Mireille smiled as she walked past the stands on the side of the street. For once, people had been accepting her, but it seemed like the thrill of life had passed. Of course, she had heard of stories similar to her own; where a person fought for a long time and couldn't find anything to do after the excitement had passed. Noir's trials seemed to have passed, and neither herself nor Kirika had heard of the Soldats lately. Eventually, though, the flower of death must relinquish its poison as it wilts. Not to say that Mireille's beauty was faltering, but she had lost her poisonous edge. Even Kirika seemed to have grown softer than before. After all, they hadn't even had cause to touch their weapons ever since Altena's death.

"Bonjour, Mireille," a young man called, smiling at his friend. Mireille laughed softly and gave a relieved smile. "And hello to you too, Jean. It's been almost a month since I saw you last." The man laughed warmly and then looked at her with his dark, placid eyes. Black hair was combed down and cut short, and he had a tall, lithe build.

"I've been working on the coast with a client of mine," he said cheerfully. " Simply a paper-pushing job, nothing to worry about." Mireille nodded and they went to the Cafe de Paris. Lately, as far as jobs went, Jean had been an assassin much like her former job, but after meeting her, he had gone to less dangerous work.

Both of them sat down at a small outdoor table, and Mireille almost laughed as she watched the shadows, secretly thinking that someone might have been there. "So," she said, stirring her drink with the straw, "who is this client you've been working for?" Jean smiled at her curiosity and replied,

"I've been working for the lovely Livia Ammoure, along with taking some easy drudge work from her brother, Antonio." A shocked look came over Mireille's face as she heard the name Ammoure.

"They live on the Mediterranean coast, right?" she asked. "A secluded beach house?" Jean nodded and a serious look came into his usually placid eyes.

"Yes, actually," he replied, a little surprised. "It even has a privately owned strip of beach." Mireille's eyes widened as she remembered the time when she had Aria Ammoure in her sleep, and the strange boy she had met afterward who didn't know that she was the killer. Otherwise, how could he have let her go?

"I-I have to leave," she said, and sprinted away, not stopping until she reached her moped.

Once on the vehicle, she left, and stopped at a foot bridge that overlooked the Seine. Standing in the middle, she looked out at the sparkling waters that had been such an important source of transportation. Perhaps that boy had been Antonio, but Livia Ammoure was an only child at the time when her mother had been murdered. "And so," she said to herself, "my black history has returned to haunt me." Somehow she doubted that Jean's job had been simply paper-pushing. The client had told her about La Famille D'Ammoure's manipulative history, and she knew that an Ammoure daughter wouldn't hire people to push papers. "Leave," the girl had hissed after running into Mireille in the halls. "You're not welcome here, you scum of an assassin!" In order to escape before the child became violent and woke the whole house up, Mireille had shot her in the side, the force enough to knock down such a delicate little girl.

Mireille felt sorry for the child because of her early deprivations, but it was simply the fate of one caught up in the struggles for power. How could one feel that it was the child's fault though? Surely this Livia had been an innocent girl, at one point in time. "Every child goes through a period of innocence," Mireille said, "but the Flowers of Death must bloom eventually. C'est la vie de la monde."

Suddenly, she heard a few footsteps behind her on the weathered stone of the bridge. Whipping around skittishly, she had her gun pointed at the darkly handsome face of a man around her age. "Who are you?" she asked coldly. He smiled, enhancing his features.

"Mireille Bouquet, are you not?" After she nodded, he continued with the gun pointed at his head. "I am here to warn you, my beautiful Mireille. Would you not have it that you be excused from your compensation?"

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice a frigid blizzard.

"My name is Antonio Ammoure. I remember that you were the assassin who killed my mother. Yet I would much rather have you as an ally than watch la seconde fleur de mort vanish from this world. Already the one you called Chloe has been eliminated from the running. If the Yuumura girl dies, then it will be yourself and my sister as the two rulers of the property of House Ammoure. Myself, I will willingly bow down and serve the flower that came to me that day." Mireille held her gun pointed at him and replied icily,

"My place is not there, you idiot! I can never trust your family, not after what I did.to your mother. Leave before I'm forced to kill you!"

Antonio took a step backward and then said in his most suave voice, "Farewell, Mireille. We shall meet again."

"Not quite," she said angrily, pulling the trigger. Birds took wing when they heard the gunshot. "I don't need your forgiveness," she told the corpse as she walked away, "because I know that you're still alive."

I know that some people may be slightly confused by the French words, but it would only make sense, since the whole story is set in France. For all of you who do not have a French-English dictionary, you may e-mail me with the French word/phrase, and I will translate it for you.

Rielle