ᰔ Song of a MARTYR ᰔ Play Song: Skyfall ١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤١٥٧٤ "Have you had your medication?" She looked continued looking out of the window. The room had been certainly not as pretty as she thought it would be. Creamy white, but stained here and there black, with soot or other marks, she did not know. Nor did she like the sloping roof that hid her from sight when she was in the bed. It acted like a curtain hanger, even though there was no curtain to hide her from others. Even if this was the room closest to the attic, she was for some reason grateful to be given a single room without anyone here and there to bother her because if there was something, or someone to bother her, she doubted her survival in this place would last any longer than a teaspoon when left out in moisture and humidity. "I did." "Lies. You are pale." "Or maybe you are just stupid enough to not realise that p111s you left for me are gone and the water cup over there is completely empty. You sure aren't...smart." "Oh please, shut up. I am very smart." "Yes, yes." "Whatever Jean, at least I know how to study." "I knew how to study too. Our lady taught us how to study." The past three days, she had gotten used to these squabbles she shared with Clark. It was almost as if Clark was warming up to her. Still hostile as ever, but he was warming up. And there was no doubt about it. There was never a doubt about it. "OOf- Dr. Rooney are you continue bothering miss Norman like that? No shoo away!" Ghislaine bit a smirk back, after all, what was the need to win the squabbling with Clark, when she had mother Genevieve by her side? This woman could defend poor Jean, as Ghislaine was known here, better than anyone else. Like a mama bear protecting her bear cubs. And Clark almost always lost his authority over her whrn Mother Genevieve found her way into this room. Mother Genevieve. What a lovely nun. Jean stared at her, with her uninterested green eyes. She knew this woman better than anyone else. After all, this woman may be treating her well right now, but she was no fool to not know that about twenty years ago, when she was only thirteen, this woman held a lot of grudge towards her and her father. After all, Genevieve Nantes, was no ordinary nun. She was the child of the duke of Nantes, or will descendant of one from Louis X's time. So there was no doubt about it, this woman who had always wanted to be her father's wife, had failed to do so, because Lady Maria had taken the "Lady of the House" spot way before Genevieve could make it there. And Alexandre, Ghislaine's father, who had been rumoured to been in an affair with Genevieve had done nothing to annul the marriage with Lady Maria. "Noble politics is fun, I assume, Mother Genevieve?" Clark who was about to leave the room, looked back at Jean, with a raised eyebrow. He wondered what nonsense was this woman about to cook up now. Not unless...she was...Ghislaine herself. But one look from his Jean, the patient, he walked out of the room, and was rushing away to the big hall. Or one of them where countless patients who were soldiers hurt from the recent attacks of the Kazi, were kept. "Yes?" "Politics. My..lady Ghislaine used to tell me stories she heard from her nanny." Well, it was true, after all, Ghislaine used to tell stories to Jean and a bunch of other young maids, all about the things of nobles that she herself had learned from her nanny. But she wondered, how good of a time it would be to try this trick on Mother Genevieve. She watched as Mother Genevieve kept her simple smile, and placed the tray of lunch on the bedside table. However the way she seemed irked was a d45d giveaway to her secret. "Oh...did lady Ghislaine tell you that? How..amusing." "Yes, amusing indeed. She told me much more than that though. She also told me that you used to be a noble lady once." "Ahh, that was long ago, Miss Norman. Very long ago." "A decade or so right? I wasn't there during that time. I came to Lady Ghislaine when she was very young, but I wasn't allowed to do the same things as other maids were, joining ladies of good upbringing to their parties and galas. I was quite envious. How was it, during your time?" "My time? Ahh, umm...well, war was there. After all that was twenty years ago. So two decades that would be..." "Two decades? How lovely." She mumbled, staring crudely at Genevieve. "But why is it that you did not become...a wife of a well off man? You were one of the main stars of your time..." "Ahh...that...I loved a man. But he was already married. And his wife had already had a daughter." "Loved a man? Or indulged in romance with a man?"
Continued: She mumbled, staring crudely at Genevieve. "But why is it that you did not become...a wife of a well off man? You were one of the main stars of your time..." "Ahh...that...I loved a man. But he was already married. And his wife had already had a daughter." "Loved a man? Or indulged in romance with a man?" "Wh- what?" Mother Genevieve stared at Ghislaine, or rather Jean, who stared at her innocently as if she had done nothing wrong or said nothing wrong. As if she was simply asking from her with the purest intentions. As is, nothing else mattered right now. "He loved me, he did. But he chose a woman who didn't love him over-" "Over you..." She concluded, smiling regretfully. Not that she felt regretful at all. Her father chose her mother out of duty, out of force, not out of will. Had he truly loved her, Ghislaine was sure that her father would have argued. Argued to not have to marry and would have proposed to Mother Genevieve. "Then why is it that you became a nun?" She stared at the woman whose hands were trembling terribly. As if nothing was making sense to the woman. As if she was hiding a terrible secret. As if she was here to atone for her s1ns. That of course, Ghislaine knew. She knew the truth. But what she wanted was to hear the woman say it. That she had committed a grave mistake that had drove her to leaving behind a life full of possibilities, a life of family and happiness, to become a nun, to devote herself to god? What could it be that made this woman want to devote to god all of a sudden? Well, to be exact, it was repayment for being a fool. For have ruined someone's perfectly well family. --- It was May of 1922, and the craze was over the rooftop. Everyone busy dancing and prancing around. Jazz playing in the houses, women coming out new, bold and brighter than ever. It was the ccraze. And in the house of the lord of this certain village in France, the manor was full of galas. One that the tiny child of seven herself got to witness. Her father hosting balls over balls, parties over parties, endlessly. Three within a week. And one in the evenings of a weekend that was lavish. Expenses weren't held back. The entire purpose was to enjoy the new age. To rejoice of the fact that the war was never to come again. That world war one was over. Over and finished. Little seven year old Ghislaine sat in her arm chair, avoiding other children. Cause why not? It is true that these parties also had an entire room free for children to play around, all of whom were children of men and women who were friends with her father. At that time she did not exactly know tehe word or term "business partner", but had she known she would have described the so called "friends" of her father with that very word. And the most exciting part was that her mother, who had been recovering from Mr. Rooney's treatment was going to make an appearance. Her grand appearance after twelve entire years. Finally! She'd get to see her mum, and see the magic that Mr. Mattias Rooney would have cast upon her mother to make her lover the little child again. She had already met with Mr. Rooney, who had been utterly gracious to her, ushering her with his affection and praises. After all Mr. Rooney had nothing but fatherly love for the little lady of the Augustin Manor, and everyone knew that. It was no secret. Heaven's, it had also made front page within the start of their lovely relationship. But right now, she continued staring at all the guests entering the room, ignoring the children who were playing and chatting at the very corner of the room. Her eyes lay upon the door to the ballroom in hopes of catching a glimpse of her mother. The woman that was once called the flower of the French society and that of the Russian society as well. And just as she expected the door opened to reveal a beautiful woman, attended by her maids. The hostess of the manor, the most beautiful woman in the entirety of the French Well Off rich people community was none other than, Maria Augustin, formerly known as Maria Volkov. Dress in a periwinkle gown that was not fitting of the style of the nineteen twenties, Maria walked in gracefully, ignoring the stares and whispers. She may have aged quite a bit, but she was still ethereal as ever because let's face it, she was Maria Augustin. Black hair neatly tied up in lovely curls that made an entire bun adorned with fragrant flowers of pink. Her silver eyes staring with authority and elegance, a smile on her lips. Her neck not bare as usual, but adorned with a heavy pink ruby necklace, made of not only pink ruby, silver and pearls but also of a periwinkle blue sapphire that was crafted to look like a small periwinkle as the main charm of attractions. The very same matterial was also used to craft the same kind of flowers that dangled from pearls in the form of lovely earrings. This was Maria Volkov, the woman of grace and beauty.
