Chapter One
Marie LeFougueux stalked across the spacious room, never letting her eyes waver
from her reflection in the mirror. As angry as she was, she admired herself. How perfectly
dazzling she looked in her silken gown of white that floated around her. Her hair was
luxuriously thick and shiny in its highly fashionable bun; the dangerously low neckline of
her derss, simply flattering to her figure.
"Marie, you are more beautiful than your uncaring mother," she boasted in a
haughty voice. "It's a shame she won't ever see you again."
She watched as her lips formed an angry pout and her glittering green eyes flashed
fire. With a sudden, almost inhuman movement, she picked up her ivory handled
hairbrush and hurled it at the mirror, dangerously accurate. Marie watched in satisfaction
as the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces and her reflection was instantly gone with a
thunderous crash.
"Good bye Mother, Father," Marie said coldly as she took her small bag in hand
and flung herself off the chateau's balconey. Then her world went black.
Whether she had lain there for days or minutes, Marie couldn't say. When she had
grabbed her bag of belongings, she was only trying to run away, but the tempation of
suicide was too great. Much to her dismay, she had only landed awkwardly on her wrist
and had broken it. The pain was so great she hissed a few curses and stood up. The moon
was shining brightly in the sky, making her get-away easier. She hung her wrist limply at
her side, trying to ignore the pain and checked her little bag. Her purse was full of money
and her precious lyre was in perfect condition. She quickly shoved these items back in the
bag and made for the surrounding woods.
* * * *
The LeFougueux's were always a very rich and snobbish family in France, and
Marie was no different. She inherited her coldness from her mother and her temper from
her father. Though, to say her father had always been angry, would be a lie. Marie was an
only child, and when her father learned his wife could have no more children, he raged
and cursed his misfortune of having a daughter. Women could do nothing right in his
eyes, and were just useless objects of pleasure.
As far as Marie could remember, her mother had always been cold to her. Her
parents made it seem like it was her fault for having been born a female; and therefore,
left her by herself. She was an independent child, with only her nursemaid to care for her.
The nursemaid, Mme. DaFau, was more of a mother to Marie than anyone. She
taught Marie to play a lyre at a young age, and Marie delighted family friends by making
up simple melodies that haunted the shadows of the family's chateau.
Marie had gone to a private finishing school for a couple years and returned home
a polished lady. That is, except, for her temper. She threw fits at anything that went
against her pleasing. When her nursemaid was sent away, Marie tried starving herself but
her mother had forced her to eat. The anger just kept building up inside her until the one
day her father announced that a highly distinguished gentleman was coming to call. Marie
was, in fact, very much looking forward to this up to the moment he arrived. During
dinner, she could not take it anymore.
"I'll not marry an old man!" she screeched and attempted to flee the room.
"Marie! Msr. DuVieux is forty-three; he is hardly old!" exclaimed her mother
roughly.
"And I shall be but only eighteen next month! He's too old for me!"
Marie stormed upstairs, satisfied that the old Msr. DuVieux wasn't coming back
and that her parents would have trouble finding another suitor. She was going to leave the
family's chateau forever.
* * * *
Marie LeFougueux stalked across the spacious room, never letting her eyes waver
from her reflection in the mirror. As angry as she was, she admired herself. How perfectly
dazzling she looked in her silken gown of white that floated around her. Her hair was
luxuriously thick and shiny in its highly fashionable bun; the dangerously low neckline of
her derss, simply flattering to her figure.
"Marie, you are more beautiful than your uncaring mother," she boasted in a
haughty voice. "It's a shame she won't ever see you again."
She watched as her lips formed an angry pout and her glittering green eyes flashed
fire. With a sudden, almost inhuman movement, she picked up her ivory handled
hairbrush and hurled it at the mirror, dangerously accurate. Marie watched in satisfaction
as the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces and her reflection was instantly gone with a
thunderous crash.
"Good bye Mother, Father," Marie said coldly as she took her small bag in hand
and flung herself off the chateau's balconey. Then her world went black.
Whether she had lain there for days or minutes, Marie couldn't say. When she had
grabbed her bag of belongings, she was only trying to run away, but the tempation of
suicide was too great. Much to her dismay, she had only landed awkwardly on her wrist
and had broken it. The pain was so great she hissed a few curses and stood up. The moon
was shining brightly in the sky, making her get-away easier. She hung her wrist limply at
her side, trying to ignore the pain and checked her little bag. Her purse was full of money
and her precious lyre was in perfect condition. She quickly shoved these items back in the
bag and made for the surrounding woods.
* * * *
The LeFougueux's were always a very rich and snobbish family in France, and
Marie was no different. She inherited her coldness from her mother and her temper from
her father. Though, to say her father had always been angry, would be a lie. Marie was an
only child, and when her father learned his wife could have no more children, he raged
and cursed his misfortune of having a daughter. Women could do nothing right in his
eyes, and were just useless objects of pleasure.
As far as Marie could remember, her mother had always been cold to her. Her
parents made it seem like it was her fault for having been born a female; and therefore,
left her by herself. She was an independent child, with only her nursemaid to care for her.
The nursemaid, Mme. DaFau, was more of a mother to Marie than anyone. She
taught Marie to play a lyre at a young age, and Marie delighted family friends by making
up simple melodies that haunted the shadows of the family's chateau.
Marie had gone to a private finishing school for a couple years and returned home
a polished lady. That is, except, for her temper. She threw fits at anything that went
against her pleasing. When her nursemaid was sent away, Marie tried starving herself but
her mother had forced her to eat. The anger just kept building up inside her until the one
day her father announced that a highly distinguished gentleman was coming to call. Marie
was, in fact, very much looking forward to this up to the moment he arrived. During
dinner, she could not take it anymore.
"I'll not marry an old man!" she screeched and attempted to flee the room.
"Marie! Msr. DuVieux is forty-three; he is hardly old!" exclaimed her mother
roughly.
"And I shall be but only eighteen next month! He's too old for me!"
Marie stormed upstairs, satisfied that the old Msr. DuVieux wasn't coming back
and that her parents would have trouble finding another suitor. She was going to leave the
family's chateau forever.
* * * *