AN: Let's play a game: Spot the Foreshadowing… And don't forget to pat Flavio on the head for his uncharacteristic selflessness!
How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II
Chapter One: Birdsong
The bed I slept in was warm and soft and inviting, to such an extent that I flatly refused to surface from the covers, not even when Flavio poked at me with a worried finger some point in the late afternoon.
"Sedano?" I heard him whisper, curiously, cautiously. I felt his warm, sweet-scented breath brushing my forehead, and frowned, my head still sore from the previous night.
"I've brought you food," he offered when I made no attempt to respond. I grunted and turned over, rolling away from him. "Sedano? Please wake up? Look—Look, Sierra; apples!" he said suddenly, a little louder, and I groaned as the mattress creaked with his extra weight, wrinkling my nose as he leaned over to press the smooth firm fruit against my lips.
"Go away," I moaned, and heard him deflate.
"Sedano? You haven't eaten all day, you know; it's very unhealthy."
"Well, that's because I haven't been awake all day, isn't it?" I grunted back, pulling a pillow over my head in an attempt to block him out. He simply huffed in annoyance, prodding me irksomely in the back, and I tried to kick him.
"Now that's not very nice," he whined, pulling the pillow easily from out of my weak, futile grip. I felt his fingers, long and slender and slightly callused from work at sea, grip me firmly by the chin, and then he was forcing me to turn, his other hand grabbing my hip to stop me from turning back. Despite myself, my eyes slowly, sleepily opened, and I winced as daylight attacked my pupils, causing me to cry out in pain.
"There, there…" I heard him shush, stroking my hair hesitantly. I frowned at this action, uncertain of what to make of this display of tenderness; my body stiffened, unaccustomed as it was to such platonic warmth, but even as I opened my mouth, he hushed me in my protest. I merely laid there, my body entangled in the bed sheets, unable to open my dreadfully sensitive eyes.
"How are you?" I heard him query, sensing a shadow pass across my eyelids. Groaning, I warily flickered my eyes open, blinking as a pale palm came into focus. With considerable effort, I tore my eyes away from the calluses and slender, delicate veins, forcing myself to focus on the wide violet orbs behind them.
"You've been playing dress up," I accused with a weak smile as my gaze drifted to the lace-trimmed gown he wore. "And your hair…" I began, fingers trembling as I reached to touch one of the golden curls that had fallen across one of his eyes. Flavio's other hand, the one which had rested on my waist, gently wrapped about my wrist, silently telling me not to exert myself.
"What have I been doing last night, Flavio?" I asked of him quietly as he continued to shield my eyes. "I feel… I feel so…" I floundered hopelessly. "I don't know, but it's… tiring and… and confusing and…"
"Hush now, Sierra," Flavio advised me. "You've got a fever; it's time you sit up and have something to eat."
His words washed over me, and at first I merely accepted them as unquestioningly as I'd accepted his apple, leaning against the headboard and biting obediently into the red orb.
"How did I get a fever?" I murmured to him once I'd swallowed enough of the apple for him to declare me sufficiently nourished.
The man merely shrugged. "I don't know," he confessed. "You were out in the rain all night, you know; and then you went and did some very very naughty things in Jackia's cabin."
I had enough strength to narrow my eyes at him, but didn't pursue the matter.
"Where is Jack?" I questioned as he dabbed at my forehead with a handkerchief.
"I don't know," Flavio told me honestly. "I just know that before he went to wherever he now is, he practically forced me to plant upon him a parting kiss—My, if it had gotten any further, I'd have had him—arrested for attempted rape, of course."
"What? No, he… Never mind," I sighed, looking up at him in gentle disapproval. "And you, Flavio?" I queried. "How am I explain your sudden presence?"
Flavio merely shrugged. "I was one of your fellow passengers what was rescued alongside Your Ladyship," he said to me patronisingly. "When we reached Kingston, we parted ways; you to your brother, and I in search of—"
"Where is Nicolette's brother?" I interrupted. "I've not seen him from the moment I've set foot in this house."
"I believe that he is in the town, doing some very very naughty things with some very very naughty females not entirely dissimilar to those which you yourself did inside Jackia's cabin," the man said to me flippantly.
"You mean you think he's in a brothel?" I summarised, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Have you any legitimate reason to suspect that?"
"The other man said so… The ugly effeminate one in blue who walked in this morning with very very naughty intentions in mind."
I was instantly alert, and tried to sit up, but found that my lethargy rendered this a near impossible notion.
"Was his name Paul, by any chance?"
"Really? Oh, I thought it was Saul. Or Bob."
"Flavio…" I groaned, reaching up to cover my lips as I coughed slightly. "Flavio, stop that; you know that this is important. If he finds out who we really are, then…" I trailed off uncertainly.
"Oh, Sedano…" I heard him sigh, his fingers resuming their gentle caress. "Paul and I have met a long, long time ago."
This didn't serve to calm my fears in the slightest, which I suspected had been Flavio's intention. However, I felt far too exhausted to shout or scream or in any way react, and simply settled for muttering, "Oh, fuck."
"I remember it well…" Flavio sighed, and I didn't have to look up to know that he was gazing longingly into the distance. "'Twas the night before Christmas, one sultry Parisian summer; I was a mere matchbox girl, and he—"
"Flavio," I said warningly, and he huffed.
"It was Paris," he assured me. "When his family were still living in England. He was a boy of fifteen, and I, an experienced pagegirl of seventeen, eighteen years."
"Pagegirl?"
"Yes, that's right."
"They don't exist."
"That's what you think. Now, may I please continue? Grazzie. As I was saying, his family were living in dear old London, and one fine summer, when he was a virgin of fifteen, he accompanied his family to attend the wedding of his cousin on his mother's side."
"Was her name Adélaïde, by any chance?" I asked sharply.
"Why yes, as a matter of fact, it was. How did you know?"
I looked up at him from under my lowered lashes. There must have been something in my gaze which disturbed him, as he seemed to shift in discomfort, but I didn't dwell on this action; God alone knows why he did what he did when he did.
"Something Paul said to me when I first met him… That the last time 'we' saw each other was six years ago at Adélaïde's wedding."
"Yes, when she married her second cousin on her stepfather's side; my master's nephew."
I tried to raise my eyebrows at this.
"Your master?"
"Yes; I told you, at this time I was a page."
"A page? A page as in… an apprentice squire?"
"Don't be so mediaeval," Flavio scoffed. "A page as in an apprentice footman."
"You mean…" I began before breaking off, laughing. "You mean an errand boy?"
"Of course not," Flavio snapped. "I was much more than that to the count; I was—" And he stopped. I turned to look at him, my smile fading.
"You were his… mistress, weren't you?" I began hesitantly.
"Since I was thirteen, although then, he treated me more as son than a lover," he told me, and I raised my eyebrows at the change in his voice; it had lost its high falsetto, and instead was gentle, and soft, and hurt… or was it pity? Hesitantly, I reached out to place my hand on his skirt-covered thigh in what I'd hoped was a comforting gesture.
"Back to Paul," I pushed subtly. Last night had left me emotionally drained, and though I was curious, my grief over Pearl had left me raw and tired, and though it was heartless of me to think it, I honestly felt as though I didn't need another's angst alongside my own. With a slight sniffle, I pushed Pearl's wide blue eyes to the back of my mind, and chose instead to concentrate on Flavio's words.
I don't think I'd ever seen Flavio so honest before; he was always fun, and amusing, and a welcome distraction from the numerous unpleasantries I was forced to endure, but I'd never thought of him as honest. But he was honest then; he told me of how he'd caught a glimpse of Paul at the docks, and how his heart went out to this awkward, skinny, lost-looking creature; how he'd approached the boy later that week, for they were both staying at the most extensive of the Évignons' châteaux, Le Plessis, in Loire. Flavio had befriended him, and at first he had intended for them to remain just that, but within a week…
"Well, I'm irresistible," he informed me modestly.
"But he can't have—I mean, I've not known him for very long, but he's always hitting on—always grabbing me and 'flirting' with me."
"To a sickening and ineffective extent?" Flavio guessed. "With all the seductive persuasion of a bed-ridden slug?"
I stared at him, mouth opening before hurriedly closing it again and covering my lips as another cough threatened to erupt.
"Oh, wow," I groaned once the coughing had subsided. "Um, I… I'm… sleepy."
There was a pause at this as Flavio gaped at me; clearly, he hadn't encountered a person who found his tales so tedious they immediately closed their eyes and sunk into a deep, peaceful slumber. I smiled apologetically, murmured words of how I did in fact find his anecdote intriguing, but that I would much rather close my eyes and rest now, and after a pat on his hand, sank back into the mattress.
"That's not fair!" he burst out, hands pawing at the covers.
"I'm sorry; but I'm just so tired…"
"Sierra…" he whined, but I shook my head.
"Flavio, please," I groaned, screwing my eyes tightly shut and turning away, a pillow pulled over my head, "Just leave me be."
When I awoke again, I saw immediately that it was well past twilight, with only a feeble candle providing illumination. The second thing I noticed was the warm, gentle breath tickling at my neck. Frowning at this, I opened my eyes, and turned my head as much as I could to look curiously down.
"Oh, Flavio…" I sighed as he released an inelegant snore. He'd positioned my arm so that it was wrapped about his shoulders, and I couldn't help but notice that he was still dressed in the rose-coloured gown I had seen him in earlier. I frowned at this, wondering how the creature could possibly have fallen asleep in such stiff clothing.
"Are you awake?" I asked of him. "Flavio?"
The man's forehead seemed to furrow, and he sighed slightly, burrowing his head further into my shoulder.
"Hey," I murmured softly, reaching up to tug insistently on his sleeve. "Flavio…"
The man breathed in deeply before exhaling, and I saw his eyes slowly open.
"See!" he snapped at me, although I could tell that he was still drowsy. "I wake up when asked. It's only polite."
I apologised as sincerely and profusely as I could manage in my light-headed state, shifting to the edge of the mattress as he sat up and yawned, shaking his head.
"I know that this isn't the appropriate time… or the place, for that matter," I added, looking disparagingly down at the bed that we shared. "And I know that you probably can't answer any of my questions, but…"
"But…?" Flavio questioned when I trailed off, drawing closer, and I inhaled deeply before looking up at him.
"Pearl," I said simply. "Do you know what happened to her? Do you know how she…?"
Flavio was silent, and I saw, even in the dim light, that his eyes were large and sorrowful.
"I… I heard on the docks," he began softly, "although—although I'm not certain, that… Well, there was supposedly an accident; a cart—the horse, it—it was scared, somehow, and it ran riot, and… there was supposedly a little girl, who—Oh, Sierra; I'm so sorry…"
I closed my eyes at his quiet words and clung to his arms, fresh tears welling up behind my eyelids. What I wanted, really, was to push him away and scream at him to cease his cruel lies, to tell him—to tell myself—that it wasn't true, that Pearl was alive and well and will somehow find me and sneak into my room and I'll find her curled up in the bed when I wake up in the morning, and—
"She was picking up her necklace…"
The words slipped quietly out of my mouth without my ever realising I had ever spoken them. "When I saw her body, her hand, it was clenched, and—She was just picking her necklace up… Her father gave it to her… It meant so much to her… She just wanted to pick it up…"
"There, there…"
"The necklace, it was just—It was all so innocent—She was so innocent… Why did she…? Why—Why her? She was so… so innocent… so sweet and innocent—And she was just a child… Just a child…"
Flavio pulled me closer to him, kissing and stroking my hair and murmuring miscellaneous words of comfort, and after an eternity of weeping, I willingly returned into the arms of sweet oblivion.
It seemed oddly bright, I remember thinking as I walked through the uncut emerald grass in my long white dress, my hair loose and tumbling from under the hat that protected my eyes from the blinding light of the sun. So bright and colourful, the meadow, which was an old-fashioned English summer meadow that seemed to stretch for an infinity all around me, flat and unchanging. There appeared to be no visible trees from where I serenely walked, no clouds above me, only the green grass and the yellow sun and the unbreakable blue sky that seemed to reach out, to grasp for eternity.
A slight breeze pulled at my hair, causing my skirts to flutter about my legs, and in the unmeasured distance to my left, I thought I heard birdsong. My footsteps slowed, but did not cease, and I turned my head, curious, as a handful of tiny specks appeared from the perpetual azure of the vast sky.
Birds, I remember thinking, somewhat calmly, and stopped my languorous stroll to watch as they circled closer, smiling softly; small, unremarkable little creatures, these birds were, feathers an unexceptional shade of brown, but I recognised what they were, and they made me smile.
Sparrows.
One of them, slight and agile, seemed to be the leader of the small flock, and with a slight turn of his graceful wings, silently directed them towards me. I felt no fear as they descended about me, laughing as I felt them experimentally peck at my hat. One of them, the leader, I think, flew to hover before my face, black eyes looking curiously at me before fluttering suddenly to the brim of my bonnet, which he attempted to push off. I remained perfectly still, watching with a detached curiosity as he soared up again, again, again, falling back each and every time. Finally, he let out a chirp that could be interpreted as an angry foul-beaked curse, ordering the other birds to follow his example.
Minutes later, my hat had drifted to rest on the grass behind me and, as though silently dismissed, the flock flew up, taking easily to the sky, and vanished into the unending horizon, the excited flapping of their wings inviting my hair to dance.
All but one, the leader.
I watched curiously as he turned tail and flew a few feet away from me, only to change his mind and fly back, where he hovered, examining my face. I noticed how his eyes drifted to rest on my bodice, and he seemed to chirrup in approval, causing me to smile and laugh. The sparrow paid no heed to my chuckles, choosing to fly behind me, unabashedly studying me at every angle before flittering to hover before me once more.
We stared at one another for a few more moments before I slowly raised my arm, opening my palm invitingly. The bird flew without hesitation to rest in my hand, looking up at me trustingly, tweeting happily. I watched, fascinated, as he slowly lowered his head so that his beak was pressing gently against my skin in what I realised was a kiss. I smiled and, gently bringing my hand closer, brushed my lips briefly against his bent head before pulling slowly away. He straightened and chirped in appreciation, looking up at me in unconditional adoration. My smile widened, and I slowly raised my other hand so that I might stroke and pat his little head and his small, soft back.
The sparrow closed his eyes, chirruping in contentment, and I heard his voice whisper softly into my ear,
I could stay here forever.
I smiled again at his words, looking tenderly down at his closed, trusting eyes, and carefully drew my stroking fingers back.
Yes, I thought sadly in reply. And so could I.
And I closed my fingers suddenly about his tiny form, my hand easily turning into a tightly clenched fist. I felt his body tremble, shudder, attempt to flitter in panic, heard his small, sweet voice twitter in alarm, rising in pain as my grip tightened. I heard rather than felt the cracking of his little bones, crunching like dry twigs. He continued to cry out, cries that became louder, frenzied, before slowly fading, becoming weaker, feebler…
And stopped.
There was only silence in the meadow now; even the light wind that ruffled the grass didn't make a sound. A warm, wet liquid seemed to gather in my closed palm, and as I watched in a cold, eerie detachment, living blood trickled from between my closed fingers, running down my arm and staining my dress red.
Slowly, I brought my hand closer to my lips, and gave my knuckles a mocking goodbye kiss.
-x!x-