Morning came in its sluggish pace. Light crept its way up my body until landing on my face. Sitting up resulted in several joints snapping into place and an exhausted groan escaping my lips. Claw-like fingernails raked their way over my throat, drawing more of my attention to the soreness that resided therein. A vague memory of screaming tickled the back of my mind, but I could not remember why. My eyes flitted up to the clock that hung on the wall. It read nine in the morning.

A yawn broke my hazy attention and reminded me that the day had only just begun. I showered quickly and braided my hair while it was still wet. I threw on a white button up shirt and a pair of light blue jeans and tennis shoes.

As I walked out the door, I grabbed one of my coats and stepped out into the courtyard of the house. The once bright and vibrant world I had known was filled with muted reds, oranges, and greys now. A storm was building across the Seine and the rolling fields beyond the city. Moisture in the air cut through my warmth and chilled me to my very core. The gardens, as I expected, had dulled into their wintry sleep and no longer shone with flower or color.

The bare hedges now clearly showed the wrought iron fences that they once concealed. The songs of nature were replaced with horns beeping and the miasma of voices that existed throughout the city. It was a strange melody of its own, with pitches rising and falling in rhythm to beat of my heart. Sharp piercing notes rising from the low mutterings.

My skin puckered as a chill raced down my spine. I turned, seeking him out, but only caught a shadow fleeing from a window. Another chill tore through me, this time the reminder of the crisp fall morning. Before long, I was back in my room. The noise from outside was audible, but not in the clear style it had been down on the grounds. I kicked my shoes off by the vanity and flung my coat onto the bed. It was then that I noticed a strange cylindrical object on the window sill. The curved body and large base reminded me of the wax presses I had seen in movies. I clicked my nails down the carved rings before slipping it in my pocket.

Not even a second later, there was a knock at my door. A very little wait proceeded the entrance of Madame Giry and two women of near the same age. One of the new ladies was carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and a plate loaded with scrambled eggs and sausage. They introduced themselves in rapid succession. I caught neither name. Breakfast was laid before me and I was forced to stuff my mouth while the good Madame watched with an intense expression.

"I've scheduled you some appointments at local salons, so you do not interrupt with preparations." She suddenly said. Her voice was strong, clipped, like an exasperated mother. "Any free time you have may be spent in the city. You will return to the manor at one o'clock precisely. Monsieur Bernard has graciously offered to meet with you and go over etiquette. You will be dressed and ready before the guests arrive."

I lost my appetite upon hearing the ending. One of the ladies took the tray. "When is that?"

"Five o'clock." Madame Giry muttered, picking through my closet. "Which will you be wearing?"

"The black one." I said immediately. She laid the gown on the bed before dragging me out with only one shoe on, the other in my hand along with the sleeve of my coat. Dad briefly saw me as I was taken away, and I cried out for him to save me.

He laughed and kept walking.

I was bustled into the town car and sent off without a chance to say goodbye. Quiet snickering was apparent from the front seat, but the driver said nothing. The drive was quick and noisy, filled with the sounds of city life. Here, in the thick of it, I could discern each player in the great musical. The sopranos, ladies with small dogs ordering their tenor drivers to hurry up. Baritones hollering for the other cars to move out of their way. Basses mingling with altos. A stunning orchestra of human life.

The car stopped in front of a clean white building with L'Institute written in thin black lines. The interior was just as white and just as clean, with a large black chalkboard along the back wall. Several lines of text were scrawled across it, colors varying to form a chalky rainbow. Nearly every chair was taken, with prissy madams and young ladies chattering endlessly. Mindlessly. Few took notice of my presence.

The attendant greeted me with a bright smile. "Hello, mademoiselle. How can we help you today?" Her words were slow, easy to understand. She probably dealt with lots of novices, working in such a place.

I nodded, giving her the best smile I could, which amounted to a small curve in my lips. "I-I think I'm supposed to have an appointment." My tongue turned to lead as I heard a nearby occupant snicker at my fumble. Deep breaths kept the heat in my cheeks from revealing.

There was a series of quick and quiet taps of computer keys before she exclaimed happily. "You're Mademoiselle Dubois, are you not?" I nodded, biting my lip as I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see a young lady and her mother staring at me. She snapped her fingers and an attendant appeared and snatched my coat from me. "Please wait here. I'll go get the owner. He was very interested in meeting you."

Owner? I choked my protests down as she turned and vanished, slipping into a corridor behind the blackboard. My sleeve crinkled as I gripped the fabric around my elbow. Breathing in the fumes of nail polish made my head ache a bit, but not enough that it was piercing.

Lacking for things to focus on, I turned to look around the salon. The attendants were nearly a dozen of petite men and women stooping over their clientele. They were easy to pick apart due to their uniforms, which vaguely reminded me of a nurse's scrubs, white with black trimming around the edges. Each stroke from their brushes were confident flicks of the wrist and careful watch of the eye. Most of the women who were having work done paid them no attention, flicking through magazines or talking with those who came with them. My heart shuddered as it thought of my solitude. I found myself wishing that Madame Giry or one her attendants had come with me. Briefly I wished for Kelly, but I could envision her discomfort as the eyes of these women bore into me. She would be threatening to fight everyone by now. The thought made a smile bloom across my face.

A shadow appeared in the corner of my vision. The silhouette of a woman whose presence left my blood frozen in my veins. I wanted to turn and face her, to scream for help, to run. Eventually I turned, slowly as to appear normal.

She was nowhere to be found.

Shuffling drew my attention back to the counter, where the receptionist had returned. Following close behind her was a tall, coltish man dressed in the same white and black uniform as the other attendants. However, his shirt bore a silver pin that seemed to elevate him above the others. "Mademoiselle Dubois, this is Angelo." The young lady said with an excited smile. "He'll be helping you."

Angelo took my hands in his own. He rubbed the backs with his thumbs before tracing the edges. My muscles tightened, wanting to pull away from him, but I relaxed quickly when he led me to the available chair. "What's the occasion?" He asked, his voice a surprising bass. His deep voice only served to accent his words, making them seem genuine.

"Dinner party." I answered quietly, eyes flitting about trying to catch someone listening in.

He formed an O with his mouth and began opening drawers. "Fancy?" Upon my confirmation, he continued. "What color's the dress? Black? That'll look great with these…" His words trailed off as he pulled out a set of nail polishes. A basin of water appeared beside the chair out of thin air, and he set my fingertips in the warm water.

While my fingers soaked, he pulled out a small notebook and a pen. He began sketching out little designs and presenting them to me as I described my dress. Once he had come to a decision, he plucked my right hand out of the water. Nail file in hand, he began tending to the irregular curves and sharp breaks in my fingernails. He worked quietly, pinching each finger as he went along. As he transferred over to my left hand, I saw it again.

The shadow.

Angelo gripped my hand harder as he kept me from jumping out of the seat. "Are you alright?"

My ribs fought valiantly to keep my heart from bursting through as it convulsed. Once calmed again, I nodded to the man and let him continue.

I let my thoughts wander away, losing myself to the darkness. Thoughts still passed through my mind, echoing into images in front of me. Old memories from Cardend. None with her. When I had nothing to think about, no images from the past that I wished to call upon, I simply sat and enjoyed the quiet of my mind.

Something cold hit my hand, drawing me out of my head. My nails were covered in a glossy peach color, little white flowers on my thumbs. Angelo was spraying a cold liquid over the nails, droplets striking my skin. He smiled at his handiwork and glanced up at me. "What do you think?"

"I love it." I replied, holding my hands up so that the light could make them shine even more. "Thank you so much."

He slowly stood up, smiling in return, before packing up his many polishes and tools. I followed him back up to the counter. The two murmured something to one another before he returned to the back and the receptionist faced me. "How much do I owe for these?" I asked, reaching for the ratty black wallet that was kept in my front pocket.

She smiled, laughing as she waved off the effort. "Don't worry about it, mademoiselle. You're paid and accounted for." I blushed as I removed my hand from my pocket. My coat was gently laid in my hands and I made sure to thank them again before heading outside.

The driver was leaning against the car, waiting. He nodded to me, a silent greeting as he opened the door to the car. I climbed in, and soon we were back in the traffic that filled every street.

The next stop was a hair salon, and the beginning was like a case of déjà vu. I was greeted kindly, name already known to the people within. I was left waiting a moment while the young man working the receptionist's desk rushed somewhere in the back, and returned with three attendants. At some point, my coat was once again taken. One pulled the elastic out of my hair, unleashing the braid in all its might. They then each proceeded to run their fingers through my hair, exclaim "It's so thick! So lush and beautiful!" before guiding me to a chair and unleashing hell on my head. Three combs dug into the messes of brown waves and curls, fighting desperately not to break as they battled the snarls and tangles that always appeared. I wished that I could return to the quiet in my head, but every time I tried I was pulled out with a hiss and a "So sorry. Just need to get this through."

After an hour or so of effort from all three ladies, I was allowed to look in the mirror. I found myself unable to speak. Not a single hair dared to peek out from the bun that the women had conjured. Little sections were thinly braided and used as a decoration at the base of the balled hairs. "How?" I asked, turning to the grinning women. "What did you use? Because I need all of it."

That's how I left the hairdresser with a bag full of oils and sprays that the women swore were the secret. Certainly not witchcraft.

Once again, I found myself stuck in the car while we waited to move. My phone's green light flashed as it began to vibrate. Two long, so a text rather than a call. I checked it and smiled. Dad's name appeared under the bright 11:24 that sat at the top of my screen.

You on your way home?

I tapped out a quick yes and snickered as he responded immediately.

Mme Giry kicked me out. Want to meet in the Parc Monceau?

"Monsieur, do you mind taking a detour?" I asked, leaning up to place my head next to the older man's head rest. He hummed before nodding, and I texted Dad letting him know we would be there.

The park was majestic. Trees of gold and red lined stone pathways that wound through the space. A large pond hosted ducks and swans. I found Dad on a little white stone bridge near the middle of the area. He was leaning on the rails, staring out with a faraway look in his eyes and a lazy smile. I propped my elbows up like his own, bending over to rest my head against my hands.

His eyes flickered to the side, catching me as I watched his face brighten. "You look beautiful, Min-Min." I shoved him, which did little to move him other than leaning a bit. "Careful, don't want to mess up your hair." He lifted a hand and placed it on top of my head. "Not too much, anyway."

I leaned into him, fitting myself to his side as he wrapped an arm around me. We stood there, staring at the world before us. People passed us occasionally, but it seemed that the Parc Monceau was for us and us alone. Still the feeling persisted, of being watched. The child in me seized and cried that she was there. My heart was certain that it was Monsieur, despite how impossible it would be.

"I have something for you." Dad suddenly said. I looked up to his face while he dug into his coat pocket. He withdrew a single thin black box, nearly as long as a ruler. The hinges snapped open enthusiastically. Light struck the silver necklace, illuminating the small tear drops that held bright clear stones.

My lungs seemed to forget how to work as my eyes drunk in the delicate chain and its adornments. "Daddy…"

"I'll give it to you right before dinner," He said, snapping the box closed again, "but I figured that seeing it now would reduce the shock later." He placed a kiss on my forehead and took my hand in his own.

Finally finding my voice, I manage to breathe a "thank you" before throwing my arms around him. He guided me out of the park and back to the car. The ride back to the house was quick. "Thank you, Jacques." Dad said as the parting whilst the driver dropped us off. Madame Giry let us in, naming the dining room and parlor as rooms that were off limits.

I left for my room and sat at my vanity. For the first time in my life, I wished that I had not left the gas station make up palate back in America. Having its garish peacock blue was better than having nothing. It had been the last gift that my…that she had given me.

I could still hear her voice as she gave it to me.

You might as well try to do something about that face.

A knock echoed on my door. The weathered apprentice of the Madame was waiting on the other side. "You're wanted in the library, mam'selle."

Sure enough, my favorite French midget was waiting for me. I expected him to launch into etiquette rules, but instead he asked, "Have you eaten lunch yet, Mademoiselle Dubois?" When I shook my head, he drew near one of the assistants and whispered something to her. She scuttled off, leaving me with my tutor. "I'm sure you are nervous. If you have anything you want to ask, now would be the best time."

I smiled softly. I wanted to shake my head, but I was sure that the spell holding my hair would vanish if I did so. "The only thing I'm nervous about is if I have to ask them to repeat themselves too often." Although it was meant to be a joke, a part of me dreaded having the native French speakers prattling away only to be interrupted by me.

Once again, to my surprise, Monsieur Bernard did not rant away about the hypothetical. "Smile and tell them that while your capabilities are much improved, you still struggle a bit. Or, you could tell them you missed a word or two. If nothing else, your father should be able to help you navigate the conversations." I nearly fell over. No yelling, just the soft tenor of his voice. Our meeting continued like this, with quiet words passed back and forth. The assistant returned with a tray of fruits and cheeses, which she gingerly laid atop a stack of books.

He waddled over and lifted a slice of apple from the arrangement. "Come now," he ordered, sweeping his hand over the food, "I had this brought for you. It's important to indulge your appetite a little before dinner. It keeps you from eating too much." My stomach twisted, languishing in its emptiness as I tried to resist the urge to devour the entire tray. Relenting, I joined him. He began pairing cheeses with strawberries and apples, not something I wanted to try. Especially when he popped a small slice of a blue veined cheese atop a piece of pear. Together, we made quick work of the selections.

Our conversation continued until the bells chimed, announcing it to be four o'clock. Monsieur Bernard excused himself as Madame Giry retrieved me once more and escorted me to my room. She lifted the dress up and began stalking over to me.

"Madame," I finally said, catching her attention, "do you mind if I do this myself? I can put on a dress without help."

She narrowed her eyes at me for a moment, but did not say anything. The dress was placed in my hands and the women shuffled out the door. For the first time, I took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

In.

I held the breath until my lungs ached and stars appeared in my eyes. Slowly it fled, taking with it the worry I had been holding onto. The dress was not difficult to get into, nor are the matching black shoes, and soon enough I was sitting in front of a mirror staring at the girl on the other side. Breathe, everything is alright. A voice similar to Monsieur's whispered in my head.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It did not feel fine. Anxiety and Paranoia still ate at my heart and gnawed at my bones. I can't go down there. I thought. A buzz started filling my body, leaving my toes and fingers numb. They'll laugh at me. Dad is going to be so embarrassed.

Breathe, ma petite. Everything will be fine.

No, it won't. I'm going to trip down the stairs and break my neck. Doesn't matter what I do, I'll find some way to ruin everything. If I just could just stay up here, then everything would be fine.

Minta, you deserve to be down there with them. Show them the elegance Jess forced into you.

I leaned my head against the back of my chair. The two voices refused to stop arguing, not until a knock at the door. Watching the mirror showed Dad, dressed in black slacks and a white puffy shirt held back by a grey vest, sneak in through a thin crack as the door barely moved. He stepped up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks, Daddy." My voice sounded pleasant, good enough inflections to cover up the mechanical tone with which they were delivered. The faint sound of laughter echoed through the door. "Are they all here?"

Dad shook his head. "Just a few right now. Monsieur Babineaux and his aides have not arrived yet." He retrieved the box again, this time removing the necklace from its resting place. It chilled my skin as he slid it around my throat. It rested against my chest, barely missing the neck line of my dress.

There was the echo of a door beyond my room, and the noise in the foyer quieted for a split second before picking up again. "Showtime." He whispered, kissing my head before ducking out. I could hear him loudly announce his presence, stealing the attention. A grin grew on my face as I imagined him fixing a nonexistent problem on his sleeve while he walked down the stairs, him smiling like the mad hatter as he greets his boss.

Showtime. I take another deep breath before standing up. Crossing the room took little effort. Grabbing the door's handle took more. Opening the door seemed impossible as my arm froze in position.

Breathe. Everything is fine.

The door swung open and I sauntered out. I scanned the crowd in my home with a harsh eye, inspecting each one like a royal sifting through peasants in search of high born people. Part of me felt like a different person as I stepped down to stand at Dad's side. Someone more like Jess.

Someone made of plastic.

Dad placed a hand on the small of my back and gestured to me. "Monsieur Babineaux, may I present my daughter. Aminta-Rose Dubois."

I curtsied, keeping my head low as I listened for him to speak. When he did not, I filled the silence. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur."

He was a man on the bigger side, adorned in matching grey slacks and vest. His shirt was red, obscured by a slightly darker jacket. White hairs stood upright where he still had hair. Deep rooted smile lines shaded his mouth while dimples accented his toothy grin. "The infamous Aminta-Rose." He said with a voice that sounded like he had smoked one too many cigars. Not cigarettes, he did not seem the type.

"Please sir, just Minta." I insisted.

He chuckled, a sound akin to an old engine trying to start. "How well mannered." He moved to the side and presented a young lady. "This is my daughter, Clair."

I looked at her face and felt my stomach drop. She seemed so familiar. Perhaps I had simply seen too many tall, thin, blonde girls in my life time, but I knew I had seen her somewhere before. She smiled at me, flashing a set of pearly white teeth that reminded me of an old shark documentary I had seen. "The pleasure is mine, Minta." She said kindly. I nodded and gave her a smile that fixed itself to my lips with little room for movement. "Your dress is divine."

"Yours as well." I hated to admit how much I loved her gown. The burgundy fabric was sewn almost to match her figure, capping her shoulders with silver jewels. It looked beautiful, especially on her.

She looked away, blushing slightly at the compliment. "Papa, how about I steal away the prettier Dubois and let you talk in private?" She did not wait for a response, instead placing her hand on my arm and leading me away from Dad and towards a gaggle of young adults dressed to the nines.

Clair kept me by her side as she struck up a conversation with her fellow heirs. They chuckled at some joke told by one of the boys before a shorter, stockier girl looked at me and smiled. "I'm Grainne." She extended a hand to me, letting her white silk scarf slip off her shoulder and into the crook of her elbow.

I took her hand and offered my name. Soon the group was rushing to greet me. I knew I would not remember them all, but I tried regardless to remember who was who. All I knew for sure was Grainne was the one with red hair wearing a blue puffy dress, a young man named Eloi wearing a white three piece suit, and Clair. They continued their conversations, turning to me and asking my opinion on whatever their topic was from time to time. I was not quite sure why I needed to chip in on cats, snowflakes, and baklava.

A little bell chimed from somewhere on the upper balcony. "Dinner is ready." Madame Giry's voice cut through the noise and reached every ear in the vicinity. Slowly the mass of people walked through the hall. I followed at the rear, hands starting to shake as my breath quickened.

"Don't worry." A voice whispered from somewhere behind me. If I had not known who it was, I would have turned or screamed upon hearing it. "You'll do marvelously Minta."

"Thank you, Monsieur." I whispered back before finally slipping through the dining room door and taking my seat at my father's side.


My longest chapter yet. Fitting, it being the first thing I've written since the beginning of the New Year.

Hey, interesting news: I kind of started a tumblr where I can give updates on chapters and such. If you're interested in taking a look, you can head on over to . com.

I appreciate all the love and support I get from you guys, it really helps me push through the blocks. And again, thanks Death's Angel 3000 for giving me advice!

I remain your obedient servant,

EV