Hey friends :) Long update ahead:
After some reflection: Writing long stories is actually something I genuinely enjoy and helps my mental health - I love character development and unfolding plots. But going forward, I have to write for what I find interesting, not for the views. This means I am going to put up a new longfic coming up, as I have several ideas that popped up after I took down my last fic and swore off longfics (ironically). Unfortunately, it also means that any of the stories I've taken down won't be put back up. I have no interest in writing them, for one reason or another. The fics I've taken down have always been fics in which views ended up more important than the plot and characters for me. That kills my creativity. So views can no longer be a reason I write. That's the only way for me to avoid dropping stories.
Also, for those wondering, I am doing all right - I recently got into a car accident and it has been stressful, and writing my last fic was actually adding to that stress. I realized why (see above). I am okay - but my car is not. Oh well.
Update over. Enjoy!
partie deux
The priest lived in a house behind the church. It was white-painted wood, tall, and sturdy, with purple and blue flowers under the windowsills and along the cobblestone path that led to the front door. The sky was matching those colors as the sun set in the west, dots of stars glimmering high above. Erik would have dinner with the priest, just like he did every week, and his mother would collect him after night fell completely. Usually around eight in the evening. It was six now. He still had two hours of freedom.
He would try not to focus on the fact that the time would come to an end so soon, and instead on the fact that he had any time at all.
They walked up to the door of the house. Father Mansart looked down at him, smiled lightly, and reached for the door. Before he could touch the doorknob, however, the door opened on its own - and there stood the priest's servant, Chloe. Chloe had her auburn hair pinned up, and a yeast-covered apron was tied around her waist. She sighed through her nose when she saw Father Mansart, and bowed her head.
"My dear, you look frazzled," commented the priest. Indeed, she seemed a bit paler than usual. "Is everything all right?"
"Christine has been crying for the past hour," said Chloe under her breath. "I don't know what's gotten into her. All she keeps saying is 'I want my uncle'."
Father Mansart frowned. Erik stared at him. As though feeling his eyes, the priest turned to look at him. "Christine is my niece. My sister's daughter. Sadly, both my sister and her husband died...very recently. Christine is in my care."
Erik felt a wave of sadness for the priest. "I'm sorry, Father."
Father Mansart patted Erik's head - the most affection Erik would receive for the week - and he nodded to Chloe to let them in. The servant stepped to the side, giving Erik a polite little curtsy as well. Erik knew it was performative - she was polite only because the priest expected her to be - but he appreciated it nonetheless. She wasn't cold. Just aloof to his presence.
More than he could say for the rest of the village, who glared at him like he was the spawn of Satan anytime they saw him out of the house. That was a running theory, actually - that Madeleine had had an affair with Lucifer himself, who killed her husband out of jealousy shortly after impregnating her, and that she was still sharing a bed with the devil to this day.
Erik sometimes wondered if he knew far more than most children did. Most children should. Father Mansart called him a genius, and his own mother often said that he was intelligent to the point of uncanniness. Erik couldn't see how being sharp was a bad thing. But, somehow, Madeleine made it so.
"Where is she?" asked Father Mansart. He put up his hat and coat. Erik made sure to wipe his shoes before entering behind him.
"She is in the-"
"Uncle?"
Erik looked in the direction of the small voice. It belonged, he found, to a girl around his age, with curly locks of brown hair and wide blue eyes. She stood in the doorway, peeking around with one hand on the jamb, and he could see from the puffy redness around her eyes that she'd been crying.
Those eyes spotted him, and somehow went even wider.
"Christine," said Father Mansart, "my dear, are you all right?"
The girl merely stared at Erik. She pointed. "Who is that?"
The priest cleared his throat. He put a hand lightly on Erik's shoulder. "This is Erik. He will be joining us for dinner."
Christine sniffed. "Why does he wear a mask?"
Erik whipped his gaze to the priest, hating that question and hoping the man would help him. Father Mansart did. "Because he likes it. Why do you wear bows in your hair?"
Christine nodded, as though understanding, but there was clearly still a considerable amount of curiosity in her gaze. It wasn't a malicious expression. It was full of interest. As though, rather than put off by the mask or his gangly frame, she was intrigued.
She kept her eyes on him throughout dinner. Not saying much. Only speaking when spoken to, like a good child - Erik, of course, did the same.
And when Erik's mother arrived to collect him with a begrudging frown, Christine took him by surprise. Quite unprompted and out of the blue, she clasped his hand before he turned to leave and whispered, "I don't know why, but I think I like you, and I hope you return."