Sainte Mère Marie...prequel to Arthur/Ariadne
A/N: So something I've been working on lately...well just suddenly got the inspiration for.
The statue of Mother Mary never looked more beautiful in the sun. Glistening drops of dew sparkled and glittered against the rusting copper. White and green patches of chemical reactions marred the body, but even so, she stood strong. She stood strong against the biting morning breeze, daring the wind to shake her.
Ariadne never admired a statue more so than ever. There was this inexplicable bond between her and the statue.
Ariadne was born a Catholic, but she was never diligent in going to Mass. She would often sneak out during Sunday School to admire the buildings in Paris or doze off on the patch of green with the amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. Her parents often wondered what would become of her. Their dreams of Ariadne becoming a debutant and a social flower were soon dashed upon realizing her abhorrence for puffy dresses and make-up.
But she proved herself. Like she always did, much to the surprise of countless people. She always proved her worth through her limitless imagination and delicate details. She enjoyed watching the awe and amazement on the faces of the dubious professors and unconvinced relatives. She lapped it all up like a remedy for her insecurities.
But today she did not think of her insecurities; she spoke of them. She had come to ask for Mother Mary's advice. The holy Mother had this way of healing silence. Each birthday, she would come to ask the Mother a question that had plagued her for a long time.
On her 16th birthday, she asked why her parents got divorced. Three days later, she found pictures, of his father with a twenty year old floozy hanging over his body, in her mother's purse. Five days later, the divorce was finalized.
On her 20th birthday, she asked whether or not the universities she submitted to liked her. Three days later, she recieved acceptance letters from each of the architectural colleges she submitted to.
Today was her 25th birthday. She had decided to ask the question that she dared not to ask out of fear of denial. Ariadne was afraid of the inability of the Mother to answer her question or make it come true. She was afraid that from what she has observed from the world, in her 25 years of life, would be true for her too. Even though she was afraid of the truth, she was more terrified of being lonely. Ariadne could not bear the thought of spending her golden years alone in a house: no children, no grandchildren, no husband.
So today, she thought, is as good a day as any. She rather prepare herself for loneliness than be surprised by it. If it was never going to happen, then, she might as well not try. What's the use of getting her heart broken again and again to only find that it was never meant to be? Selfish: perhaps; cowardly: definitely.
Ariadne glanced back up at Mother Mary's face that portrayed courage and strength. Ariadne knew that if she is to be rejected, there was nothing to fear. Life still had plenty more to offer; it had already given her the joy of drawing buildings and mazes and cathedrals.
She let out an airy sigh; the whisps of her breath churned out moist smoke that curled in the chilly air. It was as if it waved to her before dissapating into nothingness. Ariadne was sure that she was the only one who knew about this abandoned corridor further down Rue de la Barrière Blanche passing Rue Lepic, near Montmartre.
She knelt down on the gravelly road, wincing at the prick of the tiny stones against her beige pants. She was going out with her friends for lunch today and then meeting Professor Miles to finish up her project. She raised her head towards the statue of Mother Mary, her hair blown free from her bobby pins, danced wildly without hindrance. Ariadne clasped her clammy, icy hands together and started whispering.
"Sainte Mère Marie, je sais que je n'ai pas parlé avec vous dernièrement. I know I haven't spoken to you lately, Mother Mary. As you probably realize, it's my 25th birthday. Things have been really busy lately. Madelaine got married since we last talked and Leonard moved to Germany. Poor Celine's mother has come down with pneumonia, I pray that she'll be alright. Professor Miles seems to be coughing a lot more than usual and I hope it's nothing too serious..."
She sniffed as another gust of cool wind screeched through the cramped alley. Ariadne chuckled.
"You are probably laughing at my naivety right now. You already know what I'm going to say don't you Mère Marie? I'm just coming up with all this filler talk to ease my nerves from asking what's been truly plaguing me. But you probably already know, right Mère? I'm just wasting my time..."
Ariadne paused. Once she says this, she will never be able to take it back. She licks her chapped lips and blinks a few times before resuming.
"Mother Mary, I've been worried. I've been worried about love, Mère. How do I know I haven't already met him but just let him go? How do I know that I haven't just seen him on the street or talked to him, but never really knew him, or gave him the chance? How do I know if it was one of them I came to you about? How do I know if it was Jonah or David or Tex, but I was too hasty in letting them go? How can I ensure my heart that it will know love, and never be lonely? Because Mère Marie-"
Ariadne chokes on it, but it's coming out of her mouth already and she can't hold it in any longer. It's something she's never admitted to anyone, but she's sure Mother Mary already knew.
"Because Mère Marie, I'm so afraid of being lonely. I'm so scared that I'll be the one that's left behind and forgotten. I don't want to be forgotten Mother. I want to be secured in someone's heart forever. I want to be someone's lifeline and I want someone to be mine. I don't want to spend my life alone, Mother. And it scares me more than anything to imagine that. I just want to be comforted Mère. I just want to know that there's someone out there for me and that I don't have to give up... That is all, amen."
Ariadne hastily gets up and dries the lone tear. She moves quickly back up the street but stops for a second to glance back at the strong face of the Holy Mother. She leaves quickly for her lunch with her friends.
Little does she know, two hours later the wind brings a man. A man full of crisp lines and three-pieced suits. He's known of Mother Mary as well. And he thinks he is the only one who knew of it ever since he put it there...
TO BE CONTINUED...
A/N: Well this is to be continued in Arthur's POV. That is if this seems worthy to be continued...Who am I kidding? Like there's anyone reading this.
It's so much easier writing in Ariadne's POV because of similar questions I've had. I'm sure all of us women have had these questions in the past.
This statue is just part of my imagination. There is no statue of her near Montmartre, unless it's one that I don't know of... The streets are real but the statue is not. So don't go looking for it in that tiny corridor. Goodness knows what's in there...