faedefrance: (Papa's Girl)
faedefrance ([personal profile] faedefrance) wrote2009-09-25 10:58 pm

[livejournal.com profile] writers_muses 99.6 - Solace

Nothing in the world seems fair. I feel so far away from myself at this moment and yet I am just on the edge of becoming who it is I am meant to be. Who is it I am meant to be? I will be separated from my Papa and in spite of the excitement I feel, it is as if I am being asked to amputate a major limb from myself. I know I must do this, and I know that it is a part of who and what I am. I do not dishonour Maman and this is her wish, but why, why did Caroline have to abdicate? Can I not stay here a while longer? Why can Papa not be with me as well? Is he not my mother's Prince Consort?

The dream, in spite of what I feel for Azazeal, or what might have happened between us, has left me cold where I should have felt warm. Or some might say I should have felt rather heated. Would this night never end? Did I want it to end? For with the dawn, before the mists rose from the water's surface, my Mother and I would traverse them to go to the Fortunate Island to further my training. I stumbled down the stairs, clutching the dressing gown to me and wandered throughout the tapestry gallery till I reached the library to find my Papa. He was always here, but now more than ever, brooding. Papa was staring at the fire when I came in, the light glancing off his high cheekbones and the glass of cognac he had in his hand. Maman was nowhere to be seen, no doubt she was in bed. He looked up at me, his one eye widened only slightly in the dim light. The image was one of absolute comfort that swam before my eyes as I rushed over to him, fell to my knees before him and wrapped my arms about him, hiding my face in his chest. I heard him set his cognac glass aside and he began to stroke my hair. Still no words were spoken. None were really ever needed between my father and I, and certainly neither of us wanted to speak of what would come at daybreak.

His breathfalls were steady. At last it was he who broke the silence between us. "Unable to sleep either, mon petit? he said softly in French.

"Non," I shook my head, still not looking up into his face. That would have made me cry, I knew. "I -," I snggled closer and gripped him tighter to me, " I had a nightmare, Papa," I said, " I dreamt of being frightened and not knowing how to get back home." I inhaled his scent, the scent of leather, fine cologne and the sweetness of the cognac on his breath.

He moved himself toward one end of the leathern couch, punching the brocaded pillows there to fluff them and grabbed a damask coverlet that had been folded neatly over the back of the couch. "Come, Joie-Lynn," he patted a spot in front of him, "No nightmares will dare come near you here." It was an old assurance that he had given me even as a very young girl, and indeed, whenever he did so, no bad dreams ever dared to invade the safety of the space that my Papa provided. He had, he said, been more of a nightmare than any conjuring that the darkness could ever bring, and being his daughter, none would dare challenge him. I nodded and lay on my side in front of him, resting my head on the pillow that he had against his forearm. As soon as I was settled, he threw the coverlet over us both and held me close, kissing the back of my neck. Occasionally his hand would stroke idly over my arms or my shoulders until at last I felt my eyes grow heavy. I was just about to set off to the Land of Nod once more when the logs upon the fire gave a loud pop that made me jump. Once more were soft words in French of a father's adoration and once more I let myself drift toward sleep and an uncertain future ahead.



Muse: Jocelyn de Rochefort
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 716

Special thanks to [livejournal.com profile] all_forme and his scribe who is used with much love and affection by his daughter and her scribe.

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