Lamentations
or The Memories of Two Very Different Men
Charlotte's first father was a nobleman of simple origins.
Julian Bisset had been a soldier in the French army. By a stroke of luck he'd been in the right place at the right time and managed to make a name for himself, enough to earn himself a modest title and enough of a societal standing that he was invited to several high-class banquets. It was at one of these that he met the Lady Halette.
Halette Soyeux, Holly to her close friends, was the daughter of a prominent French fabric manufacturer and weaver. Rumoured to be one of the most beautiful women in the Parisian circuit, she was rarely seen out of doors for health reasons. That night she sat beside her friends, a vision in blue silk. An elegant portrait, pale, soft, utterly breathtaking.
Julian lost his heart entirely.
Their courtship and marriage was controversial to say the least. Not only was he of a lower societal status, Julian compounded the issue by taking her last name rather than the reverse. Gossip raged across the upper class. What a gold-digger! They scoffed. Really too shameful!
The couple let them think that. While cold eyes watched them contemptuously, they held hands in the shadow of old trees and kissed beneath the falling leaves. They were going to be happy together, Julian smiled giddily as he hugged his giggling wife to his chest. They were in love and they would be together forever! Who else could boast such happiness?
Unfortunately forever turned out to be 3 years.
She was too ill, the doctors said. It was either her or the baby, the midwives told him. She wanted the baby, they both chorused, their voices backed by the loud squall of a newborn.
Julian stared sightlessly down at Halette. In her lifeless arms she clutched the baby she'd worked so hard to give life to. It screamed in her arms as if it could sense the loss and Julian felt something inside him shrivel up and die. Silent and grief-stricken, he turned and walked away.
He could not hate the baby. It wasn't its fault that his wife had died, but he could not look at it as his child.
It, she, was named by Halette's older sister. Charlotte had always been Halette's favourite name. Thus Charlotte was given into the care of others. From birth to adulthood, she never received neither a kind nor hurtful word from her father. He treated her like a guest in her home, one he was legally obligated to provide for physically but never interact with.
There were days however when he would stare at her silently and his entire demeanour would twist with grief, but those moments were short and few. While he never explained why, Charlotte knew the reason. There were pictures of her mother all over the house after all. The woman was a spectre hanging over the Soyeux family, both a rope binding them together and a chasm between them.
By the time Charlotte turned sixteen, she was a walking reincarnation, a healthy version of the last lady. It was then that the matchmaking attempts began in earnest. Anything, anything to get this walking reminder of his lost love out of his sight. Still, a sliver of morality remained. He couldn't simply toss his only child, Halette's only child, to just anyone.
Politicians in polished suits, businessmen with gleaming brass buttons, they had to be people he could trust to take care of Charlotte. The task consumed him, an act for Halette, but if he'd only looked back once he would have seen his daughter reaching for him, pleading for a single word of recognition.
At least once…just once…
The accident was almost a divine act. As if doused in freezing water, Julian snapped awake and all at once the past years began to catch up with him. His self-imposed misery, his treatment of the one thing he had to remind him of Halette, it gnawed at him with needle-sharp teeth. As the doctors were called to her bedside and shook their heads gravely, Julian slunk into his office and sent a single telegram.
A day later, his daughter was gone.
The house, which had already been silent, grew more sombre. Even after the black tablecloths and suits had been put away, the normalcy never returned. Julian Bisset was alone once more.
He grew older. He grew sick. Lawyers and relatives began to pay him visits, urging him to revise his will. Your child is gone, they repeated. Julian ignored them staunchly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. In his heart he prayed.
Charlotte, he wished, if you're there...if I haven't lost everything yet…
Come home...
oOo
Charlotte's second father was a servant of neither Heaven nor Hell.
He called himself Undertaker, it was both his name and title. A runaway Grim Reaper, a defector, a sadist and a madman, many had called him many things only to watch him laugh them off. His secrets were his to know after all.
Yet as he rode from the Soyeux Manor for the second time, he couldn't help but be intrigued. The little lady clung to life like a vine to a wall. As violently injured as she was, he could see the way she refused to fall under the beckoning spell of eternal sleep. Were her body not in such a bad way, he was certain that she would have recovered.
It was this notion that made him consider fixing her. Not as a Bizarre Doll, no. As proud of his creations as he was, they were still shambling, empty vessels powered by false memories that would never be completed. No, this required something else, a brand new experiment beyond anything he'd ever tried before.
It was supposed to be an experiment. He hadn't expected to love her.
He didn't spend much time around the living. They came and deposited their dead along with a handful of coins and paper bills if he'd remembered to set a price. The dead were more his forte but they weren't exactly outstanding conversation partners. He hadn't even realised that he was lonely until Charlotte.
Amidst the gloomy background, surrounded by shadows and glass beakers filled with gruesome items, Charlotte stuck out like a polished gem. Quiet and reserved at first, she soon began to respond to his unique sense of humour. Usually his macabre jokes scared people off but she laughed like he'd said something truly funny.
In the daytime she poked and prodded him, rattling off questions as he carried her around the mortuary and pointed out interesting corpses and chemicals.
At night she berated his lack of indoor entertainment and read to him aloud from the few books he had while he smiled and stitched by candlelight.
By the time he was nearly done with her body, he was almost regretting it. He didn't want to send her away. One evening as he watched her bounce from spot to spot – even with only one leg she was surprisingly nimble – before chuckling and opening his arms so she could topple into his chest for a hug.
He squeezed her tighter, listening to her pretend-complaints and mock-gasps for air with a genuine smile. The lonely Reaper, the grinning madman, a father.
Years later the same man stood on a steeple in Versailles and watched the Soyeux Manor. His face was devoid of its characteristic grin, instead twisted up in a wry smile.
Didn't you know? Hadn't you heard? The streets were in an uproar. The long-lost daughter of the Soyeux Master had returned!
oOo
Charlotte watched the Reaper as she sliced the now dead Master's soul from his body. The woman was dressed in a purple gown with a white shawl tied over her shoulder that didn't seem to impede the movement of the longsword that hung on her back. Her hair was a mass of bright red curls tied back to be out of her face, revealing a set of sharp, chartreuse eyes set behind stylish rectangular spectacles.
As the reels poured out of his chest, Charlotte wondered if female Reapers were typically prettier than their male counterparts and also why they were so rare.
The reels came to an end, plunging the bedroom back into darkness. The Reaper ticked something in her book and nodded sharply. "Julian Armand Soyeux née Bisset. June 24th 1836 to April 22nd 1888. Cause of death, laudanum overdose."
She snapped her book shut and faced Charlotte. "Did you need something else done?"
Katrina narrowed her eyes at the other. "I should really do something about you."
"Am I in your little black book?" Charlotte arched an eyebrow curiously. "Wouldn't that be working overtime?"
"Hm, good point," Katrina cocked her head thoughtfully. There was a glass of wine and a box of warm croissants with her name on it waiting for her and if she did take out whatever the girl was then she'd have to spend hours making her reports to her superiors and filling out the requisite forms. T
he thought of all that extra work so close to the end of her shift was almost enough to exhaust her.
"Stay out of trouble," the Reaper called over her shoulder, and then Charlotte watched her step out of the window and disappear into the night.
As a child, all Charlotte had longed for was family. Even now, years later, as she stared down at the face of the man that had neglected her all her life, she allowed herself to mourn him. She wouldn't forgive him, but she would not hate him. She would not feel anything for him.
There were other people in her life now. Snake, who had never betrayed her even though she must have hurt him multiple times and was hurting him now by leaving so abruptly with nothing but a letter. She even loved the Undertaker, wherever he was, whatever he was doing.
So Charlotte sat in the dark and mourned for the past and for the life she could no longer have.
I think this is the longest intermission. I didn't mean for it to get that sad but then I started thinking about the characters and shit got depressing real quick. Title format borrowed from the fic Dark Dawn Revolution for any Makai Ouji fans who want to cry extra hard after reading this.
Katrina is an OC sent to me by Rosto'sGirl for the cameo thing. They didn't tell me what part I should give her but they specified green eyes and glasses so I made Katrina Wailer a Reaper in the French Division!
Yes I know it's been over a year, I'm so sorry, please know that I will 100% do the other OCs!