A/N: I know I already started something else new but this was something that I had in mind and if you are curious this is the story about Felicity, you know from, Parce que Je t'aime. You don't have to read that to understand what is going on but I want to think those who read and I am sticking with this so don't worry. Oh and I am always worried about the lengths of my chapters but do you think this is an appropriate length or do I need to add more? Well I won't keep you waiting, Enjoy.
Papillon
By Angel of Death
Chapter 1
Silence was golden. It was the sun peering out from under the clouds on a morning dusted with silver linings. I loved this moment of bliss, for it reminded me of a kiss upon my lips or a light walk through the park. As the chaise strolled down the cobblestone road, I looked back at the place I had made residence of for so many years. It was my heaven and my hell, my love and my torment. But now the dawn has placed it's wing upon my brow and showed me a life without pain. In my sleep a dream that could only be commissioned by Providence himself, has come unto me and paved the road that I was to walk.
The morning's air was tainted with a sweet perfume that spoke freedom in words of roses et violettes. My soul was at peace with the war in my heart and for once, I felt as though I was doing what was right. And I have come to the conclusion that my past decisions were rash and somewhat sinful. Though there is not a tear I can shed or a shilling that I can lend to relieve me of my wrongs, I can still repent.
Reader, you must understand that I lived a life of shame and imprisonment. My heart and mind may be humbled now but the soul which lies deep within my body is far from pure. In time you shall know the story that is known to be the life I've lived. But if you are weary of stories of love and sorrow and death then I advise you to turn your eyes from the pages that you are perusing now. Close this book and place it back on the bookcase from which it came and have it succumb to the highest shelf. But, if you are an adventurous sort and love to bask in the mysteries of murder and misguided love, please let me oblige you by introducing you to a tale that is easier read than lived. Fasten your eyes to the paper, reader, for the story is about to begin.
My mother was a blithe spirit. Her name was Nicole Auclair, known to those who dallied in opera and ballet as La Maîtresse. Though the lark ceased to sing since father died, she was still as rambunctious as any other grande diva. She demanded that she be treated like a queen and committed her time to looking like one. Spotted muslin frocks, silks from marigold to cerulean, calico, and various furs framed her tall, statuesque frame. The golden ringlets that sat on top of her head were always swept up into long yellow plaits or elegant chignons. Men thought her very beautiful and I could not blame them. Her heart shaped face contained porcelain cheeks with a rosy pallor and her lips were a soft crimson. There was a certain curiosity in her eye that was laced with a symphony of viridian and topaz. They were two violinists that lured the weakest of souls.
My mother lived the life of a courtesan, and she took pride in that. It was often when I would hear loud noises from her chamber and knew that she was with another suitor, as she called them. Sometimes I wondered why she threw herself upon men the way she did. To have your heart be governed by lust instead of love was an external pain, at least I concluded it would be so. The men that she pleasured herself with never really looked at her and saw someone to hold their affections for but as someone who they could touch and take advantage of whenever they wanted. I did not know whether she grew tired of living in such a manner, but sometimes I saw all the musical notes in her eyes go up in flames. She was lonely, it was that much I knew about my mother.
And so this story begins on a cold autumn night. The weather was quite calm and vibrant like the hearth from a fireplace and the leaves were shedding their green skin and changing into fiery butterflies that were tamed by the ashen light that shed over the land. The sky had morphed into a lapis lazuli frock that was spotted with ivory diamonds and all but the gentlemen in the next room, were silent. My mother and I sat in our own private corner of the drawing room, whilst I indulged in a volume from the Granger's book collection. I didn't know what it was about for mother kept whispering to me about the other ladies in the room. Just to oblige her, I removed my eyes from the words and closely assessed the other inhabitants.
There was one that caught my eye. She had a massive amount of mandarin curls. They were adorned with berets that were embedded with precious jewels. The train of her dress extended out, sweeping the floor with emerald fingers. She was conversing with another girl who looked to have been the same age, and as she talked her hands illustrated every word. Though her attire was majestic, the appearance of her face contained a plain beauty. She had small green eyes that were as soft as her dainty red lips. Her frame, though not petite like most ladies, mirrored one of a Grecian.
"Who is she?" I asked, nodding towards the girl.
I noted the sudden smile rising on my mother's face. Her eyebrows danced in a way that I knew showed that she was either pleased or vexed. This time, it was the latter. A plan was in her grasps and as her round jewels looked at me, I knew that what ever she was contemplating, had to do with me.
"That's Claudette de Brézé, the sister of Comte de Ventilées."
"Do you know her, Maman." I asked, meeting her gaze.
"Non, non, ma cherie but I had the pleasure of acquainting her father long ago."
My eyes widened at the same time my cheeks flushed. We never conversed about her suitors and though her relationship with men worried me so, I did not like to hear about them. She smiled at me coyly and then stood from her chair. Her dress mirrored the night sky. It was made of royal blue silk embroidered with flowers. The fabric drew in at her waist, giving her form a slender look. She wore a pearl brooch that sat on the front of gown, calling attention to her bosoms. I did not doubt that that was her intention. And if I were to say my mother was a harlot, I would not have been lying or out of line.
"Come, Felicity, let me introduce you to Comtess de Ventilées." Her slight accent curled around the words, making them sound like they were paradise. Taking the slender hand that she held out to me, I got up as well and let myself be led to the Countess. I do not intend to bore you, reader, so to hasten the tale just a little, I shall say that I was introduced to to Claudette, as she herself had insist that I call her. The girl that she was animatedly conversing with was her cousin. Her name was Pauline and she was said to have been one of the most beautiful soprano's in the Opéra de Paris. I had asked her what roles she was known for and she went on speaking of some titles in French that I had never heard of.
And though her appearance boasted royalty, Claudette was a very shy soul. We talked of our accomplishments and how we were enjoying the evening so far. She noted that I was perusing a novel and wondered what genres I indulged in. This subject of choice was the most lively. It was as if someone set us on fire, for we could not stop talking of literature. I had said that I had loved reading romances and mysteries and she had then mentioned that those were her favorite as well. We then agreed that we would share each other's libraries and get together over tea to discuss our favorite volumes. From that moment, I knew that Claudette and I were going to be great friends.
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