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cracking marble
act one, autumn
chapter one, dreamed a dream

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(       septembre , 1831      )

         THE ATMOSPHERE was electric, yells of victory engulfed the quarter. There was nothing familiar about it, the cobbled streets and lopsided buildings meant nothing to her.

          It was early morning from what she could tell, however, a large structure of splintered planks of wood and chairs piled up high blocked most of the light from the rising sun.

        A barricade; a large red flag dancing elegantly in the breeze atop of it.

         Young men running around the quarter as people, children and wives, cheered from the windows of the neighbouring houses that looked as though the slightest wind could knock them over. The euphoria was contagious; yet whatever it was they were celebrating was unknown to her.

         Her eyes narrowed in attempt to get a good look at each man but their appearances were blurry and unclear, that was until her gaze landed on one man.

         There was nothing unclear about him; he was sure and certain.

         Flawless as a statue, golden curls framed his chiselled porcelain face, eyes as blue as the ocean and as cold as a winter frost. But somewhere within those cool orbs; she found warmth. She was captivated.

         A red jacket was hanging loosely from his tall muscular frame, he was shaking hands left, right and centre, a small smile evident on his face. He was a hero.

         His cool gaze met hers and something inside her - some sort of instinct - urged her to look away in fear of being caught staring at him. But it didn't move, not even as this hero moved his way through the crowd toward her.

         He was easily a good four inches taller than her, as he stood alarmingly close to her for a stranger. But he wasn't a stranger. She'd never felt such familiarity with another.

         His stern gaze morphed into one of pride as he looked down at her, taking her cold hands into his warm marble ones.

        "Victory at last," He said to her in no more than a breathless whisper, which caused a smile to broaden upon her face, as she looked upon her hero.

         "At last." She replied, her voice barely audible as she responded at the same volume as him, while his face moved closer towards hers, and captured her lips in a sweet kiss.

***

         MATHILDE WOKE with a start, as she shot straight up in the bed that minutes before she had been laid upon in a blissful sleep.

        Her eyebrows furrowed as she lifted a hand to her lips, ghosting her fingers delicately over them. Shaking herself out of her daze, Mathilde found her thoughts casting back to the man in the dream. He had been so vivid, so real - yet what shook her the most was the familiarity she felt towards him.

        She knew him. She must have known him. He wasn't a stranger, he was more than that. So much more.

         Mathilde felt her mind run at a million miles an hour over the emotions racing through her system; he had to be real. She was certain that there was no way she could feel so much for a figment of her imagination. Just because her mind had seen him before her eyes had didn't mean that he didn't exist, surely.

         She gradually shuffled to the edge of her bed, shivering slightly as her bare feet made contact with the hard wood floor of her bedroom. Perhaps the man was a historic hero, or a character from a novel she'd read? Maybe a sketch from one of her father's old books that resides in the library downstairs.

        Holding the hem of her nightdress delicately in her fingertips, Mathilde shook off the remains of her slumber and ushered herself to the door of her room. She grabbed a light dressing robe, to wrap around herself, from the back of the door before opening it with haste.

         There was a slight edge of cold in the air due to the summer beginning to bleed into the autumn months. Mathilde hoped that some of the housemaids had already started on lighting the fireplaces, as she wrapped the robe around herself and crossed the landing before rushing down the long carpeted staircase.

         However, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and turned around the corner her father's library, she found herself in the arms of one of her family's housemaids, Noëlie - whom she'd nearly knocked over in her haste.

        The housemaid was not much older than Mathilde and had been in the family's employment for a little under two years. Her face flushed in amusement as the blonde girl crashed into her with a bright grin on her face.

         "Good morning, Noëlie!" The blonde said, brightly, patting her arm gently before scurrying away just as quickly again.

         "Good morning Mademoiselle!" The housemaid replied down the hall, with a light chuckle as she readjusted her grip on the laundry basket in her grasp.

         "Call me Mathilde!" The girl whined, as she continued on her way towards the library with the housemaid's chuckle only becoming louder in response.

         It wasn't long before Mathilde too broke into a light chuckle at the incident. She was glad that Noëlie had laughed at her boisterous behaviour, if her mother had seen a mere glimpse of it Mathilde knew she would be hearing her scoldings for a week; not that that would have stopped her from acting so.

        However, Mathilde was far from a bourgeois lady, no matter how hard her mother longed for her to be.

          As she turned into the doorway of her father's library, Mathilde let out a light sigh of relief at the sight of the fire burning and felt the chill almost instantly step away as she stepped through the doorway. Another quiet sigh left her lips as she gazed around the room, she was often the only person in our household to ever spend time in there.

        Combeferre barely spent a minute in the house if it wasn't to eat or sleep, he was always working - well, that or meeting with his friends; but, for reasons beyond Mathilde's comprehension, he refused to allow her to accompany.

         And their little sister, Amélie, was far too concerned with trying to sneak out of the house to play with her urchin friends in the street to care for hobbies such as reading.

          Mathilde and her brother encouraged her to do this however, maybe just to spite their mother or because they secretly envied the freedom she had access to - that she wasn't yet bound to social conventions or work.

        Their mother refused to spend anytime in the library after the passing of their father and therefore it remained untouched. Everything was still in place as though he would walk through the door any moment, most prominently, his armchair still stood in its prime by the large window.

         Mathilde's hand slowly trailed its way up to her neck and clutched the small golden locket around it. Her father had given it to her when he first became ill - it was how he wanted to be remembered; close to her heart.

         She missed him greatly, especially as the days waned closer to the anniversary of his passing. Mathilde could not quite believe it had been four years without him; four years since her mother had last worn colour. As the light vanished from her world, her children played witness to their once loving - albeit sometimes testing - mother transform into a mourning, prejudiced widow; someone they hardly recognised.

         Going to the library was how Mathilde elected to keep his memory close. Although, the memory pained her greatly, she knew he was safe with God now. And they would see each other again, one day.

         Her fingertips ran over the worn spines of the mismatched books her father had collected. She marvelled the emotions running through her, how could a dream have impacted her so?

         "How strange, this feeling that I've caught from just a dream," She hummed as she withdrew a large book from the shelf, a warm mile resting on her lips. "This change, is there more to this dull life than what it seems?"

         Letting out a large sigh, Mathilde shook her head at herself, suddenly confused at my chirpy change in character; what if she was merely a fool?

          "Oh, what's the matter with you, Mathilde?" She scolded herself, trying to regain some dignity, "Hung up over a stranger's face?"

        Yet, she couldn't shake it. His face was tattooed into her memory; she would truly be a fool if she tried to forget him.

          "A face that warms my heart, a face that makes it race."

        "Mathilde," A small voice called from the hallway, silencing the blonde girl's soft melody.

         Amélie appeared within seconds, slightly out of breath, her dark hair messily tied back, a broad smile on her lips.

        "I'm going out to play." She declared with a cheeky smile on her lips, as she strode into the room with a skip in her step.

         "Well, you better hurry," Mathilde chuckled as her my nine year old sister beckoned the blonde to tie her shoe laces for her, "We don't want Mama coming down and catching you like that, do we?"

         She shook her head, with a cheeky smile. That morning, she wore old clothes of Combeferre's, they were worn - the odd gem definitely needed a good hit of needlework - but it was practical. Wearing the kind of dresses, that the small girl possessed, would attract her too much attention, that and if one got dirty their mother would be likely to have a fit.

         "Thank you, Mathilde." Amélie smiled, once her sister had finished tying her laces.

        Mathilde responded with a small smile and moved her attention to buttoning up Amélie's jacket. Winter was approaching once more and the last thing any of them needed was for one of them to fall ill.

         "Be careful, my darling." Mathilde told her, reaching to place her hand on the small girl's cheek and giving her a cautioned look.

         Amélie responded with her signature smile, before she moved to press a light kiss to her sister's cheek and offered her a reply:

        "Always am."

        With that, the small girl sprinted out of the doorway into the hallway and a few moments later, the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house, signifying her departure.

        Mathilde most definitely envied her, how she wish she had the freedom Amélie and Combeferre had. The oldest sister had no excuse to leave the house; she would read and sew and read some more. An occasional trip to the church or Bastille Day was as much as she got out and it was safe to say that she detested it with everything in her.

         "In my life, there is nothing exciting or thrilling, my life is a bore." Mathilde hummed bitterly, focusing back on my book as she carefully flipped through the pages, "In my life, just one dream, just one dream, and I feel things I've not felt before."

        Mathilde flicked through the novel with more haste than ever, walking to the window and looking out longingly as she watched Amélie cross the square. If her hero was to be anywhere, it most certainly wouldn't be in that house.

        "Could it be that this man is my destiny?" She continued to sing, a light smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Out of reach? Somewhere out in the world waiting for me?"

         Mathilde let out a deep breath, as she turned her attention back to the pages of her book, resting her head in hand. The deep curiosity coursing through her veins in an almost desperate manner as she awaited her answer that she prayed was in the book before her.

        "Is he even alive? Do I know if he's real?" She questioned, her fingers delicately caressing each page as she perused. "If he sees what I see. If he feels what I feel."

         She wondered whether he felt it too, wherever he was. If he was anywhere, that is. Maybe he could feel the electric connection between the two - maybe he'd find her.

         Another turn of a page caused the blonde girl to nearly jump out of her own skin, as her brown eyes upon the heading delicately printed upon the page; it was him described in words just as she'd envisioned him.

        Porcelain skin. The page read, Mathilde's mind eagerly taking in the words. Golden curls. Striking blue eyes. All under one name; Apollo.

        "And what are you reading?"

        At the sound of another voice, Mathilde's immediate response was to snapped the book shut in alarm. However, looking to the doorway, she almost instantly relaxed upon seeing Combeferre who wore a broad smirk after seeing how his efforts of startling his younger sister had played out.

        "Nothing in particular." Mathilde shrugged, with a light roll of her eyes, but with a simple quirk of his brow, she knew her brother did not believe her.

         Taking a few steps into the room, her brother placed his hands in his pockets as he continued to survey her with a curious look. Mathilde gave a light sigh - she supposed there was no harm in informing her brother of the truth.

        "I had a dream, last night, about a hero of sorts." She explained, as her brother gave a short nod of understanding causing her manner to relax. "And I'm trying to figure out if a book I've read in the past has been the trigger of his reappearance."

        "Oh?" Combeferre remarked, edging over to wall where a mirror hung proudly. "I'll bet he's your Prince Charming, no doubt?"

       A small chuckle left his lips, as he lifted his hands up to adjust his cravat in the mirror's reflection.

           "Perhaps." His sister responded, pursing her lips defiantly as she sat up more straight in her chair.

         "I see."

        His tone was laced with curiosity, as he turned around once more and narrowed his eyes a little at her; only for to mirror such an expression in response to him.

        "Well," Combeferre started promptly, with a content nod. "Good luck in finding him, dear sister. I'll be on my way."

         "You're going out again?" Mathilde's voice carried across the room as he slipped through the doorway out into the hallway, causing her to immediately rise from her seat.

         "Yes, Mathilde." He called back with a heavy sigh.

        Walking across the room in direction of the hallway, Mathilde wrapped her arms around herself as she braced herself for the cold that would hit her as she entered the hallway after him.

        "Where are you going?" The blonde pressed on, a small smirk resident on her lips.

         "Nowhere of your concern, sister." He snapped back in response as she quickly snatched his hat from his grasp; she knew he wouldn't leave without it.

          "There's so little you say of the place where you go," Mathilde retorted, harshly, with a quirked eyebrow, "Why do you keep to yourself? Why are you always alone?"

        No words left his lips at her words, but the frustration that once lingered in his eyes had dissipated.

         "So dark, so dark and deep, the secrets that you keep." She muttered in a quiet, defeated tone as she handed him back his hat.

         "Mathilde..." He gave his younger sister a sympathetic glance as he took the hat from her hand and placed it firmly upon his head.

         "In my life, please forgive what I say." Mathilde apologised, giving him a sad smiles "You are loving and gentle and good. But dear 'Ferre, dear Combeferre, in your eyes, I am just like the child that you lost in that wood!"

         The sympathy in his eyes remained yet she couldn't ignore the clenching of his jaw at the mention of the incident. It was a though a switch within him had flipped and any obvious display of guilt he had showed quickly transformed into annoyance.

        "No more words! No more words. It's not your place to know." He chastised her, pushing his way toward their front door as an angry expression crossed his features. "Dear Mathilde, please give into your pride, and just let me go!"

         His anger was almost contagious, as his response fuelled the frustration in his sister to retaliate; her jaw clenching and nostrils flaring as she stormed after him.

         "In my life, I'm no longer a child!" She cried out, angrily, "And I see through the lies that you say; that you tell, everyday."

          Another chill washed through the house as Combeferre opened the front door, his eyes still flashing dangerously as he turned back to scold his sister.

         "You will learn." He said impatiently, "Truth is given by God to us all, in our time and in our turn."

           And with that, he gave one last sigh and a stern stare before slamming the door behind him and walking forward into the world.

          The harsh slam of the door caused Mathilde to flinch a little, before she found herself hopelessly staring at the closed door. Her anger slipped away just as quickly as her brother had, and was replaced with defeat - a soft sigh leaving her lips as she retreated into the hallway once more.

        Resting her hand on the end of the bannister, she felt herself slowly sink onto the bottom of the staircase and hugging her knees to her chest.

         "I've got my brother's love, I shouldn't ask for more." She sang out in quiet voice, laced with a derisive chuckle. "I've got so many things I should be thankful for."

         However, she couldn't fight the urge within her that cause her glance to flick back to the front door where the smallest beams of light bled through, practically begging her to greet them.

         "Yes, I have everything- except, what's beyond that door." She hummed allowing a ghost of a smile to cross her features. "Perhaps it's better that I stay in."

         With a quick decision, Mathilde rose to her feet once more and began walking back down to the hallway toward the library again, but not without sparing a final gaze of longing back at the door.

         "But tell me... when will my life begin?"

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