Chapter 11
"Up so early, ma chérie?" Damon asked. "Couldn't sleep. Et toi?" Gratiana returned cordially. "You're doing so well with your French. Ne rien, madame." "Madame pas," she warned. "But soon ." Damon protested. "Mais, maitenaunt. Je suis une mademoiselle; Une dame," she voiced treacherously. "Oui, une mademoiselle; une dame; a girl; a lady," he agreed confusedly. * * * Lucient awoke in a cold sweat, in Gratiana's bed. She was nowhere to be found. He'd had a terrible nightmare, where Gratiana had been with another man. She'd shunned the man, yes, but they were so close, familiar. And the calm way she talked about being murdered? He smashed a vase (coincidentally, the replacement for the one Gratiana had smashed) onto the floor. He was being possessive, and reminding himself of his brother, Romeous. "No!" he howled. "I'm not like that horrible man," he thought. "The man who locked me up." He broke into uncharacteristic tears. He cried for his memories: his childhood, the trip to that star, the people who shut him up, for 7 lost years. He cried for the long battle with Romeous, for the lives lost, and he cried most of all for Gratiana, who had turned to another man because of the way he'd treated her. Gratiana returned from her encounter with Damon to see Lucient on the floor, staring at white-scarred hands. She gasped fearfully and ran to his side. "Lucient! What's wrong? For the love of all things holy- -! Snap out of it! Mon Lucient, Réveiller! S'il-te plait!" "Get away! S'en allez!" "Lucient, mon amour, Qu'est-ce que c'est? Are you angry?" "Have you been with another man?" he accused. "Of course not! You're my only one. How can you say that?" she cried, hurt filling her voice. "I'm sorry. I just ." he stuttered. "Oh, Mon Lucient pauvre. You've been crying," she sighed softly, drawing his head onto her shoulder. Cold wind swept in through the thrown-open door. Gratiana whispered soothing words to her fiancée, hoping to close his wounds, at least for a little while. "Don't fear," she told him. "When your defences fall, I'll still be here to keep our love alive. Don't be afraid to be weak, at least for a little while. One can't always be strong."
"Up so early, ma chérie?" Damon asked. "Couldn't sleep. Et toi?" Gratiana returned cordially. "You're doing so well with your French. Ne rien, madame." "Madame pas," she warned. "But soon ." Damon protested. "Mais, maitenaunt. Je suis une mademoiselle; Une dame," she voiced treacherously. "Oui, une mademoiselle; une dame; a girl; a lady," he agreed confusedly. * * * Lucient awoke in a cold sweat, in Gratiana's bed. She was nowhere to be found. He'd had a terrible nightmare, where Gratiana had been with another man. She'd shunned the man, yes, but they were so close, familiar. And the calm way she talked about being murdered? He smashed a vase (coincidentally, the replacement for the one Gratiana had smashed) onto the floor. He was being possessive, and reminding himself of his brother, Romeous. "No!" he howled. "I'm not like that horrible man," he thought. "The man who locked me up." He broke into uncharacteristic tears. He cried for his memories: his childhood, the trip to that star, the people who shut him up, for 7 lost years. He cried for the long battle with Romeous, for the lives lost, and he cried most of all for Gratiana, who had turned to another man because of the way he'd treated her. Gratiana returned from her encounter with Damon to see Lucient on the floor, staring at white-scarred hands. She gasped fearfully and ran to his side. "Lucient! What's wrong? For the love of all things holy- -! Snap out of it! Mon Lucient, Réveiller! S'il-te plait!" "Get away! S'en allez!" "Lucient, mon amour, Qu'est-ce que c'est? Are you angry?" "Have you been with another man?" he accused. "Of course not! You're my only one. How can you say that?" she cried, hurt filling her voice. "I'm sorry. I just ." he stuttered. "Oh, Mon Lucient pauvre. You've been crying," she sighed softly, drawing his head onto her shoulder. Cold wind swept in through the thrown-open door. Gratiana whispered soothing words to her fiancée, hoping to close his wounds, at least for a little while. "Don't fear," she told him. "When your defences fall, I'll still be here to keep our love alive. Don't be afraid to be weak, at least for a little while. One can't always be strong."