The Courtesan's Daughter
*^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^bonjour encore, mes amis! For the French-illiterate: hello again, my friends! I hope you are all enjoying this. This part's kinda fluffy ^^; I can't help it, I'm a romantic! There will only be one more part after this, probably posted later tonight or tomorrow. It's it't tonight, expect it waaaaayyyyy late, 'cause I'm going to go see the Two Towers again woohoo! Lol, enough is enough.on with the story! Oh, one more thing: Obviously, they characters aren't mine, and obviously I'm making no money. So, ah, don't sue..? Believe me, it wouldn't be worth the money.*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
She is eleven, nearly twelve and womanhood is just starting to curve her. Her legs are impossibly, gawkishly long, and her arms are of skeletal proportions but her face is like the statues of angels at the nearby cathedral and all who see her smile, in twisted lust or joy. She never notices the lust; in her innocence (innocence, that, due to her surroundings should've been terminated long ago!) she us unable to identify it in any means other than a little gnawing feeling in her stomach.
She is eleven, and her voice refuses to be quiet. She hums in the hallways, chants in the corridors, sings out loud in her rooms. Her mama loves her voice, and often asks her to sing for her. Her mama is sick, from all the dancing and singing and loving, and often coughs late into the night. She only has to work four days a week now, but Satine still worries. Harold worries, too, that's why now she only works Wednesday through Saturday. Sunday's everyone's day off, but now Mama gets two more.
Harold says Mama is the main attraction, and Satine knows he worries about what they will do if Mama can't work anymore. Satine dances and sings for him when he gets like this, saying she'll take her place. Then Harold laughs and Satine smiles, which she does all too rarely now.
Her Mama is asking her to sing now, and Satine sings her favorite song "One day we'll fly away. Leave all this to yesterday! Let's live life from dream to dream! There will never be a day when dreaming fades."
Mama smiles and motions for Satine to come closer. Mama is exhausted; it's early Sunday morning and she just got home. Satine sits on the edge of the bed and strokes her mother's hair, still singing softly. As soon as she falls asleep, Satine bends over, kisses her cheek, and runs out the door.
She's a bundle of unconfined, restless energy and all people see is a peripatetic flash of red hair before she's gone. She's running, tears are falling, her voice is singing to comfort it's self. Satine cries and sobs and runs and sings. She doesn't looks where she's going, but swerves into a church.
She runs right into a little boy, her age or perhaps a little older. The both fall to the cold stone floor. He has dark hair, falling softly into his startlingly blue eyes. There is such a look of astonishment on his face, Satine cannot help but laugh.
"Are you an angel?" he whispers, still in awe. Satine thinks he's joking, and giggles, but stops abruptly when she sees the absolute seriousness in his eyes.
She shakes her head no. "No, Monsieur, I am no angel, but the daughter of a courtesan!" The little boy, his eyes still wide, stands up and offers her a hand. She takes it and stands. Neither of them let go. "What's a courtesan? Are you a princess?" Again, Satine laughs. "No, but some call me a diamond!" The little boy bows low. "Diamonds are always the prettiest!" Satine blushes and looks down, suddenly aware of how warm his hand is. Suddenly the boy's mother calls.
"Christian? Christian, come on, we're going to see the Eiffel Tower now!"
Christian looks dismayed, and without thinking Satine kisses him quickly on the cheek. He turns an amazing shade of red. Gulping, he stammers "Good bye, diamond!" and, squeezing her hand, leaves. With many a backward glance, truth be told.
Satine stays a little longer, cradling her hand as if it were made precious by his touch and smiling to herself. When she finally comes home, it's love songs she sings.
*^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^bonjour encore, mes amis! For the French-illiterate: hello again, my friends! I hope you are all enjoying this. This part's kinda fluffy ^^; I can't help it, I'm a romantic! There will only be one more part after this, probably posted later tonight or tomorrow. It's it't tonight, expect it waaaaayyyyy late, 'cause I'm going to go see the Two Towers again woohoo! Lol, enough is enough.on with the story! Oh, one more thing: Obviously, they characters aren't mine, and obviously I'm making no money. So, ah, don't sue..? Believe me, it wouldn't be worth the money.*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
She is eleven, nearly twelve and womanhood is just starting to curve her. Her legs are impossibly, gawkishly long, and her arms are of skeletal proportions but her face is like the statues of angels at the nearby cathedral and all who see her smile, in twisted lust or joy. She never notices the lust; in her innocence (innocence, that, due to her surroundings should've been terminated long ago!) she us unable to identify it in any means other than a little gnawing feeling in her stomach.
She is eleven, and her voice refuses to be quiet. She hums in the hallways, chants in the corridors, sings out loud in her rooms. Her mama loves her voice, and often asks her to sing for her. Her mama is sick, from all the dancing and singing and loving, and often coughs late into the night. She only has to work four days a week now, but Satine still worries. Harold worries, too, that's why now she only works Wednesday through Saturday. Sunday's everyone's day off, but now Mama gets two more.
Harold says Mama is the main attraction, and Satine knows he worries about what they will do if Mama can't work anymore. Satine dances and sings for him when he gets like this, saying she'll take her place. Then Harold laughs and Satine smiles, which she does all too rarely now.
Her Mama is asking her to sing now, and Satine sings her favorite song "One day we'll fly away. Leave all this to yesterday! Let's live life from dream to dream! There will never be a day when dreaming fades."
Mama smiles and motions for Satine to come closer. Mama is exhausted; it's early Sunday morning and she just got home. Satine sits on the edge of the bed and strokes her mother's hair, still singing softly. As soon as she falls asleep, Satine bends over, kisses her cheek, and runs out the door.
She's a bundle of unconfined, restless energy and all people see is a peripatetic flash of red hair before she's gone. She's running, tears are falling, her voice is singing to comfort it's self. Satine cries and sobs and runs and sings. She doesn't looks where she's going, but swerves into a church.
She runs right into a little boy, her age or perhaps a little older. The both fall to the cold stone floor. He has dark hair, falling softly into his startlingly blue eyes. There is such a look of astonishment on his face, Satine cannot help but laugh.
"Are you an angel?" he whispers, still in awe. Satine thinks he's joking, and giggles, but stops abruptly when she sees the absolute seriousness in his eyes.
She shakes her head no. "No, Monsieur, I am no angel, but the daughter of a courtesan!" The little boy, his eyes still wide, stands up and offers her a hand. She takes it and stands. Neither of them let go. "What's a courtesan? Are you a princess?" Again, Satine laughs. "No, but some call me a diamond!" The little boy bows low. "Diamonds are always the prettiest!" Satine blushes and looks down, suddenly aware of how warm his hand is. Suddenly the boy's mother calls.
"Christian? Christian, come on, we're going to see the Eiffel Tower now!"
Christian looks dismayed, and without thinking Satine kisses him quickly on the cheek. He turns an amazing shade of red. Gulping, he stammers "Good bye, diamond!" and, squeezing her hand, leaves. With many a backward glance, truth be told.
Satine stays a little longer, cradling her hand as if it were made precious by his touch and smiling to herself. When she finally comes home, it's love songs she sings.