Chastel, edge of the Margeride mountains, November 1766

Tables were filled, men happily laughing and drinking. A stout woman in green was serving her honored guest, Jean-Charles Porcher. He was waiting, waiting for what he came for. The lights dimmed and the deep red curtain parted on the stage, revealing the most beautiful woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes. Her white dress flowed past her feet as the guitar and flute hummed slowly.

"She's resplendent,
So confident,
La Seine, La Seine, La Seine

I realize,
I'm hypnotized,
La Seine, La Seine, La Seine

I hear the moon
Singing a tune,
La Seine, La Seine, La Seine

Is she divine?
Is it the wine?
La Seine, La Seine, La Seine

I don't know, don't know
So don't ask me why
That's how we are
La Seine and I

That's how we are
La Seine and I

That's how we love
La Seine and I."

The song ended, and the singer bowed. She glanced up at her applauding audience, then at the box where Porcher and the stout woman - her aunt - were watching. Her aunt pointed to Monsieur Porcher and waved her hand up her cheek, bidding her to smile for him. She grinned obediently and received a nod from him in return.

She stood up and backed further into the stage, the curtains closing.

Catherine could barely hear her aunt. She unpinned another pearl from the curls in her hair.

"Catherine, ma petite! Are you listening?"

"Yes, Aunt Sophie," she lied.

"He is brave. He is charming. His father owns a lot of land, so you will be well taken care of - "

"He's pompous." She dropped a pearl on the vanity.

"He's a hard worker - "

"He's arrogant!" Another pearl.

"He could be the solution to our problems!"

"Your problems!" Catherine ran her hairbrush through her curls. "Sophie, please. I love you, but - "

Sophie sighed exasperatedly. "Oh, Catherine. Enough of your dreams of running off to Paris and teaching music!"

"If I can't have that, can I have my say not to marry Porcher?"

Sophie glared at her through the mirror, Catherine pulling the brush through a tangle. She absentmindedly thumbed the silver ring around her finger.

Sophie sighed and set her hands on her niece's shoulders. "Ma petite. I know this is hard to understand. But, your father would have wanted this. Married to the son of the man who tried to save your father's life! Wouldn't you want your father to be proud?"

Catherine shuddered at the memory of her father's death. Hearing the messenger relay the details, the horror of it, her blood boiled. The ring was all that was left to her, and his will.

"You must remember your place. You're a woodsmith's daughter, not a performer. One day, Catherine, you will look back on this and think of it as a silly memory." Sophie put on her scarf. "I want you back home before sundown. I've heard the wolf attacks are becoming more frequent."

"Yes, Aunt Sophie," Catherine droned, staring blankly into the mirror as Sophie left her dressing room.

Marry Jean-Charles?! she thought in disgust. He's an animal. The only thing he knows is killing and women.

She pulled off her mother's ring. Would she and her father really have wanted this for her?

A knock came at her door.

She hastily slid the ring back on and straightened. "Who is it?"

"Your best admirer~."

A large grin spread across her face and she ran to the door. "Gilles! Oh, mon ami, you made it!"

She hugged the elderly man and smiled. "Your performance was magnificent. You have the voice of an angel." He opened his hands, revealing a small wooden rose painted yellow. She thumbed the finely carved leaf, tracing the petals. There were no roses on this side of the mountain, but a wooden rose from Gilles's hand was just as sweet.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Gilles."

He chuckled, coughing a bit before offering her her evening scarf. "Shall I do the honor of escorting a lovely mademoiselle home?"

"Oh, are you going to protect me, monsieur?" she teased, tying the scarf over her shoulders.

He chuckled again. "Wouldn't do you much good if it were me. I believe you'd be able to protect me what with the way you wield an axe."

"Shh!" she hushed him. "Do you want me to be seen as an axe-wielding maniac?" The two laughed over each other's silliness and proceeded outside into the cold.

Wolf, she thought, rolling her eyes. If it were so dangerous, Jean-Charles would be out day and night hunting for it. But, instead he was hunting day and night for a greater price.

The axe split the wood in two with one swing. Catherine wiped her brow as she heaved another log from the pile and raised her axe. To the naked eye, anyone would think this would be no easy task for her. But she halved it with ease and added the halves to the stack.

"Good day to you, mademoiselle!"

She jumped from her thoughts, throwing the axe in the direction of the voice. Jean-Charles ducked just before it lodged into an old oak.

She gasped. "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry! I get frightened easily and - "

He shook his head. "No, it's my fault, Catherine. I should have known better than to sneak up on you like that." He swung his arm out to her, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, trying to feign excitement. "How...thoughtful."

"You know, I heard your performance last night."

"Yes," she said. "I saw you."

"And you know," Jean-Charles continued. "It was so beautiful, your voice is so angelic."

"Thank you," she said uncomfortably.

"If you would like, I could offer you a place in the tavern. It has a much better stage, and I'm sure they'll pay us well."

She winced as if she had been pricked. The tavern was the last place she would perform. She had seen what drunken men preferred to watch, and how more clothing mattered less to them. She hastily returned the flowers.

"Thank you for the gesture, but - " she gently pushed him aside and grabbed her axe handle. "I think I'm alright where I am."

"Oh!" he cried. "Let me help you with that. It's probably too deep for you to pull out." He pushed her aside and grasped the handle. He pulled at it, but it would not budge. She shielded her eyes from the ridiculousness of the situation and listened to him strain. When she looked up, his feet were a meter off the ground and his hands were pulling the handle from between his legs.

She groaned. "Oh, for crying out loud! Let me do it!"

He fell in a heap and scrabbled to his feet. "Please, Catherine. A dainty young lady such as yourself could never pull an axe so deeply stuck - "

She gripped the axe in one hand and yanked it from the tree. She held back a laugh as his jaw dropped in amazement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to try? I'll put it back in - "

"No! No, no, no! That's not necessary," he assured her, stretching his arms around him. "Clearly I loosened it up for you."

"Clearly..." Catherine strode back over to the wood pile, slicing another log in half. Behind her, she heard him sigh. Was that disappointment or frustration she heard? She hoped it was both. She froze when his hands fell on her shoulders.

"Catherine, you can't be seen like this!"

"Like what?" she demanded. "Seen like what?"

"Well," he continued. "Woodwork and wielding axes are men's work. Who knows how hurt you could be if you lost control of that axe."

"I know what I'm doing!"

"No, you don't." Her shoulders squeezed under his grip. "Catherine, you could hurt yourself flailing that thing around like a toy."

"I only threw it because you frightened me!" she argued. She stepped forward, but fell back into his chest. His hands twisted around her arms. "Jean, let go of me!"

"I promised your father I would keep you safe! I promised on his dying breath. Could you ever dishonor that?"

She stopped. It had been nine months since her father's murder, but her grief hadn't changed. He had been the one who taught her to swing an axe, reading her stories, making her laugh. He seemed to always know what was best for her. But, she had difficulty seeing how to find that in Jean-Charles.

He finally released her after being silent for too long. "Catherine, I love you."

She said nothing, her back to him. She heard him turn and walk back towards Chastel, away from her small mill. It took all her strength not to strike that axe into the side of his head. What life could she ever have with him? What life could be better than the one she had in mind?

She turned back to the log in front of her and raised the axe again. Her knuckles began to whiten, and she dropped the tool to her side. More than anything, she wished she could run away.

Music "La Seine and I" by Vanessa Paradis