Hello. I know this chapter is short, but I am under the impression it 's pretty good. Rn'R, you little rascals you!

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If Adrian ever heard the name Sir Charles ever again, she felt she would scream. The past three days all Mademoiselle DeFleurette had talked about was her absent sweetheart. He had gone on a "worldwide" safari, and was returning tomorrow. From what she had heard, he was an Englishman, knighted for his courageous exploits in India, and was by the Mlle's standard the "most gorgeous man alive...teehee!" Adrian had a feeling that she would dislike this godling as much as her employer.

But Saturday and Sunday were her days off, and she would have a chance to relax, take a bath, and go out window-shopping for her gloves.

Adrian's stomach growled ominously. Sir Charles hadn't been her only problem. Stinting on food was no fun. She had a bite every now and then to keep herself from fainting, but other than that, she was starving. Watching Debrah DeFleurette consume vast amounts of chocolate pudding was pure torture. Of course getting frostbite would be pure torture too. But she could ignore both, especially when she came back to her room and sat in front of the fire.

Adrian unwound her hair from its bun and let the braid hang loose in preparation for bed. She went to her dresser and pulled out something she had not had time for since she had come to the Opera house.

It was a simple, brown leather bag, tied shut by a piece of twine. The bag was about the size of her hand, the leather worn and smooth to the touch.

Slowly, reverently, Adrian pulled out five little wooden figures, each about the size of her ring finger. They were exquisitely carved as to appear lifelike, every texture painstakingly imprinted upon the yielding wood. Adrian set them up in a row on the vanity and lit a few candles. She stared at the figures for a few seconds, her face unreadable in the flickering light.

Kneeling down, she crossed herself and turned to the first wooden miniature. It was the likeness of an old woman, bent with her years and holding a tiny cat. The crone's face shone with gaiety, her few teeth showing in her smile.

Crow's feet appeared at the corners of Adrian's eyes.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

In the candlelight, the tiny figures appeared to move slightly, their tiny chests rising and falling with each breath.

"Blessed art thou amongst women..."

The old woman was still smiling. For the short time Adrian had known her, she was always smiling, enjoying life even in her advanced years. Her model seemed to say, " It's all right. Everything will be fine. It's all right..."

"And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..."

She had smiled until those last moments...

" Holy Mary..."

Until those last moments...

"Mother of God, pray for us sinners now..."

Until...

"And at the hour of our death."

Until the hour of her death.

"Amen."

The figure was quickly put away. The second one took center stage in Adrian's prayers. He was a round, happy little friar, whose hair was scarce, but whose good cheer was not.

Adrian began to pray again, her eyes fixed upon the figure. Every night, she had done this, even when she had slept outside in the mud. The last few days, there was no time to attend to it. She had always been too busy. But now, she felt it necessary to pay tribute to those who had not deserved to die, but had died anyway. After the friar came a farmer, his wife and a tall old man with spectacles. All of these had tried to help her, and all of them had paid with their lives. But they had asked too many questions, they were too inquisitive. Isobel had ordered their deaths, and she was satiated.

And it was all Adrian's fault.

Every night she prayed for them, prayed for forgiveness, but in the end, it was a waste of time. Who would forgive her for what she had done? If there was no

God to care for her, there was no God to beg forgiveness from. And yet she prayed. She prayed for herself, for them.

In a way, it proved just how lost she was. She kept away from people because she would hurt them, she came to God because she was lonely. Neither action helped her, but she continued. What else could she do?

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Tell me what you think. I am not a flame hater really, I just want to make my story better. I hope you love this like a fat boy love cake! Boy that was dumb...