You all have to be nice to this chapter, I'm rather proud of it. It was hard to think of a plotline for these two (Fameuil and Zéphine), so I just threw something down. They didn't have much of anything in the book that I could work with. Oh, Disclaimer: What Zéphine is what she thinks, and I may or may not agree with her, depending. Mostly I agree with what she has to say. I honestly don't know if the subject of the story (keep reading…) was called a mental illness in the setting, and after doing some research I'm still rather confused. I'm pretty sure I'm wrong, but I'm actually rather happy with this piece of work, so if I'm wrong, give me a break. But well, enjoy if you want to, don't if you don't.

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Fameuil and Zéphine- Love they Neighbor

My lover, he is truly insane. Oh, I say that not in the knowledgeable, descriptive way they sometimes refer to the wildness of Tholomyes, nor a loving, joking way. Listolier threatens to alert the sanatorium.

Any day, now.

What grounds is this, to send my Fameuil away? Those who are insane cannot love, my dear Fameuil is all too capable of it. Poor man.

We walked in the gardens of the old quarter one day. It was especially nice out that day, it had rained the day before and everything was bright green. I thought the sun was shining merely for us. Many couples were out, but I decided none could be more of a pair than my lover and me. He loves parading me about.

A very handsome man walked by us, a rather homely girl swinging from his arms chattering away happily. They seemed not as in love as we were, she cluttered up his ears with talk and he looked rather bored. However, he was handsome.

Fameuil breathed a little sigh, which I heard immediately.

"Mon cher," I cried, clinging onto his side. "Do you ail?' I looked him worriedly in the eyes.

He blushed, and nervously began. "I am fine, Zéphine, bother me no more!"

"Yes, sir." I said, in the way I had. This always got him, every time.

"I said bother me not!" He bellowed, obviously unaffected. Fameuil turned to me with a look of fury, and I wondered if he was going to strike me.

"My old beau hit me too," I stated, defiantly. "I know how to stand up for myself!"

"I'm sorry, Zéphine. I have so much weighing my thoughts down." He looked worried, and I wanted to make him feel better some how.

"Yes, sir!" I repeated in the same way.

Fameuil laughed genuinely for a moment, but then his laughter faded. It continued for a moment, forced and flat, and then ceased. I looked around, confused.

The man was back.

Is it really so awful, my dears, to love a man as you would a woman? My Fameuil is impossible to dislike, he's a very good man.

The bible may say, "Lie not with a man as you would a woman," but does it not also say that if one man slaps your cheek, to turn one's face and offer the other? The meaning I seek is, if you feel men like my Fameuil are wronging you, do not shun them or lock them up like lepers or criminals. Turn your face to him, and allow him to "wrong" you once more.

Long ago, when I lived in that desolate orphanage, the likes of which are all too full nowadays, painted on the gray, dreary brick was this simple phrase: "Love they neighbor." In fear of the whip and the fist, us girls stuck close together, and we tried very hard to love each other, no matter which sin we broke: no matter who coveted Lisette's new hair ribbon or who bit the new girl.

Why can we not learn from a group of scared, whimpering orphelines in a long ago convent? Love. So simple a word, so universal a concept. Love.

I love Fameuil. Perhaps not with the Blonde's innocence and passion, but I love him all the time. Can you truly understand the situation? Have you been in it?

Sometimes, I wonder if he fell in love with my flat chest and short hair, or if he fell in love with me. Though it's clear he has a taste for the men, might he love me as well?

I have given my cold heart to Fameuil. He has warmed it, softened it, and taught me to laugh. However, I find myself looking into his distant gray eyes, searching for the love that I pray I haven't dreamed.

Though he saved me from life as a bitter old hag, he has wronged me as well. Fameuil's hit me, once or twice, thrown the dinner when he disliked it…given me to Listolier or Blanchville. Happy birthday, Merry Christmas…

Does he love me? Does he love me today, or does he love Félix? Will he love me tomorrow? When will you love me, Fameuil?

If they ever come to take him away, to exterminate this "Menace to Society," claiming he's mad or incapable of following the bible, I shall ask them if they have a mistress. When the answer is yes, I shall cheer.

"You are incapable of following the bible as well! Adultery is a sin. Get into the carriage, you aren't sane either!"

When they come, if they come, perhaps I shall stop them completely.

"Excuse me," they'd say, feigning kindness. "Is this the house of Guillaume Fameuil?"

"Lord bless me," I'd cry. "Of course not! It's just my husband and I, we're god-fearing Christians!"

If they come to get him, I know not what I'd do. I could never live a day without my Fameuil. I adore him, though sometimes I disgust myself. Some days, I think of what he's done to me and think he should go.

I think back now to the days of Lisette and her hair ribbons. That little joy was enough. Perhaps a few good days could cloud out the bad…Lisette was the bet of us. She remembered always that simple rule.

Love thy neighbor.