Entry 10 : True Selves
Title: "True Selves"
Entry Number: 10
Author: saraste_impi
Fandom: Original
Rating: Teen
Genre: Angst, Horror
Word Count: 1040
A/N: This is part of my Before Dawn universe, which I mainly do as comics. I don't even know. The ending hasn't even happened in the comic yet. I apologize for my bad French.
She was walking in Louvre, looking at the paintings while her legs walked with a sedate pace. This was what she had dreamed of and she still couldn't quite believe that she was in Paris at last, seeing great works of art and being tutored by skilled painters and that she was allowed. Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, she saw paintings by them all, leaned as close as one was allowed and studied their brushwork.
She was lost in her thoughts, her mind whirling by the visual stimuli that she startled when a man spoke to her, jolting her out of her reverie. She turned slowly, eyes darting about and looking for her sister, who was her companion on this visit but was now nowhere to be seen. There was just the man and what a man. She felt her heart beat quick in her chest and her breath caught in her throat and she blushed. He was tall, had warm brown eyes, a ready smile and a shock of dark hair which was maybe a little too long to be entirely allowed.
He spoke to her in French, which she thought was a bold move, even bolder than his assumption of approaching her, a woman alone and not visibly chaperoned, even when times were changing and even if France wasn't England.
Arianwen was nowhere to be seen and if Gwen was true with herself, she was glad.
She looked at him closer, boldly taking a step forward, fully intending to discourage him and give her a piece of her mind over his rudeness and lack of propriety, even when she felt drawn to him and wanted to get to know him better.
But, in the end, she couldn't.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle. Je m´appelle Nicholas Lelouey, et vous? Comment t'appelle vous?”
She gasped, for she recognized the name, her vanity was flattered too, even when she thought that a man as well bred as him really should have known better than to introduce himself to women he didn't know.
But she was forced to reply now, and she didn't really put that much stock to archaic rules of conduct. Even when she had always been told how important it was to always act proper and be introduced. England was living a new age, as was the world, so why shouldn't she let loose a little? And he was handsome. So she found herself answering, almost despite herself.
“Bonjour, monsieur Lelouey. Je m'appelle Gwendolen Bleven. Enchanté.” She offered her hand, which he took, and felt his lips press a kiss to the back of her hand. She blushed even fiercer.
Arianwen did turn up, later, when Gwen and Nicholas were in the middle of a discussion about Monet and Manet, but the elder, married, sister didn't kick up a fuss. She knew who Monsieur Lelouey was and was more than happy to let them talk.
Later, when Paris and what had happened there between Gwen and Nicholas had become a bitter-sweet memory, Gwen often thought that maybe it would have been better if her sister had prevented her from seeing Nicholas. For that event had been the catalyst which had led to the most wonderful but also the most horrid and sad events of her life.
Even if she really wouldn't change a second of it away. Except maybe... But no. She really wouldn't.
It had been all too easy to fall in love with Nicholas during that endless hot summer and the fall which followed it, as seasons are wont to do. To fall into his waiting wicked arms and let him have it all, throw caution to the wind and not think about if what she was doing was wrong. She took his kisses and bestowed her own, she took his embraces and responded willingly, she heard his words and murmured back her own adoration.
She had been young and in love and so didn't think about the consequences. And she was his true love, as, when she told him that she was expecting, his answer was to ask for her hand in marriage. Yes, it was the proper thing to do, but Gwen knew, had to be certain that he would have asked anyway.
She had accepted, laughing and crying at the same time, and they were married within the month. Their daughter, the most precious thing she had ever and would ever see in her long life, had been born at the cusp of March the next year. She had only had six months with her family before she had been summoned back home, back to London, leaving her infant daughter behind with her husband and his family. She had shed many tears and had promised to come back as soon as she could.
She had never come back to them.
Except that she had, through death and exile, through self loathing and regret. She had come upon Nicholas, after eight years during which he had thought her dead, in London. She had looked upon him like he was a ghost, and in a way he was, even when it was her he should be afraid of, not her him. Because of who she was now, she knew that the time would come when she would crave his blood, when she would embrace him and want to feed... and maybe kill him by accident.
Yet she could not drive him away as much as she tried, for he wouldn't go. He told her that she owed him an explanation over her absence. She gave him one. The truth and nothing but the truth. Which he believed, for he had seen what she had done for her sister, how she had saved her life, even when she may have doomed her while doing so.
But she hadn't wanted a death in her hands, the death of a sister who shouldn't even know she was still alive.
She still had blood in her hands as she visited her home and found her parents killed, her precious innocent sister, taken and changed into a monster, sitting in comfort in an armchair soaked with blood, telling her it was her fault, all of it.
Gwen knew it was true and wept.
Entry Number: 10
Author: saraste_impi
Fandom: Original
Rating: Teen
Genre: Angst, Horror
Word Count: 1040
A/N: This is part of my Before Dawn universe, which I mainly do as comics. I don't even know. The ending hasn't even happened in the comic yet. I apologize for my bad French.
She was walking in Louvre, looking at the paintings while her legs walked with a sedate pace. This was what she had dreamed of and she still couldn't quite believe that she was in Paris at last, seeing great works of art and being tutored by skilled painters and that she was allowed. Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, she saw paintings by them all, leaned as close as one was allowed and studied their brushwork.
She was lost in her thoughts, her mind whirling by the visual stimuli that she startled when a man spoke to her, jolting her out of her reverie. She turned slowly, eyes darting about and looking for her sister, who was her companion on this visit but was now nowhere to be seen. There was just the man and what a man. She felt her heart beat quick in her chest and her breath caught in her throat and she blushed. He was tall, had warm brown eyes, a ready smile and a shock of dark hair which was maybe a little too long to be entirely allowed.
He spoke to her in French, which she thought was a bold move, even bolder than his assumption of approaching her, a woman alone and not visibly chaperoned, even when times were changing and even if France wasn't England.
Arianwen was nowhere to be seen and if Gwen was true with herself, she was glad.
She looked at him closer, boldly taking a step forward, fully intending to discourage him and give her a piece of her mind over his rudeness and lack of propriety, even when she felt drawn to him and wanted to get to know him better.
But, in the end, she couldn't.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle. Je m´appelle Nicholas Lelouey, et vous? Comment t'appelle vous?”
She gasped, for she recognized the name, her vanity was flattered too, even when she thought that a man as well bred as him really should have known better than to introduce himself to women he didn't know.
But she was forced to reply now, and she didn't really put that much stock to archaic rules of conduct. Even when she had always been told how important it was to always act proper and be introduced. England was living a new age, as was the world, so why shouldn't she let loose a little? And he was handsome. So she found herself answering, almost despite herself.
“Bonjour, monsieur Lelouey. Je m'appelle Gwendolen Bleven. Enchanté.” She offered her hand, which he took, and felt his lips press a kiss to the back of her hand. She blushed even fiercer.
Arianwen did turn up, later, when Gwen and Nicholas were in the middle of a discussion about Monet and Manet, but the elder, married, sister didn't kick up a fuss. She knew who Monsieur Lelouey was and was more than happy to let them talk.
Later, when Paris and what had happened there between Gwen and Nicholas had become a bitter-sweet memory, Gwen often thought that maybe it would have been better if her sister had prevented her from seeing Nicholas. For that event had been the catalyst which had led to the most wonderful but also the most horrid and sad events of her life.
Even if she really wouldn't change a second of it away. Except maybe... But no. She really wouldn't.
It had been all too easy to fall in love with Nicholas during that endless hot summer and the fall which followed it, as seasons are wont to do. To fall into his waiting wicked arms and let him have it all, throw caution to the wind and not think about if what she was doing was wrong. She took his kisses and bestowed her own, she took his embraces and responded willingly, she heard his words and murmured back her own adoration.
She had been young and in love and so didn't think about the consequences. And she was his true love, as, when she told him that she was expecting, his answer was to ask for her hand in marriage. Yes, it was the proper thing to do, but Gwen knew, had to be certain that he would have asked anyway.
She had accepted, laughing and crying at the same time, and they were married within the month. Their daughter, the most precious thing she had ever and would ever see in her long life, had been born at the cusp of March the next year. She had only had six months with her family before she had been summoned back home, back to London, leaving her infant daughter behind with her husband and his family. She had shed many tears and had promised to come back as soon as she could.
She had never come back to them.
Except that she had, through death and exile, through self loathing and regret. She had come upon Nicholas, after eight years during which he had thought her dead, in London. She had looked upon him like he was a ghost, and in a way he was, even when it was her he should be afraid of, not her him. Because of who she was now, she knew that the time would come when she would crave his blood, when she would embrace him and want to feed... and maybe kill him by accident.
Yet she could not drive him away as much as she tried, for he wouldn't go. He told her that she owed him an explanation over her absence. She gave him one. The truth and nothing but the truth. Which he believed, for he had seen what she had done for her sister, how she had saved her life, even when she may have doomed her while doing so.
But she hadn't wanted a death in her hands, the death of a sister who shouldn't even know she was still alive.
She still had blood in her hands as she visited her home and found her parents killed, her precious innocent sister, taken and changed into a monster, sitting in comfort in an armchair soaked with blood, telling her it was her fault, all of it.
Gwen knew it was true and wept.