Just as the sun set, Phillipe finished his work...
He entered the small one-room cottage, and frowned at the lone bed in the corner; If only she could spend one night with me; then the bed wouldn't be as empty... The frown became a small, wicked smile as he hung his hat on the hook on the wall, and stared into the mirror at his reflection; when he had been young, he might have been handsome if it weren't for the slight, pinched look about this face... he had been born premature, and his mother had thought his survival a miracle up until the day she died...
He winced in pain, as he spotted a souvenir from his day of work; he brought his finger to touch the small purple bruise right above his left cheek... If only she were here to kiss it, and make the pain go away...
Another day had been interrupted with thoughts and fantasies... all of them regarding her; the little girl from the other side of the town whom he had secretly loved from the time she was seven years old... She was a pretty little thing, with her red cheeks, and long black hair; he knew that she would indeed grow to be a beautiful woman... the envy of many women, and the desire of many men... But for now, he was the only one who dreamt of her at night... For now, he was the only man in France who could see the young thing for what she truly was... an object; an object of desire... an object for his, and only his use...
He sat down upon a small chair at the head of an old table, and groaned, as pain shot up through his body, and then dissipated; ever since they had died, he had been left to tend all the farm chores by himself; when they had died, he had been left alone and wanting... Four chairs, all but one being empty; when he had been a little boy, he had had two sisters... they had both died of the plague, and his mother... His mother had died a sad woman, the only joy in her life being her remaining son...
Phillipe said a small grace, as his thoughts returned to the beautiful rich girl-- the object of all his desires...
He stared out the window at the waning moon, as he broke his bread; She is beautiful, though, he thought, stuffing a small piece of bread into his mouth, and swallowing it, without hardly chewing it, And rich too... Her father doesn't have to break his neck to get a loaf of bread. He smiled to himself, as a lone wolf howled in the nearby wood, Just like me, he thought, Alone and hungry... His stomach growled, as he swallowed the last morsel of his sad supper, and his thoughts returned to his mother, If she were still alive, she might be able to help me... His smile widened, Don't they say, 'if you want something, you should let yourself have it...?'
What was wrong with wanting a child...? Something he could understand...
something he could feel great power over; when he had been younger, he might
have been content with settling down with some old hag, and having hundreds
of children running amuck... But now, he wanted something else... Something
that was easily attained... He wanted her...