The Royal Palace

The Lady Genevieve was laid in her beautiful bed that was now grey and slightly cracked. She had been washed, her hair brushed, and she had been put into a voluminous and clean cotton nightgown before being tucked beneath the bed sheets. There was a thick bandage around one wrist, and slim bandages around the fingers of her other hand, each faintly glowing with a gold symbol.

She slept, and it seemed as if she was dead were it not for the shallow rise and fall of her now mostly flat chest.

As he whispered his apology, there was no outward difference from Genevieve, but forty five minutes later, a cool breeze flittered into the room from the crack at the window... and her pale lashes hesitantly lifted.

She came gently awake, and her once beautiful eyes of not quite blue, not quite purple were now dull.

And, seemingly, lifeless.

She became aware of a figure beside her, and her head turned very slightly on the pillows to look at Hansel.

Those dull eyes began to fill with guilt and sadness, and the bedside table freaked from a sudden but gentle swell of magic.

"I'm sorry," she told Hansel on a hoarse and dry voice. "I tried to end my wickedness."

A sudden thought had her wondering if the boy was still there so that he could end her life for her, since she was too weak to do so.

"I know love."

Renaux whispers as he pulls Arianne tight against him once more. A hand runs smoothly through her hair, the other rubbing her shoulders. He knows what it is like to lose a loved one but for him, it happened all at once. It must be so much worse standing out here knowing that Genevieve may die but feeling powerless to stop it. Well not entirely powerless. His plan offered a faint ray of hope, but Arianne was right Genevieve's magics may hurt Voltaire and Renaux quailed from the thought of the worst case scenario.

"It might harm him my queen, or it might save her. I... Sky and damnation I don't want to risk our son in this way, but if it could save Genevieve's life can we offered not to? It's a choice neither of us should have to make and hopefully, the healer's faith in that young knight isn't misplaced and we won't have to. But it is the only way I can see where we might help in some way and if we are careful I am sure we can keep any risk to Voltaire to a minimum."

"I'm not selfish, Renaux," she said as he drew her back into his arms. "I'm sick with worry over Genevieve, but if she hurt Voltaire, I'd never be able to forgive myself." Or Renaux, if the case may be.

And yet... her sister's life.

Arianne bit into her bottom lip as Renaux spoke. She dipped her head and pressed her lips and cheek to Voltaire's soft head, closed her eyes, tried to imagine the hell that Genevieve was going through with the loss of Odette. The girl herself was buried in the Royal Gardens, because Genevieve hadn't wanted her to be in a place surrounded by dead bodies.

She wasn't ready to use Voltaire... but she also wasn't ready to lose her sister.

"Let's just... let's just see if the knight will be able to help her." It was an odd situation. What was the nature of the relationship between the night and Genevieve? Gene was old enough to be the boy's mother (albeit, a very, very young mother).

She felt confused and lost and... empty. It wasn't even an interesting mix because she could find no inspiration to be interested. It was simply how she felt; like a husk of a person.

She felt that she no longer had a soul, or that perhaps she had never had one. All the years she had spent raising Odette now seemed darkened and tinged with this new sight of her motherhood.

What was it that this boy had told her? Genevieve had made it possible for ledgers and deviants to be near Odette, so it was no wonder that Odette had died. She had been a terrible mother to an innocent girl, and had been a terrible person.

She ought not to be living anymore. What had she to live for? Arianne hardly knee her. They had been separated for most of Ariannes life by the Duchess. Genevieve didn't know Renaux from Adam, and their new baby... it crushed her heart to see him.

Or rather, what had remained of her heart. She didn't think she had one of those anymore, either.

But still, this boy almost crushed her hand in his in his earnestness, so she simply nodded her head and watched him with those blank eyes of hers.

Somehow. Someway. She looked even worse now than when he had met her earlier in the day. At least at the hotel she had been able to cry. It didn't seem that Genevieve could do that anymore, either.

He gasped with relief as she agreed to forgive him. He knew it was wrong, he was taking advantage of the poor woman. She forgave him because she was not aware that her attempt at suicide was his fault. He felt horrible, he had a whole new sin, one which only the Gods could absolve him of. He inhaled, before finally speaking. "Very well. I will first tell you of myself, and what I did." He paused for few moments to recollect parts of his sob-story. He had told it before, but it never seemed easier, in fact it even seemed harder sometimes. He scratched his right hand absent-mindedly, thinking of how to begin. He didn't even notice how his nails drew blood in his young skin. 

Feeling the light sting he smiled, he had long since taught himself pain is good. He began a euphoric little chuckle until he realized what company he was in and grunted, wiping off a little blood on his hand. He finally looked Genevieve in the eyes, and began his story. "I was a normal kid, born outside Audria. My family may have been Wickans, they may have been Audrians. I really care not. All was simple, I prance and played in the meadows, but alone, because of my eyes as you can imagine. Of course as I got older it got harder, they kicked me, poked my eye, so on and so forth. My mother comforted me, she would stroke my hair, sing, and hold me as I cried. Until of course, one day some Raiders come, burned the village we lived in and worst of all; one of them came in, removed father's head, did horrible things to my mother, and then slit her throat. When he left and set the house ablaze, I simply stayed where I was, in my little hiding spot. I watched her crawl over to my dead father - or his head - and simply stared into his eyes, wiping the blood off of his moustache. We had a fine set of healing instruments, I could have saved her, but I did not. I did not save her. Now let us skip boring times to the modern day. I am a Knight, a blessed member of the Holy Legions. I went to give the belongings of a deceased Knight to the widow; you. When I arrived, I saw a person broken, dying if not physically then metaphorically. When I came to your aid, I remembered the memories. You came to mine, and then it became all so... familiar. I was almost under a trance, I saw not you but her. I felt her warmth near me, yet when you kissed my palms it... it all went awry, I felt horrible that the sensation escaped me, I did not know what to do. I was hurt. I know it was not your fault but I felt hurt. What I did afterwards was fear, confusion, misunderstanding. My stupidity. You must understand that what I said afterwards is wrong horrible. I was wrong. Do you understand?" He looked at her, hoping she would say she did. If she did not, his world would be ruined, split apart.

Impatience overtook Arianne, as could only be predicted. She shook her head, emotions in a sharp turmoil in her head and heart, in her stomach. She moved out of Renaux's arms with a frustrated sound, although it had nothing to do with her husband.

Arianne, simply, was not a woman that could stay idle for long, and she was not a woman that could wait knowing someone was hurt. Voltaire was wide-eyed and awake in her arms, aware of her mothers agitated attitude.

The young queen began to pace back and forth down the hallway. The sun was beginning to set now, and not a peep had come from Genevieve's room. And as Arianne walked with Voltaire, the foal kept clipping along behind her on his new, gangly legs.

This made Arianne give Renaux a look. "No one will be happy cleaning up after a Pegasus in the palace," she told him, and then shot worried looks to the door of her sisters room.

Hansel would look to the ceiling euphorically as he mouthed "Hallelujah," gratefully. When she asked for him to help her he nodded happily and assisted her. When she asked about the order however, he grimaced a little. "I do not think at this point in life you are suited for religious work. However Aozora is always looking for someone to help it expand. I'm sure my name will help at least a little. I'm... I'm Hansel, or Hans if you prefer." He said, realising he did not say his name the whole time. 

He would then hold her face again and stare into her eyes, paying close attention for a few moments before releasing her. "The eyes, they change colour but they do not change. I try to use them as my main means of remembering people. I will meet you again, if that is fine by you. My work however... it best remain as anonymous as possible until I secularise; it is why our Order's members always keep their helmets on. If you allow me, I will gather my things and leave through the window now." 

But her husband did not remove the Pegasus, and Arianne had no want to do it, either. The clopping of its hooves on the marble of the floor cut into her psyche, however, and she finally walked over to Renaux and handed Voltaire to him, kissing him on his cheek.

Restless, impatient, she went to the window that overlooked the castle grounds and stood in the golden light of dusk, the light playing off her hair and the gold of the military jacket she was still wearing, illuminating her face while letting soft shadows play as she bit and worried on her bottom lip. Her boot tapped rhythmically on the ground as her arms folded beneath the generous curves of her breasts.

No, she was not a patient woman.

"It is not difficult to get there yoursel-" he began until she said she would stay. Well make up your mind woman he thought and quickly threw it out of his mind. He was much too young for this. 

He looked her over, putting down the changes to all the bloodloss. He nodded after she finished. She had made her choice, and he had proven himself much too foolish to judge her. He wondered what would happen to her. Would she be put into some horrible asylum for loonies? Would she just be locked in a room with no means to kill herself? He recovered the last piece of his armour, and sighed. He was a little embarassed since it seemed like such a petty thing, but he had to get his armour back from the hotel. "You... you wouldn't know a way for them to let me back into the suite or do you think they will let me in as is?" 

By this time he would already have gotten to the window unlatched it and was half of the way out. "Oh, and whatever happens, know that I am sorry." he said, trying to smile despite sobs and a few tears running down his cheek, wiped away with a mailed fist.