the dreadful need in the devotee (the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice) [chapter 10]
When Marianne hears that voice, all air gets knocked out of her lungs. She freezes, completely paralyzed just one step away from the exit of the theatre. She could just walk away, pretend she imagined the voice–maybe she did after all those years–and go on with her life without the agony that comes with clinging on to hope. But she cannot resist, like she couldn’t before. So, Marianne turns around, and when she does, her eyes fill with tears.
(Or, Héloïse sees Marianne too.)
A/N: Hello everyone. So you know when writers say sometimes what they write takes over and takes them in directions they weren’t expecting? This is what happened to me for the past couple updates. And it’s just an obnoxious way for me to explain that what was once supposed to be one chapter, then became 2 and now has become 3. I just kept having to dig into the characters’ emotions and into specific moments, and since I want to give the focus they deserve to each of them, I am posting this now. I thought about it and it feels better, you will see why. I hope you enjoy this ‘shorter’ (my short) chapter. Writing it was extremely emotional to me, so I’d love to hear your thoughts on it!
As always, enjoy and let me know <3
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The cold of the marble floor seeps through the fabric of Héloïse’s chemise and settles deep inside her body. She sits there long enough that light tremors start running through her, raising the fine hairs on her limbs in chilling waves. She doesn’t move.
The sound of hooves galloping away on the cobblestones of the entrance walkway reaches her ears through the window and she knows Giovanni has left the house. Still, she doesn’t move. She feels no shame in realizing how deeply she envies her husband, how he can remove himself so easily from what hurts him, how freedom is something he takes for granted like the air he breathes. She doesn’t even know how to ride a horse.
Light grows dim after a while, she knows it won’t be long before the candles fully die out and darkness engulfs the room. She could stay there, immobile, as it happens. She could fall asleep on that cold floor, or remain still until her muscles are as rigid as the wood of the bed column she’s resting against. She feels like one of those candles, a stiff stick with mollified insides, destined to die once her fire has petered out.
But her fate isn’t to die, it’s to be smothered, to be deprived of oxygen until she is lifeless and submissive. This is what Giovanni wants for her when he claims to want her happiness, an existence in which she is no more. The fire flickers inside her at the thought.
Her joints hurt when Héloïse pulls herself up. The floor is so icy it stings the soles of her feet, sending painful shivers all up her legs. Her head spins a little, before settling into an aching throb. She lives, still.
She doesn’t want to stay in that darkening room, but there isn’t a place she can take refuge in that’s going to give her the relief she really needs. With every safe place, every source of comfort dismantled, she makes her way to the one thing in her home that makes her heart beat a bit faster.
She walks quietly down the corridor. It’s not a long journey, just a few rooms away. A pang of concern coils her stomach at the thought that hers and Giovanni’s yells might have woken him. She worries for nothing. When she opens the door and peaks inside Nicola’s bedroom, she immediately sees the little boy in his bed, sound asleep.
Héloïse slides inside the room and closes the door behind her, careful not to make any loud noise. She exhales, deeply and quietly, and lets her eyes rest on her son. Her heart swells at the sight, melting away much of that cold that had taken root within her. Nicola is sleeping on his side, close enough to the edge of the mattress to induce a mix of tenderness and motherly worry that he might fall. A little foot sticks out from underneath the crumpled sheets. His face, half-covered by a few, messy blonde locks that have fallen over, is serene, untouched by any tension or distress. He is a tiny ball that makes Héloïse feel warm and liquid, and she wishes she could keep him like that forever.
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