esmé sévigné

[esmesevigne-blog]

Esme happened to be walking out of a shop, a few necessary ingredients in a bag on her arm for her next ritual when she couldn’t help but overhear the young man’s desperation for something fun. It had been a slow day at the shop, and she had done no tarot or general readings. Not expecting many customers thus, she had closed the shoppe briefly to stop at the nearby store. She lowered the black scarf wrapped around her equally dark hair and it settled onto the lacy shoulders of her rich black dress before she approached. As she gazed at him, she felt a draw that only confirmed what she felt she had to do. “Bonne après-midi,” she greeted him, a small, genuine smile on her lips. “I could not help but overhear your desire for a fun evening. I won’t be upset if you decline, but I wondered if perhaps you might be interested in a reading, tarot or otherwise. I own the shop and psychic parlor just down the lane, if you’ve ever seen it.”

[shogoun]

you can’t change the past. only atone for it.

[esmesevigne-blog]

“I’ve lived in France my whole life, although I did not always reside in Belleville,” the raven-haired witch replied with smile that remained friendly, but perhaps seemed a little forced as the topic veered to uncomfortably familiar territory. “I was raised in Neuilly-sur-Seine and lived there until the age of nineteen.”

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“That it does, my dear,” Esme agreed whole-heartedly, always quite proud of her home country despite her sorrowful past within its borders. “When did you come here?”

[esmesevigne-blog]

“Bel esprit,” she accuses with a humored smirk, clicking her tongue. “I was hoping you spoke my other native language. Alas, we cannot have everything we wish for, can we?”

[esmesevigne-blog]

She appears amused by the disapproval in his tone. Esmé is not unused to this kind of response to her livelihood and general interests. “Vous n'êtes pas fan de l'occulte ou du paranormal, je suppose?” He did seem the intellectual type upon her initial observations, so she is not entirely surprised.

[esmesevigne-blog]

Esmé was never not observing the people around her, and she had been quietly enjoying a cup of tea while indulging in this habit when a young man who appeared to be hiding from someone came near. Now this was interesting-- from her careful perceiving though slightly narrowed eyes, Esmé concluded that he was avoiding a woman who had just recently entered the cafe. She had an aura of confidence and, dare she presume, sensuality to her, and Esmé had to guess this male was not very comfortable with her projecting it onto him. Maybe he had a girlfriend and was not interested in flirting, or was uncomfortable for some other reason she had not yet thought of. Before she could come up with another, he seemed to notice her gaze and spoke to her. “I can see that,” she said in a slightly amused tone. “Here-- put this on, and look at me.” She picked up the hat she’d set beside her and quickly fit it onto his head, and kept her eyes on him so his face was turned away from the other woman about to walk by. 

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“When something or someone does not conform to normal standards, they must come up with their own answers to put themselves at ease, I suppose,” Esmé explained simply, not even the slightest hint of bitterness in her voice, but rather an interest, as if this human behavior was fascinating to her. “My shop-parlor has often raised eyebrows. It could perhaps also be my eccentric appearance. I think I have a very witchy look.” She chuckled. “I think it is funny that while I am indeed a witch as they say, they do not call me so because they know the truth, but because of what things about me they have conjured up in their minds.” Florence. Esme thinks the name is beautiful, befitting of the self-proclaimed cynic speaking to her. “You don’t need an alias such as mine with a name as lovely as yours,” she assures Florence.

[esmesevigne-blog]

“It is a special place-- it is easy to understand why so many people are drawn to my home,” Esmé agreed softly.

[bwbeautyqueens]

[esmesevigne-blog]

bwbeautyqueens:

I was very shy — I still am actually — and my school forced me to do a theater class when I was 12 because they thought it would be good for me. My mother was an actress, but she stopped when she had children, and she would always tell me it was a cruel business. I went to drama school but thought I wanted to become a director. Then I started to act and really felt alive. And here I am.

[esmesevigne-blog]

“That was entirely poetic,” Esmé said after a beat, no hint of sarcasm in her words. “I like the quiet moments. I often go down to my shop early morning or late at night to revel in the quiet solitude, and all of the magical, lovely and strange objects in the space create a comforting aura to me. I wonder if that feeling is why people like to wander in and simply bask in it.”

[esmesevigne-blog]

“Un peu est meilleur qu'aucun, à mon avis,” she says decisively, believing this whole-heartedly. “Ah, Jean-Jacques. Le nom vous convient.” She gives the tiniest smile at his inquiry. “La sorcière de Belleville, Esmé. Je n'ai pas trouvé le titre moi-même, bien sûr.”

[esmesevigne-blog]

“I guess no worldview comes without some negatives,” Esmé mused, pleased to see a smile, even if fleeting, from the other. “Oui. Very creative, I must admit. I think it has a nice ring to it.” Esmé bowed her head slightly before introducing herself. “Esmé. And what shall I call you?”

[esmesevigne-blog]

“You think I sound crazy,” she notes, not oblivious to the facade people put on when they don’t understand her musings. “That’s all right. Maybe I am. But I wish others could often view things as I do.”

[esmesevigne-blog]

Esmé knew the blonde was perplexed-- it was not an uncommon feeling in those Esmé interacted with, she knew. “How would you describe it, then, mon cher?”

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Esmé was somewhat relieved it hadn’t been the French, after all. Her English was impeccable, of course, but she much preferred speaking in her native tongue. “Then you’re missing out, my dear. What do you speak, if not that?”

[esmesevigne-blog]

Esmé is pleased by his response, and it is perhaps evident in the way her soft blue-green hues light up. “Vous avez raison, bien que certains soient peut-être plus étrangers que la plupart.” She pauses to gaze at the soft orange glow of the end of his cigarette. “Êtes-vous comme ça?”