Clopin's distracting her," Madellaine admitted sheepishly, reaching up a hand to tuck a stray wisp of freshly shorn blonde hair back out of her gray eyes. "I asked our gypsy king to…take her for a walk…and, well, he was only too happy to help me," she grinned, turning back towards the sisters.
Alice stared at her for a moment before bursting into delighted laughter. "That's wonderful! I knew Jeanne and I were right to like you, child. You'll—"
She had opened her mouth to speak further but was interrupted by the sound of Quasi coming down the stairs. "Go," she urged, motioning towards the front door with a jerk of her head. "We'll keep him distracted for you."
Madellaine nodded, making to head towards the front door, but was not able to as her husband emerged from behind and snaked his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her left shoulder, taking a moment to press his lips to her cheek for a gentle kiss, looking disgruntled and groggy at being roused from his sleep so early. "Good morning," Alice chirped up happily.
"Not yet," he grumbled, his face pale and still drowsy from lack of sleep.
"Tea?" asked Jeanne, handing him a hot cup as she came back from the kitchens. "Here, you drink that too," she added, handing Madellaine a cup as well. She rolled her eyes as the young blonde scrunched her nose in distrust.
"No, child, we've not poisoned it, if that's what you're thinking," Alice said.
Quasi lifted the rum of his cup to his mouth and drank, pulling a face.
"What is this, Alice, sludge?" he demanded incredulously. "What'd you put in here?" Not wanting to drink anymore, he set his cup down on a nearby table, Madellaine doing the same, not wanting to be rude about it. "It's—"
"Yes, it's sludge, I thought it would make a nice change from tea," snorted Alice sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "I slipped in some dittany for your wife's benefit. I can still see her wounds are bothering her, so that ought to ease it."
"Oh." Madellaine's voice came out in a mere whisper. "I didn't know."
"We know," sighed Alice. "You need to take better care of yourself."
Jeanne noticed the young woman continuously casting longing glances towards the front of the cathedral. She knew she wanted to get moving.
"Have you had breakfast?" the nun asked, coming to Madellaine's rescue, smirking as their bell ringer shook his head no. "You need to eat, both of you. What can I make you? Eggs? I think there's some bread in our stores, I could whip up some fried bread for you two. That would be something hot to eat, I think we have enough," Jeanne mumbled, quickly doing the math on her fingers. She caught the young blonde's eye and shot her a furtive wink.
Jeanne laughed as Quasi made a face and scrunched his nose in disgust.
"Only if Alice makes it," he joked. "You know you can't cook to save your life, Jeanne, so don't try to convince me you can." He glanced towards Alice and felt his brow furrow into a slight frown. He didn't like the way she was looking. Her face was drawn and taut, rapidly losing color, and she seemed to be struggling to stand. "Al?" he demanded urgently, relinquishing his hold on his wife and helping to guide her to a chair. "What is it? What's the matter?"
Alice's hands were frailty and caution, trembling gently as she reached for her own mug of tea and effectively missed, sending the mug crashing to the black and white checkered floor beneath her feet, shards of porcelain flying everywhere and spilling hot herbal tea onto the floor. In her movements were so much of the woman she was and still is. They were ashen where the sunlight caught them, not ghostly like some people, just subdued and grayish.
Madellaine wondered if that was the first time, she realized just how vulnerable both Alice and Jeanne were, and how much of a toll their hard work here in the cathedral had taken. She knelt by Alice's chair, reaching for her shaking hand in hers. "What can we do?" she whispered.
It was a moment before Alice could manage to speak. "Water," she croaked out hoarsely, tossing her gray hair over her shoulders, weakly clutching at her heart, seeming to drown in her oversized set of brown robes. "Please…"
Madellaine reached for Alice's wrist, feeling for a pulse. "I think she's having a complaint of the heart," she murmured quickly, glancing up towards Jeanne, who gave a tiny nod of confirmation, her own face white and terrified.
"You can't do this to us, Alice, we're too young for you to die! Alice, tell us what you need us to do," Quasi pleaded desperately. "What do you need from us, tell us right now, and we'll get it!" he yelled, his panic surfacing in the form of his all-too familiar anger. "Don't die on us, Alice!"
"Will you fetch her some water, Quasi?" Madellaine urged, noticing the sheen of sweat on the nun's face, and a light in her blue eyes dimming.
"Kitchens, boy," snapped Jeanne, her voice coming out as a harsh bark, giving him a swat upside his head. "Posthaste now, hurry the hell up, kid!"
He nodded grimly. "I'll be back in a second with water for you, Alice, I promise you this," he swore, turning swiftly on his heel and bolting towards the empty dark corridor towards their left. "Alice, don't you die on us now. We need you. If you see a long tunnel, stay away from the light, Al!"
"QUASI!" shouted Madellaine. "GO!" she shouted, fighting her urge to laugh as she shoved her knuckles into her mouth to keep from erupting into a bout of highly inappropriate laughter at the way he was currently panicking.
"What's the water for?" demanded Jeanne, staring after the hallway where their bell ringer had been only moments before. "She doesn't need it, girl."
"For getting rid of Quasi," she answered happily, giving the pair of women a shy wave and an infectious white smile, before bolting towards the front. "Thank you!" she called out, letting out a tiny squeak as she made just outside the steps, just as her husband returned with a chalice of water in his hands.
"Here," he muttered quickly. "It was all I could find. It's not much but I—oh, damn!" he swore, seeing Jeanne hovering over Alice, who'd slumped backwards in her chair. "Al, no, no, no, don't die on us today! Don't go!"
Quasi reached for her wrist, feeling for a pulse. Faint but still alive. Alice stirred blearily, her eyelids fluttering open, mumbling something incoherent.
Frowning, he leaned down closer so he could hear her better. "Gotcha."
His brain stuttered for a moment as his eyes took in more light than was expected. Every part of him seemed to go on pause while his thoughts caught up. And then, his temper imploded. "ALICE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
Quasi balled his hands into fists and violently wrenched the nun out of her chair, slamming her against one of the massive stone pillars in the nave, not caring if she wound up bruised because of this. He leaned in so the tip of his nose was practically touching hers. "What were you thinking, Alice?" he bellowed. He dug his nails into the skin of his palm. It hurt, but he ignored it.
"What's going on here?" demanded Father Darius's voice from behind, who'd poked his head out of his study to see what was causing the disturbance. He let out a weary sigh, bringing his hand to his forehead and dragging his palm down along the side of his face in exasperation. "Al. Jeanne. I should have known it was you," he grumbled darkly. "What have they done now, Quasi?" he asked, sounding thoroughly fed up with the pair of sisters.
"You've got to be kidding me!" their bell ringer roared, his face rapidly paling with shock as he realized he'd been set up. Glancing around and not seeing his wife in the nave with the pair of nuns, he knew then it had been her idea all along. "Alice, I swear as God as my witness, you're in for it when I get back!" he bellowed. "What the hell do you think you're doing, pulling a stunt like this? You seriously think this is funny?" Quasi demanded incredulously.
"Yes," answered Jeanne and Alice in unison. Darius laughed as he gently pried Alice away from Quasi, an arm out in front of the sister for caution.
Alice's wicked grin suggested to everyone that she had been waiting for this moment for quite a long time. "If it weren't for me, she'd still be in trouble with you had I not faked that little complaint of the heart," Alice muttered darkly, rolling her blue eyes at Quasimodo's outburst of anger.
She turned towards Darius, linking her arm with his. "She'll thank me."
"Alice, you and I aren't through here! Far from over, woman! You and I need to talk, and—wait a second," he snapped, feeling his voice grow dangerously quiet. When he turned, Alice was not at all surprised to see the flickers of rage that flashed across his brown orbs, darkening his eyes. "Where is my wife, Alice? Where is she?" His voice was clipped, hard, and angry.
Alice and Jeanne did not answer. Darius steeled himself, knowing an outburst was coming, but even then, the knowing still didn't soften the blow.
"ALICE!" Quasi yelled. "WHERE IS SHE?" he demanded. "TELL ME!"
"Where do you think?" the nun shot back, unfazed by the boy's temper, her hands on her hips. "The girl knew you weren't going to let her go, so she went by herself. I wouldn't have had to do this to you if you'd just let her go in the first place, or better yet," she added darkly, sending a look of daggers his way, "be a supportive husband and go with her. She shouldn't have to witness something horrific like that on her own. You need to go find her, Quasi."
Quasi fixed both twin sisters with a hard, cold stare devoid of love. He turned away from the pair of them, silently fuming in his anger. The way his eyes squinted when he glared at her reminded Alice of a pit viper's slit-like pupils. She gulped nervously. A burning animosity was developing in his dark brown orbs, and she could tell she was likely the root cause of the problem.
"Will you two quit blowing holes in my marriage?" he shouted, heading towards the large oak doors of the prayer hall. "This conversation is far from over, Alice! And you too, Jeanne," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Never," the twins answered in unison, leaving them alone with Darius.
"Both of you are just truly awful," Darius chuckled, offering his other arm to Jeanne. "Ladies," he murmured courteously. "I think that little act of deception deserves a drink. A proper one," he added, noticing Alice's blue eyes lit up with intrigue at the suggestion. "Come. Join Sophia and I, loves. She'll want to hear all about this new level of trickery you concocted."
"Oh, she stayed the night finally, then?" Jeanne cackled wickedly, earning a swift swat on the arm from Darius. "When are you two going to cut it out?"
"Soon," he promised, shooting the sister a playful wink. "In a year, I think."
The nuns' laughter lingered in the sanctuary of the cathedral long after Madellaine and Quasi had left. Some parishioners wondered what the special occasion was, though they knew better than to question if Alice was involved.
The crowd in the town square was bustling, angered. Some jeering, shouting insults as Frederic de Marten was led up onto the pyre, others pleaded for mercy, most likely family members of the man if she had to guess. Then it hit her. Regardless, all were there to witness the burning of one of Notre Dame's own soldiers. "Oh no," Madellaine whispered, seeing Captain Phoebus's face at the head of the crowd. Politely inching her way forward to get a closer look, she gingerly tapped the blond captain of the cathedral guard on the shoulder.
"Milady," murmured Captain Phoebus courteously, though there was no mistaking the look of heartbreak and hurt in his eyes. "You came, after all."
"I had to," whispered Madellaine, glancing up at the pyre, at Frederic. "this cannot be easy for you, Phoebus. The man is your cousin, isn't he?" she asked, biting her lip and trying her hardest to see past the pain in their Sun God's hazel eyes. She raised her head and looked past the citizens that had gathered about the square, past the forms on the platform, and up at the grimly beautiful edifice that was set against the now flame colored sky. Notre Dame looked pitch black when compared to the fiery haze, and Madellaine could not help but realize that yet again, another red dawn was about to come.
"Third cousin twice removed," came Phoebus's answer, sounding thoroughly disgruntled as he scrunched his nose in disgust. "Truth be told, I never liked the boy all that much, but I held out hope that Frederic would change. But I can see now, given his current predicament, that I was wrong."
When he turned back to face Madellaine, the pained look in his eyes was almost too much for the young woman to bear. "I must apologize for my cousin's behavior, milady. Had I known what he was doing, I could have—"
But Madellaine held up a hand to stop him. "Say nothing more on this, Phoebus," she sighed, shivering as a cold chill traveled down her spine, and it wasn't from the cold. All of a sudden, she was not sure why she had come.
As Madellaine thought of Frederic's betrayal, she realized she had felt his knife before she saw it. Bound by the ropes to the pole of his pyre, Madellaine lifted her chin slightly and dared to meet de Marten's gaze.
She looked into the eyes of the knife's wielder. His green eyes that were once filled with so much potential purpose and a promise, now replaced by fear, bitterness, and hatred for her. The only thing that showed any resemblance to the man she had come to know over the last few weeks was the shell the bitter soul inhabited, but Frederic de Marten, the man, was gone.
Thoughts of Frederic's betrayal filled her mind, and her lips curled in disgust and her nostrils flared. Her mind felt as if lead were coursing through it instead of blood. Her memories of the soldier felt as if they were disfigured into something quite grotesque. She kept her gaze off him for the time being, for she was afraid. Madellaine could not bear to look his way, because f they made eye contact, she would undoubtedly vomit. Disgust. Total, utter disgust.
As she crept closer towards the front of the pyre, she knew Frederic saw her sneer. "I want my face to be the last thing you see as you burn, Frederic."
I saw what you did, Frederic. Of course, I saw it. No detail misses my eye, ever. You knew, I think, that I would beat you in the end. You could have turned over a new leaf at any time, and yet you did not. The sight of you makes me sick from the ends of my hair to the nails on my toes. I am not a woman who comes to hate easily, but I know evil when I see it. I just know. It breaks me to give up on you like this. More than you will ever know. Yet to save what is good, I need no permission from any man, and I never have. Frederic's voice as he shouted obscenities and wildly protested that he was innocent, became lost over the jeering shouts of the crowd. Like hell you are.
"Going somewhere?" an angry voice behind up spoke up. Oh, no…
Madellaine visibly winced as she turned around, wringing her hands together painfully and her gray eyes darted every which way, until at last they could stall no longer, and she was forced to meet Quasimodo's piercing gaze.
Quasi stood in front of her, his posture tense and rigid, his red hair tousling slightly in the breeze. "Why didn't you tell me?" he accused her harshly, taking her hand in his and yanking her close, perhaps rougher than he would have liked, but considering the little stunt she had pulled, for once, he did not apologize for his handling. "All you had to do was ask, and I'd let you come."
Madellaine felt ashamed, a pink blush speckling across her cheeks. "I—I didn't think that you would let me come, given the way you reacted yesterday," she admitted, turning away sharply, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. She lowered her head in shame. "I'm sorry, darling, but I…I need to watch him die. I need to see this through, however unpleasant it might be."
"Why?" he demanded, sounding almost close to tears now. She hated it.
"After what he did. I cannot let this go unresolved," Madellaine explained numbly. "I just thought…you of all people would understand that," she whispered, craning her neck up to glance at her husband's towering form.
Quasi sighed, squaring his shoulders in defeat. "I don't like it, but…if this is what you truly need right now, love, then I'm right here beside you, always."
She nodded. "Good. Now I need a favor, if you are willing," she confessed.
"What is it?" He was stunned when she wordlessly pointed a finger to the sky. Then he got it. "Oh." Smirking only slightly, he knelt, supporting the backs of her knees and gingerly lifted her on his shoulder so she could see.
"Not my leg, Quasi," she huffed in frustration. "No, my other leg! That's my left kneecap. My right, Quasi!" she bellowed, her voice carrying as her husband hoisted her on his shoulders. "Move to the right. That's my ass," she sighed. "I still can't see him!" she complained, craning her neck to see Frederic. "We need to get closer, or I need to adjust my position, I think."
"What?" demanded her husband, his face reddening as he struggled to support her weight and at the same time keep away from the crowds, who were eying them, interested, a look of awe and slight disgust at the bell ringer in their eyes. To his credit, he ignored the look, having eyes only for his wife.
Losing her temper, she couldn't stop her anger from swelling. "TOUCH MY BUTT, I DON'T CARE, JUST SHIFT! TO THE LEFT!" she yelled.
Thumping her hand down her forehead in frustration, Madellaine moaned.
"Quit playing with my leg! My God, you act like you've never had someone sit on your shoulders before. You do this with Zephyr all the time, Quasi!"
"I—I'm not playing with your leg; I have terrible footing!" he protested, sounding as though he were fighting back his urge to laugh. He quickly turned it into a poorly disguised cough, much to the disgruntled behavior of the onlookers, who were wondering why Paris's own demon had emerged.
"Here, just like that," she grunted as she clutched onto his hair for support for a moment to steady herself. "Thanks." Unable to resist adding in a quip of her own, she called down, "Be grateful I'm only two months pregnant, love. If we tried to do this seven months from now, I don't think you would be able to," she laughed. Her husband merely grunted in response, his eyes darkening as his gaze landed on Frederic. Madellaine drew in a sharp, frigid breath that pained her lungs. The handsome soldier had seen better days. Prison, even for one night, had not been kind to the man. One of his eyes was blackened, and there were dark bags underneath his eyes from lack of sleep. His dark hair was disheveled and seemingly overnight, he seemed to have lost a little weight. The jeering crowd fell silent as the executioner and Minister of Justice approached. Quasi stiffened, and she knew that she was thinking of Claude. "It's okay," she whispered, one of her hands finding purchase in his hair, stroking it in that way that she knew he liked. She could feel him shudder beneath her touch. She stifled her smile. Perhaps later, there would be time for that, but for now, she needed to watch him burn. "It'll be fine."
"It's not me I'm worried for!" he called back, his voice gruffer than he would have liked, but he too fell silent as the judge opened his mouth.
Paris's new Minister of Justice was a tall thin man, with sallow, slightly sunken in cheekbones and a gaunt face. His black hair was greasy and fell in loose strands to his shoulders. It needed a trim long ago. His expression was grim as he read out the accused's charges on a piece of parchment paper.
"This prisoner, Frederic de Marten, has been found guilty of kidnapping a caretaker of Notre Dame herself. Guilty of stabbing a soldier of the church, and of entering the city of Paris illegally without proper documentation. The sentence is death!" he bellowed, his baritone voice booming and authoritative over the roar of the crowd's approval. "For the justice of the realm, and for the safety of the law-abiding citizens of our graceful city, it is my sacred duty to send this man back to Hell, where he belongs!" The judge's declaration finished, he gave a curt nod to the executioner, who lit the pyre and the crowd roared with approval as the glowed embers of the fire leaped and twirled in a fiery dance. Through the haze of the growing plume of thick black smoke, Frederic's gaze met Madellaine's, who did not avert her gaze even once.
He yelled something incoherent, but it mattered not. After what you did to me, I hope that you rot in Hell, de Marten. Let my face be the last thing you see before your spirit makes its way to hell's gate, she thought, not caring any more for her wicked thoughts of the soldier as he began to burn to death.
The scent of charring flesh and his burning hair filled her nostrils. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed back the bile forming in her throat.
The fire flashed into existence a wave of red and yellow sparks. The flames held a dangerous beauty. The fire held up its head regally and proudly as its destruction spread, while glowering at the surrounding people gathered around the pyre, as if daring the people to challenge its awesome power.
It ate everything in its path, including Frederic de Marten. The former soldier of the cathedral guard screamed as the flames licked his face, charring his body until it was unrecognizable. His screams rent the air, until he fell silent. The scent of his burning flesh broke Madellaine out of her reverie.
"Take me home," she muttered, scrunching her nose at the horrible smell. "It's done, love." Madellaine reached for his hand. Quasi nodded. His face and paled slightly and had turned a rather interesting shade of green at the sight of the pyre and of Frederic's still burning form, now unrecognizable.
She wasn't fooled. Madellaine knew that he was thinking of Esmeralda.
"Come on, sweetheart," he croaked hoarsely. "Let's go home."
As they walked back towards the cathedral, Madellaine could not help but notice how, now with Frederic out of their lives permanently, she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, as if an overly large child had just leapt off her after a satisfying piggy back ride that had listed way too long.
She walked a little taller. Her stride was lighter, more carefree. She noticed how the morning light's whiteness streamed down onto the streets of Paris, once the smoke from Frederic's pyre had cleared. Unable to resist, she risked one last glance over her shoulder, and froze at the sight she saw there.
Jehan was standing next to Frederic's spirit, whose form was now blackened and charred beyond recognition. His soul no longer tethered to his body; he was alive again. Madellaine stared, her gray eyes wide and round with horror.
"Oh," she whispered, her voice low enough so her husband did not hear it.
The angel of death came for the wicked, people like Frederic, who hurt others with cold indifference. She supposed in this moment, Jehan Frollo was that angel, albeit a dark one. He came with fingers of knives to slice out the eyes that watched the horror and pain with such a callous mind as Frederic's.
As Jehan shifted slightly on the pyre, his hand outstretched to Frederic in a gesture of friendship, his gaze drifted towards Madellaine, and his lips curled into a sneer. She shivered instinctively, clutching herself for warmth, unable to tear her gaze away from the pyre, though the townspeople had long since dispersed and gone on about their days, the performance and fun over with.
Madellaine knew Death was a body or a shadow that lurked in the dark, just like Jehan did. He would crawl under little children's beds and he was always there, waiting to take them should they fall ill, or waiting to claim the aged.
He was always there, following, and the closer he got, the sooner he would take you as his own. Death was the ghost that so many Parisians feared, and he was the tormentor of the many corpses claimed by Death's embrace.
You knew when your time was nearing its end, because you could feel the chill of his icy breath as it tickled the hairs on the back of your neck, just as Jehan was doing to Madellaine right now, despite him being several feet away.
She knew now as she met Jehan's soulless, black eyes, that her time was close, very close now, but this fear would be her demon to slay. No one else.
Quasi could not help her with this. This was one fight she had to win alone.
A vast blanket of white hung heavy over the village as it rested peacefully in the early hours of nightfall. The fog suffocated every building and tree at their base, swallowing every object and vanishing around the corner. It swooped in and skirted around the trees, blanketing Notre Dame in a thick white pocket.
Madellaine stood in the fog, swallowed and eradicated by the enveloping whiteness. It hurt her eyes just to look at it, and yet, she could not look away.
It was so…so…white. Staring at the mist made her feel like she was staring at herself staring at nothing. Her mind fought hard to drum up a description for what she was seeing, but there was nothing that could truly describe nothing.
Each thought she had seemed loud and exposed, just like every moment she made in the silence that wrapped like the fog around her. Maybe it was somehow in her, just as she was in it. The greedy beast swallowed anything it touched, including her very footsteps. The eerie silence made her uneasy.
Madellaine repressed the urge to scream as the River Seine and the streets of Paris dissolved away until nothing remained but the thick white fog itself.
The young woman was not at all surprised when his voice spoke up behind her, startling her and causing her to cry out and whirl around in fear. "I remember this day all too well," Jehan Frollo cruelly laughed. Not again. "Don't you, sweetheart? This day was one of my absolute favorite moments."
Jehan snaked his arms around her waist, and before she could protest, violently tackled her to the ground, pinning her hands above her head, preventing her from clawing and trying to gouge out his eyes or making a run for it. "No one's coming, sister," Jehan taunted, his charming white smile haunting to her as she squirmed underneath his body weight and his hold.
"Get off of me!" Madellaine bellowed, glancing around wildly for any sort of help that might come to her aid. Darius, Quasi, Brother Giovanni or Adam.
Someone, please come, she pleaded. But no one came for her.
"They won't come for you," her brother mocked, burying his face in her ear and nipping at her earlobe. He merely laughed in response as she recoiled away from his touch, though one of his hands was pressed against the back of her skull, the only thing acting as the barrier between life and certain death if he chose to bash her skull into the cobblestones, and Madellaine knew this.
"JEHAN, LET GO OF ME!" she screamed with as much air from her lungs as she could muster, but she knew as she hollered that it was no use.
Her brother laughed. "It's just you and I. How romantic," he grinned. "No one to save you this time. No gallant Captain Phoebus de Marten to save you. Where's your husband in all this? Your protector?" Jehan Frollo sneered.
Jehan did not give Madellaine a chance to answer, leaning down and pressing his lips against hers forcefully, kissing her almost violently.
In one last act of defiance, she drew back her free hand, curling her fingers into a fist and punched Jehan squarely in the nose, yelling at him as she did.
Madellaine jolted off the ground, scrambling to her feet. Glancing wildly around, she was both relieved and confused to see she was back in her and Quasi's bedroom, in their north bell tower loft, where she belonged. But how did I get outside? Madellaine wondered, not having time to ponder it as a startled yelp of pain broke her out of her foggy haze. "What…oh my god!"
Her husband was sitting upright on his side of their bed, holding his nose as blood gushed from beneath his fingertips as he struggled to contain his nosebleed. "Did I do this?" she groaned, gingerly prying his hands away from his face. "Here, just let me see it," she soothed. "Let me see it," she repeated.
"It's all right, Lena," he murmured quietly. "I'm fine. You caught me by surprise is all, sweetheart. You were talking in your sleep again. Having a bad dream and I wanted to wake you from it. I tried, and well…you punched me."
Quasi cringed as she gently lowered his hands from his nose as blood poured from both his nostrils. "Oh, no," she moaned. "Here," she urged, seizing an old rag and dunked it in the bucket of water near the basin they used to wash up in the mornings. "Let me clean it for you. Oh, this is all my fault," she groaned, wincing as he let out a startled cry of pain as she dabbed at the blood as best she could. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I never should—"
"It's fine," he soothed, catching her hand in midair and holding it. "You were dreaming, beloved. Talking to Jehan again in your sleep. You cannot keep going through his anymore, sweetheart," he urged. "You're seeing Soph in the morning. No excuses," he added sternly, noticing her crestfallen look.
Madellaine frowned, but she nodded her consent at last, for which Quasi was relieved. At this point, he didn't care if she would have said no, he was dragging her in the morning to Sophia's, even if she fought him tooth and nail for it. "I think that would best," she confessed, her voice timid and meek.
Her husband offered a weary smile, leaning his head into her chest as she collapsed back against her pillow, letting out a tired little sight. He shifted onto his left side so he could look his wife in the eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, concern laced throughout his voice. "I'm here for you, Lena."
Madellaine shook her head. "No, sweetheart. This…whatever is happening to me, this is my demon to slay. I cannot trouble you or anyone else with this. It's going to come until I do, unannounced and unwelcoming in my life. The only way out of this is for my brain to demand a solution instead of this anxiety that's crippling me," she explained, trying to avert her husband's pained gaze. "I'm going to get through this on my own. I must. I have no other choice. This is my fight to win. I think Sophia can help me with that."
He nodded, leaning over to kiss her tenderly, helping lull her to sleep.
Both slept soundly that night, their first dreamless sleep in ages.
The next morning, Quasi insisted on being present as he escorted her to Sophia's, Darius lingering in the background in case things got out of hand.
He sat with Madellaine as Sophia took her time examining his wife, pondering which herbs to give her to help her sleep while aiding the remainder of her pregnancy at the same time. "How have you been feeling?" Sophia asked sharply, taking note of the dark circles underneath her eyes. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd like to try an old Romani trick. A sort of protective spell for your baby," she explained, wincing as the lit match she held in her fingers burned slightly as she set about lighting several candles. "Normally, I don't believe in doing this kind of thing until the baby is born, but with everything you've undergone the last few weeks, it can't hurt, right?"
"I need something to help me sleep," Madellaine explained tiredly, rubbing her temple with her thumb and forefinger. "I can't take much more of this."
Her husband's fingers twitched slightly under her ironclad grip on his hand, but if it bothered him, he made no remark, for which his wife was grateful.
Sophia glanced towards Quasi for confirmation, who gave his consent. "Whatever it takes," he answered thickly, reaching up a hand to brush a lock of blonde hair out of Madellaine's eyes. "I want both of them healthy."
"You got it." Sophia nodded, her dark curls bouncing as she turned away, muttering darkly to herself under her breath. She glanced back Madellaine's way, a confused look in her dark eyes. Even after all this time, she was amazed the young midwife did not remember her from when Geoffroi was still alive. Sweat beaded her forehead, and strands of loose curls came loose from her bun, framing her thin, oval face. At thirty-five, Sophia Damas was tall and lean, her curves in all the right places. Her dark brown hair naturally curled, falling in graceful ringlets to just past her collarbones when she let it hang loose. Her simple dark brown dress was floor-length, with a slim fit bodice and gods draped with soft pleats with turnback sleeves. Beautiful.
The midwife and Darius's lifelong friend possessed a modest beauty, high cheekbones and a graceful jawline, and eyes that were a deep rich brown. Her brown mahogany orbs glowed with humor and playfulness that never seemed to escape her eyes. Sophia had the kind of warm brown eyes that put mothers to-be at their ease. She was their voice of calmness and knowledge in the painful intensity of childbirth. She'd seen it all, most of the births that went as nature intended, and the ones that didn't, the ones where not everyone survived. The midwife considered herself lucky. The midwife met Madellaine's gaze and stared at the young blonde. Childbirth is a true challenge for many, her eyes communicated to the blonde. The bell ringer's wife returned her gaze and told her without saying a word that she understood. Many women die every day from blood loss, or they couldn't handle the agony their bodies undergo during labor as it burns them, turning their insides out as they struggled every day to bring new life into the world.
"You're going to be just fine," Sophia piped up kindly. "I'm your midwife, and I've never once lost a woman in my care. Here. This will help you to sleep," the midwife called out over her shoulder, turning back towards the cot on which Madellaine lay, her hands resting on her stomach, her gray eyes staring up at the ceiling. Sophia uncorked a vial of her own custom mixture laced with St. John's Wort. "It's rather potent, though. It works almost instantly. If you like, I can give you some right now, so you'll be asleep for what I'm about to do?" she offered kindly, biting her lip, glancing at Quasi.
"Will it hurt?" Madellaine asked fearfully, her eyes searching Sophia's.
"No," answered Sophia immediately, shaking her head. "I mix it with tea, and that ought to do the trick. You'll be out in a matter of seconds, and you'll wake up hopefully tomorrow, refreshed and healthy, in your own bed."
"Do it." Her husband's voice was harsh, not at all like his usual soft, tenor-like, bell-like tones. "Whatever it takes, Sophia. I won't lose either one."
Sophia nodded grimly, uncorking the ampoule with her teeth and pouring it into a steaming mug of herbal tea. "Drink that," she commanded. "All of it."
Madellaine accepted the cup gratefully, inhaling the scent of the tea that Sophia gave her. The tea was hot and burned her throat going down, but the midwife had been right about the effects of whatever was in her drink taking effect immediately. Her eyes grew heavy and half-lidded as her consciousness ebbed and flowed in swirling black mists, the concerned voices of her husband, Sophia, and Darius growing fainter. She was only briefly aware of being lifted into someone's strong arms, her husband's, and she was moving.
Probably taking us back home, was her last conscious thought before she fell asleep. Madellaine felt the blackness wash over her in waves, like a blanket. Not a blanket of warmth, but one of coldness, making her shiver.
Her eyelids grew heavier, until the point where she could no longer keep them open and Madellaine drifted, her tiredness swallowed her whole. Her lashes fluttered and oblivion engulfed her completely, her sleep coming to her like cruel, shattering waves, more vivid to the young woman than ever before.
"I just knew you'd come home to me, lovely…"
Though Madellaine's eyes were open, she could not think of why. Her heart was pounding, her mind empty. She sat up groggily, straining into the utter darkness, her breathing rate beginning to steady. "Where am I?" she groaned.
A nudge to her injured rib cage forced the young woman to jerk awake, bolting upright to see her father's concerned, heavily lined face staring at her.
How long was I thought? Madellaine thought, a hand to her forehead.
"A few hours," he answered, as if he could read her mind. "I had to wake you up, sweetheart," her father apologized. "You weren't listening to me." He poked her side again. "Now I have to tell you everything all over again." Lucien Barreau sat himself even closer to his daughter and began speaking.
Madellaine stood shakily to her feet, clutching her father's arm to steady herself. As she exhaled, she could see her breath forming in visible vapor puffs, the room itself was frigid. Straight ahead of them were two closed doors in front. The room they were in was sparse, no furniture at all.
A black slash painted in a poorly designed X covered one door, white for the other. "What is this, Papa?" Madellaine moaned, glancing down at the skirts of her long blue velvet dress, grateful her dress's trumpet sleeves kept her warm. She recognized this garment, it was one of Jehan's favorites, and hers as well, though she would never admit it to anyone except for Alice.
The next voice that spoke was not her father's, but Jehan's. "Hell."
Madellaine startled, not expecting Jehan Frollo to pop up behind the pair of them and let out a startled scream, instinctively reaching for her father's arm.
"Didn't I tell you? I always knew you'd make it home to us both one day."
"Us?" she repeated, her gray eyes widening as her brother gestured for his sister to come closer. Sparing her father a furtive glance out of the corner of her eye, Lucien grimly nodded, though he kept one hand close to the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it from his scabbard if he needed to. He hoped not.
In his arms, Jehan held a swaddled bundle of blankets that made strange cooing sounds. He grinned and pulled back the folds of the thick woolen blanket, and Madellaine was horrified at the sight before her and Lucien.
The baby, if she could even call it that, was a screeching, malformed, disfigured wretched thing whose face was rapidly turning blue, clawing at its face, nothing but black voids where its eye sockets should have been.
"What is that?" Madellaine shrieked, recoiling away from it. "Get it away!"
"Something that is beyond your help. Either of your help, really," Lucien spoke up from behind her, coming to stand next to her, glowering at Jehan with utter hatred in his normally kind blue eyes. "Don't look at it, Lena."
"This, dear, sweet sister, is our child that you aborted!" bellowed Jehan, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he felt his temper swell to the surface, yet again.
"You did the right thing, Madellaine," Lucien retorted hotly, his blue eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching as he continued to keep his hand steady on the hilt of his weapon. "This child was not a child born of love, not like yours will be," he added, something tender sparking in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. "A product of rape and molestation, if you were to keep this child, you would have been forced to be reminded of Jehan for all your days. It—"
"I…it would have killed me, Papa!" Madellaine wailed, feeling fresh tears well in her eyes. Angrily, she brushed them back with a flick of her wrist.
Jehan smirked at how uncomfortable his sister was becoming, cradling the demonic creature in his arms with a certain tenderness that was unlike him.
"What kind of mother do you think you'll be to your baby, hmm, love? You could not even care for our own. You murdered an innocent life with no regard for it. You cared only for yourself, and you know it, sweetheart. You are selfish. You'll be a terrible mother, your child will hate, just as I hate you, sister, for what you've done to me and to our son. You're a liar. Murderer."
"No," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. Her voice broke and cracked. She turned to her father. "It's not," she managed weakly, grasping onto Lucien's tunic sleeve for support. "Papa, don't listen to Jehan. It's not true. I—I did what I had to, you have to believe me," she sobbed desperately.
"Hush, darling," Lucien soothed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I know you did. As I've told you, time and time again, you did the right thing."
"No, she didn't," snapped Jehan, but he had eyes only for Madellaine. He smirked at the briefest flickers of fear pass through her unsettling gray orbs. "I told you, sister, you can't get rid of me that easily," he laughed, snapping his fingers and vanished from his spot, leaving nothing behind to indicate he'd been there except for a trail of black mist that engulfed the room in coldness.
"What is this place?" Madellaine questioned, feeling the familiar pangs of an icy dread creep its way into her heart. "Papa?" she whispered. "Tell me."
"Your battle to fight," her father answered solemnly. "Everything you've been experiencing these last few weeks, my dear, has been leading up to this."
"I—but I don't understand," she said, after a few minutes of an uneasy silence. "What does that mean?" Madellaine's gaze was fixed on both doors.
"You're going to have to pick a door," Lucien explained, noticing where her attention was drawn to. "Jehan is behind one of the doors. Probably both somehow, if I know that slippery little bastard," he growled. "But he's your demon to fight. He's all in your mind, my love. You can do this. I know you can." Lucien turned and stared at her, his expression softening until she could read nothing in his brilliant blue eyes but love and adoration. "Who made you afraid, Madellaine? Afraid of both the future and the past? That is not my daughter. For neither exists in any place but in your imagination. Even memory has to be imagined, to some extent, I guess," her father sighed, sounding tired, but his gaze was unwavering and unabashed as he looked upon his adult daughter, holding her steady by both of her shoulders. "Fear is a kind of madness, but it's one that can be useful if you know it works."
"How does it work, Papa?" Madellaine found herself asking. "Tell me!"
"Fear will take you by the hand to things you keep and guard as precious. Always face fear with courage, understand it, and then let it go. Let these fears wake you up. Let them show you the way to your true self, to your brave soul whose love shines like a star. For without fear, love is brighter, stronger, and deeper. When you find yourself, my love, you will be your own master, fully healed, and your last fear will be of your own strength," Lucien replied wisely.
Madellaine nodded, her mind struggling to process her father's words. She felt rooted to her spot where she stood and quite unable to speak. "He's behind the black door, I just know it. But…" She bit her lip, her hand hovering over the black door's doorknob. "But what if he isn't? The white?"
Lucien shrugged, but his blue eyes were troubled. "Pick one," was all he said. "If I know your…brother," here he spat the word as if it were poison on his tongue. "Then he's behind both of the doors somehow. No matter what, you cannot leave this place until you face him. I am truly sorry it has to be this way, but you know what I taught you to say to death whenever it knocks?"
Madellaine nodded, feeling a tiny ghost of a smile creep its way onto her face. "Not today," she whispered through gritted teeth. Trembling, her gray eyes watered as she reached out a shaking hand towards the black door's knob. Jehan was behind there, she knew it, and it was anything but good.
Her body felt hot and the sweat started trickling down her brow and her back. She gripped it tight and twisted it. With every move, Madellaine became more and more terrified. Her breathing quickened as she heard the creaking of the door. Suddenly, everything was silent and behind the door there was nothing but darkness. "What?" she whispered, hardly daring to believe it. "B—but…this has to be a mistake, there's nothing here, Papa!"
Suddenly, everything was silent and behind the door was just a darkness. Once she saw there was nothing there, she felt her tense body start to relax.
This is what facing your fears must feel like, Madellaine wondered.
"Sister," Jehan's voice crooned lovingly from behind her. Instinctively, she recoiled and bit her tongue to keep from letting out a scream. She would not give Jehan Frollo the satisfaction any longer of seeing how much he controlled her fear. Madellaine took a faltering step backwards door the doorway.
Jehan was blocking her only way out. "Get away from me, Jehan," she shouted, but her father could not help her with this. She would have to win.
"There's no getting rid of me, dear," Jehan taunted, just as Lucien's footsteps filled the room as her father came to stand beside his only child.
"You can do this, Lena," Lucien encouraged soothingly, whispering it into the shell of her ear, rubbing small circles on the small of her back. "I know you can. Get rid of him for good before it's too late. If you don't deal with him here and now, he'll stay forever. And you cannot allow that to happen."
"No," she whispered, hands trembling as Lucien wordlessly placed the dagger he'd gifted to her on her fifth name day, her initials engraved on its hilt into her hands, curling her fingers over the weapon. "I—I'm scared, Papa."
"I know," he soothed. "But you can't let yourself be afraid of him, love. He's all in your head, sweetheart. He cannot hurt you. He's not real. Banish him from your life forever. Kill him, and he will never hurt you ever again."
Jehan let out a short, cruel, bark-like laugh. "I beg to differ, Barreau," he retorted coldly. "I'm real. I tried to warn you. Your husband would ruin your life, and now look at you," he admonished, his gaze briefly wandering the length of her body. He snorted and rolled his eyes. "You know, you almost had me scared a few days ago, lovely. I thought I'd lost you to that freak of nature forever, but then I thought about it. What do I have to be afraid of?"
He laughed again, but Madellaine could tell it did not mask the sudden worry in his voice. He's growing nervous, she thought wondrously. Glancing sideways at her father out of the corner of her eyes, Lucien gave a curt nod.
Just that gesture alone from her father was enough to send a swell of courage through her heart, seeming to course through her veins and into her bloodstream, igniting it, almost boiling it until her rage was overwhelming.
Madellaine raised her head, jutting her chin out defiantly to glare at Jehan, feeling the beginnings of an all-too familiar wildfire igniting in her steel-gray eyes, soon rivaling that of the most brilliantly polished suit of armor. They were cold and brilliant, just like her. "You are afraid, Jehan. Afraid of being ashes. You're afraid of being forgotten. But you will be forgotten, brother. Because of me. I survived because of me. Not you," she whisper-hissed.
"Do it, Lena," Lucien whispered into the shell of her ear. "Now. It's the only way to finish this for good. You're strong. I know you can do this. Just finish this and entomb your memories of Jehan Frollo in a block of ice. I tried to warn you to stay away, and now he's gone too far. Now you've no choice."
Jehan laughed at her father's words of encouragement and strength. "You don't have a violent bone in your body, sweetheart," he taunted, spreading out his arms and glancing around the room, as if searching for some form of reinforcements. "What makes you think you, a scared little girl, can kill me? You didn't do it the last time. You don't have it within you to get your hands filthy. You can't kill me. You won't. I'll always be a part of you, Madellaine."
Madellaine felt her jaw muscles tense and go rigid. "No. I'm not listening."
"Yes, precious," Jehan taunted. "Your husband will cheat you, hurt you, lie. You're a liar and a thief. Murderer."
"Go away," pleaded Madellaine. "I don't want to hurt you, Jehan. You need to leave me alone. Go away! I hate you. I hate you! I HATE YOU!" she screamed.
"Where would you be without me? I saved us. It was me. We survived because of me!" bellowed Jehan, his nose only inches from the tip of hers.
"Not anymore," whispered Madellaine, staring down at the knife in her hands. "Leave now, and never come back, Jehan. My husband looks after us now. Leave now and never. Come. Back. I'm warning you, Jehan, I've just about reached my limit," she snarled through gritted teeth. "Leave. NOW!"
"I don't think so, sweetheart," Jehan taunted, reaching up a pale hand to stroke the column of her throat. "You're mine," he whispered into her ear.
"I'm not afraid of you," she answered calmly, despite the fear that pricked her heart as his fingers drifted upwards to her hair, absentmindedly playing a few strands of her blonde hair. "You've brought this upon yourself, Frollo. Too long have you taunted me, threatened me, played your mind games."
"There's more where that came from, lovely," he crooned lovingly.
"No," she answered curtly. "It ends right now. You've done this. Not I."
In that frozen second between stand off and fighting, Madellaine saw Jehan's eyes flick from her to Lucien. Madellaine knew her face was unreadable, no fear, no invitational smirk, her expression perfected after many evenings spent in Alice and Jeanne's company, where they would play cards with Darius and Sophia in exchange for goods, mostly wine or food. Before she could even fathom what she was doing, she moved so fast, she was practically a blur.
She was banking on Jehan making the mistake she predicted he would, and he did. In that instant her brother flew at her, ignoring Lucien completely. A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Madellaine's body. Her stomach ached, her arms lost tension and her legs began to weaken. He won't get me, she thought as she dropped to the ground. Her tongue was soaked in the coppery tongue of blood as she spat off to the side, disgusted at the taste. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, she grabbed Jehan's foot and pulled him as violently as she could to the ground. Her head was pounding. She brought a fist to her brother's face, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie. Coughing and spluttering, Jehan met his younger sister's gaze. When he found his voice, Madellaine was surprised to hear a coldness she'd never heard before.
"I don't want to just kill you, sister. I want to put you in a pit and add the shovels full of dirt until your goddamn mouth is full of muck. I want to hear the suffocation of your cries. I want to know the second you don't exist for me anymore so that I can savor it. I don't care if you're sorry anymore. I don't want to hear it, Barreau. You should have told me back when it could have made a difference, back when I loved you. You took what was beautiful in me and made it into this, what it is today. I hope you're proud. It's all your handiwork, after all, dearly beloved little sister."
Jehan grinned, showing his bloodied teeth among the stubble, his dark eyes wide and unblinking. He ran a bony hand through his thick tuft of brown hair, his thin lips turning upwards into a wicked smile. Jehan grabbed Lucien's knife that had fallen by her feet during the scuffle, letting the tip rest on her nape, watching those brilliant gray eyes of hers for the fear he'd longed to see, feeling a sick sense of joy rise within him. "Your time is up, sister."
"NO!" Madellaine bellowed, wrenching her arm away from Jehan's grasp, prying the knife loose from his ironclad grip that faltered, having not expected her outburst. She let out a horrible scream that she knew would haunt her nights for the next several weeks, if she made it out of this alive in one piece.
Years of abuse at Jehan Frollo's hand all coming to a head at once was too much for her to bear. Lucien was shouting something, as was Jehan, but the only thing she could focus on was the loud ringing, a buzzing in her ears.
Even the passage of light slowed, and the sounds became as if underwater. Aside from the beat of her own heart, no muscle moved. That pounding inside beat a rhythm to the words of Jehan Frollo's execution, the cold steel of Madellaine's dagger blade Jehan's judge and jury. The tip of the blade entered into his ribcage as if he were nothing, conveniently the same location where he had stabbed her almost three months ago, nothing but meat, blood, bones, as it burst crimson into the fading dim light of the otherwise black room. His face, so handsome and beautiful in life, was now frozen, dark eyes open, his mouth slack, as Jehan was propelled backwards. His eyes held his sister's, and in those fractions of seconds, Jehan was there and then gone.
His coldness of the ages that had been his 'love' for her, simply vanished.
The sweet, sickening stench of blood filled Madellaine's nostrils and she fought back the urge to dry-heave. His mangled lip and broken nose were caked in rapidly drying blood, congealed and cracked. There was no amount of horror that could ever prepare Madellaine for seeing the life force ebb from another, not even a being as horrible as Jehan had been to her in past.
Any normal person would have been horrified at the violence that had occurred in this dark place, but she and her father did not even flinch as they watched Jehan take his last few miserable breaths, the very life seeping out of his body. The light in Frollo's eyes dimmed as he breathed, a horrible, rattling, gurgling sound that was an affront to listen to. His face rapidly drained of color as his light in his dark eyes finally extinguished. Permanently.
Madellaine's hatred for the man that now lay dead at her feet was that of an erupting volcano, pressure created from the hot boiling magma that contained enough heat to make the very mud of the earth boil. Her hate for Jehan expanded, like anything else that gained heat. It grew as it expanded until it exploded, just as she had towards her own brother only mere moments ago.
She drew in deep, gasping breaths, struggling to calm down and to will the tremors in her hands to stop shaking as she dropped the knife, where it clattered to the ground by her boots with a loud clang that startled her.
"Papa, is he…is he dead?" Madellaine whispered, her voice cracking. She watched, slightly horrified, as Lucien casually kicked the man's foot, nudging his leg with the tip of his boot. She weakly reached out for Lucien's arm again.
Her father nodded, a smile of grim satisfaction upon his handsome face.
"Yes, he is. He will never be bothering you again, my love." Turning to his daughter, a soft smile curved upwards on his lips as he closed off the gap of space between them, pulling his only child close for a rib-crushing hug. "You truly are your father's daughter, my dear," he murmured quietly into her hair.
"Come with me," Madellaine pleaded suddenly, desperate to hang onto her father now that they had been reunited at last. "Come home with me, Papa. Meet my husband and the soon-to-be father of your grandchild. I think you'd like him." She unwillingly relinquished her hold upon her father, pulling back slightly to study Lucien Barreau's face. Crestfallen, she watched as he shook his head no. "Oh, Papa, no," she begged. "Why not?" she pleaded. "I can't say goodbye to you, Papa. Not now. I just got you back!" she sobbed. "NO!"
Lucien sighed, though it looked to his adult daughter as if he were fighting back tears of his own, as he rested his head atop her hair. He pulled away again, saying nothing for a few moments, simply taking advantage of the silence to study her face, memorizing every little detail of his daughter, from every single wisp of her blonde hair that was so like her mother's, to the small scar just above her left eyebrow, to the way she smiled when she was happy.
"The pain I carry in my chest is inexplicable, Lena. Seeing you get away from me hurts me the most. Even though I want to hold you and keep you by my side for all eternity, I know that I can't. You've your own life to live. As much as I know it's the best thing for me, for you and for your mother, I did not expect to be of your life so soon, but my sworn duty to our king called."
Lucien noticed his daughter's eyes welling with unshed tears and he took that as his sign to continue. "I'll never forget the moments I laughed with you, cried with you, helped you to grow. Different from the others. I don't regret any of our memories together, Madellaine. Thank you for everything, my brave, sweet, beautiful daughter. I know you'll find your happiness again when you wake up back home in your tower." He smiled and pulled her close, planting a gentle kiss upon her forehead. "You have to let me go."
"I—I can't!" she wailed. "I…I'm afraid. Will I see you again?" she choked, fighting back a sob that she hastily turned into a cough, covering her mouth with her hand, turning away slightly from her father to compose herself.
Lucien nodded. "Yes. One day, you will, but now is not that day. And you remember what I told you to say, if Death ever comes for you before it's your time?" he asked, a mischievous little glint in his blue eyes. "Say it, Lena."
Madellaine smiled, closing her eyes and enveloping her father in a tight embrace, resting her cheek against his lean, hard chest, wishing with all her might that he could stay by her side. "Not today," she whispered, letting the words roll off her tongue with great ease. "I love you, Papa," she sobbed.
"That's my girl," Lucien grinned. His smile faltered only slightly as he took a few steps backward away from her. "Now, I need you to wake up. Where you go, I cannot follow. You're safe. You'll wake up back at home, in your tower, with your husband. He needs you. Your baby needs you. It's time, my love."
"But—" Madellaine's voice broke as she struggled to look into her father's eyes one last time. In that moment of loss, her world collapsed—where there was light became shadows, the pain coming and going like waves on frigid sand. Though her mind called out for her father, the connection was gone. He was gone.
And finally, she knew that her time to wake up had come…