The Scaffold Waltz

Disclaimer: Kaze To Ki No Uta and all of its trademarks, I do not own. I shan't forget that they belong to Keiko Takemiya. This fic contains mature situations, and possible scary scenes of death. Please R&R!!

1790. What can anyone say about this year in the wonderful, but sinister country of France? Well, to begin, the country is well under way with a revolution. I have recently discovered, and now believed that humans are probably the most powerful beings on Earth capable of hating or desperately loving each other. France is no exception. About 97 of the French at the time were citizens of the third estate (commoners, middle-class people), 2 made up the second state (clergy, nobility), and 1 made up the first estate (royalty and high officials). Day by day, it was either the scaffold, or the guillotine that determined your fate if found guilty in the courts of a certain crime. Heads rolled, people kept score, the royal family's doom rolled down the hill and only got faster at the bottom, and many lived in fear.

Toward northern province France, many thrived to be happier by actually making something out of the strings of terror, which the country was almost beginning to get used to as France entered the first year anniversary of the French Revolution. As the night gleamed over the sky, one small town went on with their lives in hope something good will change. They very much feared the guillotine in accordance of a superstition they heard if a head does not fall into the basket properly or falls off the wrong way, their souls will be doomed to rot in Hell. To stick with traditional means of execution, they favored the scaffold, since the much-used gallows were exceedingly archaic to them.

Sunset brought the emotions toward the surface of almost everyone there. The skies were lovely and breathtaking and seemed that new hope will indeed be bestowed upon them for a better future with no more bloodshed and hatred. Deep within the walls of a small cottage, Serge Batouille deeply admired the beautiful vortex of evening colors as he did when he watched them with his late mother and father. Serge was almost thirteen, and he was boarding at a local's abode until he found somewhere else to go. Serge always carried around many books and a picture of his mother, which was the only thing he had left of either of his parents except the dark skin by his mother and his delicate face and eyes of his father. He remembered the simple times with his parents before they died: strolls through the parks, sight-seeing across the mountains, reading books near the fireplace and other merriment. However, those days were over. Serge had to continue to live on, but no amount of that same merriment would make him happy without his parents or bring them back.

The evening bustled with many guests down stairs and into the dinning room. Sir and Madame LeEteneix was the very munificent couple that so humbly accepted Serge to stay with them until he found another place to stay. Madame LeEteneix insisted that Serge stay as long as he wishes. She and her husband loved having him in their gaudy home, because they loved children. Although child lovers, the LeEteneix's never had any children. They had one daughter who was thrown off by a horse, lost consciousness to a coma, then died.

Serge decided to rest his eyes and join the party.

"My goodness, Serge," Madame LeEteneix exclaimed, "have you eaten at all tonight? Here, you can hep yourself to anything you like."

"Oh, Madame LeEteneix," Serge said, "you are very kind. However, I am not hungry right now."

"Are you sick, my child?"

"No, I am fine, thank-you. May I step outside for a moment. I feel rather faint. I just need some fresh air."

"If you say so," she said. Picking up a small part of her very pretty gown, Madame LeEteneix opened the door and Serge stepped outside. He had a better view of the sunset from where he was. The sunset is amazing, Serge thought. He remembered the beautiful sunsets he used to watch with his mother and father. He would rather have a moment of his infamous loneliness than remember how much he missed his parents. The loneliness was almost as much as he could bear. As tears began to build in the back of his eyes, he remained calm and content.

"Serge?" came a voice from behind him. Serge turned around curiously, and his eyes found Maybel Austerwell. There was a big reason why her name was Maybel. Her name meant beautiful and fair maiden and she was! Maybel had long blonde hair, gray eyes with a hint of green, and creamy white skin. Aside from her being extremely attractive, her personality was the next best thing; she was kind and giving and usually put other's needs before her own thoughts.

"Oh, good evening, Ms. Austerwell," Serge bowed.

"No need to be so formal, Serge. Call me Maybel, I've told you that many times."

"Y-Yes."

"Is something wrong, Serge? You just up and left from the party without saying what was wrong. Are you feeling ill? If so, I can make you some green tea and-"

She stopped. She could see sorrow in Serge's eyes as he stared longingly at the sunset.

"Serge?" asked Maybel.

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you are all right?"

"Yes, yes. I am fine, Ms Aust–, I mean Maybel."

"Will you be coming back to the party?" she asked with a hint of begging in her voice.

"I will."

"Madame LeEteneix is saying that she is going to have a music hour! It is coming up soon. Would you, I mean if you want to,....sing with me?" She fell silent from her shyness of asking such a question, but Serge knew that she was trying to cheer him up. Maybel had a gift of knowing when a person felt depressed or uneasy.

"I would be delighted, Maybel," Serge answered. Her face lit up, making her look very pretty in the sunset's dim shadows that had cast its shadows upon everything that stood witness and absolutely still. The trees danced as the wind gently flirted. Serge found himself thinking how sad a tree can look until it is conjured up from its despair, like how the wind can change how the tree stands. The Wind and Trees....

"Maybel?"

"Yes?"

"May you honor me by answering a question?"

"Of course."

"Is it possible for anybody to be completely alone in the world?"

"Serge? Do you miss anyone? Has someone close to you just pass? I'm very sorry," Maybel said as she put her hand on Serge's shoulder for comfort.

"Oh, no," Serge said, as he found out that Maybel thought he had recently lost someone special. "I didn't mean me personally," he half lied. "I meant this was a biased question."

"Well, I really do not believe that one can be absolutely alone. I think there is at least one person in the world who can relieve one of their loneliness and solitariness. There is that one person who can make one realize that they can cry one a shoulder, hold a hand, speak a secret of trust, or make them feel that they are not alone." Maybel felt emotions replete in her heart as she spoke these thought to Serge, who now has his innocent, deep eyes on her. Maybel's forehead felt warm. She thought to thicken her sentences to hint at a possible aspect for Serge. "Of course, someone can always be there for someone if one should ever feel lonely. If two people share a touch of loneliness, it is better that being alone, all by yourself."

In case you haven't caught on, Maybel is deeply, head over heels in love with Serge. She has been ever since she first saw him at church last month. Love at first sight made Maybel shy and timid to confess her feelings to the dark-skinned boy, but she was very obdurate with her feelings which told her the Serge must never cry or be hurt. Sooner or later, Maybel will have to realize that she was not Serge's mother, nor could she protect him from the dangers the world had to offer him. Yet, despite her munificent affections and actions, Maybel stepped back from exploiting too much drama into the moment.

"Thank-you, Maybel," Serge said kindly. "I'll just stay out here for a while longer, then I will accompany you in a joyous song."

"I'm glad. See you, Serge," she said waving gently to and fro.

He waved back, then she closed the door. Lost in a train of thought, Serge decided to walk down the short path of smooth dirt and let his thoughts embrace his mind, jocular or not.

Maybel, absent from Serge's attention, watched her love walk away. She gave a small sigh and closed the curtains. It will be dark soon, she thought. I hope he will be okay. He will be, he is an amazing person in every way. I pray for him with hope and serenity that he will buck up. Sadness doesn't suite someone so wonderful. Dear, I'm starting to sound pessimistic.

"Day dreaming again, Maybel?" The person who addressed this question was Anne, Maybel's older sister, and only sole relative still alive today. Anne didn't look at all like her sister, but did have medium-length brown hair with ravish curls at the bottom, and she was very tall for a girl coming to eighteen. Other than pretty and smart, she had a tricky habit of dumping too much of the cold, bare truth on someone when she gave her two cents.

"No, not really."

"Oh, come now, Maybel," Anne started, "you were looking after Serge, weren't you? Maybel, as your older sister, I feel like I have a duty to teach you about love and what to do when you are pinning after someone who is oblivious to the fact that you actually care."

"I appreciate it, Anne, but not right now. Serge seems to have many things on his mind. He just went for a short stroll down the path. He won't be away for too long."

"You really care about him don't you?"

She nodded 'yes'.

Anne looked at her sister and smiled. "I will not scorn you for loving such a simple soul, Maybel, but please do be cautious of what you do. Serge seems like the kind of person that does his level if not utter best to bury his pain deep within himself just to get buy with an apocryphal smile and grip."

"He may be happy at some times, but for awhile he has been gloomy to me."

"Give him a while and he'll be better," Anne said. "He is a nice boy who doesn't deserve to be truly unhappy." Anne mingled with Maybel until she was asked to dance by a gentleman. Little did Maybel, or Serge, know that their journey through France's bloody revolution would end up as a revolution of their own. Small, yes,....big....most definitely.