"Nature says to a woman: 'Be beautiful if you can, wise if you want to, but be respected. That is essential.' "--- Pierre Beaumarchais

29 Octobre 2015
Aubrey Parish, Louisiana

In the faint glow of amber lamplight, the world is a cozy retreat of silence and memory on a rainy October evening. There is an invisible spark that flies through the air as a pair of dark and hypnotic blue eyes flutter open. They are haunting in their expressiveness, the sort of beauty conveyed by a sad piano or the glint of moonlight against an expanse of ocean.

The chaos of centuries passes within seconds. Time stands motionless and unblinking, having arrived at its destination. A gentle sweep of heavy black lashes renews the recognition of the present, the melodic presence of an antique grandfather clock being hard to ignore. In the corner of the room, the sound of a fireplace crackles elegantly, welcoming newcomers to the charming old hotel.

Eleni sits upright in the old-fashioned damask chair cosily placed within the hotel. It is the kind of place time has forgotten, a relic of things that once were treasured and had since fallen into disrepair. The lights are dim, erasing the unkindness of age and replacing it with an air of mystery. In Eleni's lap is her most precious treasure, the lost pieces of a long-shattered heart. She clings to them as if one day, they might rejoin the rest and make her whole again. Most people would merely see a letter.

She lifts it carefully, and stares at the already exposed insides, treating it with the utmost of delicacy and a slight sense of shame. This paper cannot be where the world will see it, she thinks to herself, afraid to breathe in case someone else is around. Anxiety stiffens her already proper posture. Did I genuinely make a sound, or was it only within the safety of my mind?

It is not always a conscious choice, but Eleni knows she allows her mind to travel to the past. When it does, it invariably takes the entirety of everything that makes her Eleni with it. As these reveries always do, the memory takes her deep into a vision, one that holds her prisoner within her mind. The state she enters is still a trance, one deeper than any dream could ever be. It is not an unfamiliar experience for the young woman, but it is always jarring. Eleni's petite figure visibly trembles and her wide blue eyes attempt to focus on the writing beneath her. Upon her lap is a sizeable leather-bound journal, although the real treasure is the delicate parchment perched upon the much stronger book.

It is one of many pieces of thick parchment, sepia-coloured and filled with calligraphic writing that rarely smudges. Like the rest, it is crimson red on one side and sealed with the wax emblem of a black rose. The black rose is Eleni's symbol, and the seal is one she still uses proudly to this day. It is Eleni's way, clinging to small remnants of beauty and gentility long after such things have fallen out of fashion.

The journal contains thousands of such envelopes, and yet, Eleni's delicate fingers somehow know to recover the words that match her memories. Staring at her like a forbidden secret is a poignant yet detailed recollection of the last night she saw her parents alive. It is the recollection of a time of tragedy and destruction, a time so deeply marred by the loss that Eleni never takes a single moment to mourn the death of her own innocence. It is something she refuses to consider, almost accepting the cruelties of the world as little more than how girls become women and daughters become mothers.

So many had been needlessly and carelessly victimised and martyred by the time. It was not just that night, but so many nights that came before and so many that would follow. The reality of the world into which Eleni had been born was a dark and lonely one, and the remembrance of the truth behind it all always shakes Eleni to her core. Yet, with every death, there is new life.

She looks carefully at the parchment, more well-worn than many of the others. It seems as if the envelope itself has struggled through times of war and disregard. Eleni wants to read it, but she does not need to. It is a battle she always loses, the decision to keep reading once the vision sets her free. It feels necessary, although she has memorised the contents over the centuries. Seeing the words in her familiar script means something to her. The feeling of her life moving beneath her slender fingers is irresistible.

The next paragraphs are different, though no less mournful. The message is penned in a different ink, almost as if it is a mere postscript to the story scrawled too hastily and locked away. In reality, it is the most crucial part of the story, at least in Eleni's eyes.

08 septembre 1794
Versailles, France

Dearest Journal-Friend

Today was a blessed day and a cursed one. My twin children, Arnauld and Marguerite Vigneron, arrived into the world. They were not created from love nor passion, but they cried with emotion, and my heart returned those cries with love. I sobbed so that the nursemaids had to pry them from me. I could not say goodbye, yet I had little choice. Such things are no longer my choosing, not even as a sixteen-year-old matriarch of an honoured family. The Madame la Duchesse does not love nor cares for bastard children, no more than my father did his.

My not-quite beloved brother Michel, he took the children to be placed with a loving family who is neither rich nor poor. They live comfortably in the countryside. Hopefully, they shall never know of war or unrest, although I shall weep every day knowing they will never tell me their stories. I could have loved them and cared for them. I think I might have made a good Maman to them. Although I am young, I am strong, and I do know how to love. Innocent children need their Maman. I still need mine. It is my punishment and call for repentance, and I am forbidden to know them.

It is not just a punishment. It may be what saves the lives of those who carry our family's blood, if not our name. No one knows how long any of us is to survive anymore. Families like ours are slowly disappearing; it is just myself and Michel left. He wishes not to care for me. Instead, I am to be married as soon as I recover from my current malady and regain some look of health and beauty. I am to be sent to Firenze, married to a pompous God-fearing Italian Duc of fifty or so. I do not know what I expected. With any luck, he shall be dull and impotent.

It sounds rather dull but safe. It is Michel's intent I must live as a grown woman now, to fulfil the duties that come with Maman's title.  I sometimes think he made some deal for me. The monarchy of Italy is stable and not cutting off heads. Instead, they have fallen into reverence for religion. They believe the powers of the sovereignty and the powers of Catholicism combined shall keep them from our fate. Perhaps they are right. It's more likely that everyone needs delusions to get through life

What does Michel get from this arrangement, except the fortune and the home and the honour of having them seized when he marches to the guillotine? He is not stupid and I less naive than he thinks. I have never trusted him. I have believed him less since our family is gone, aside from us. He treats me as an object, and this is allowed, for the male heir always takes power and precedence. Michel is not about to let us display what we retain of our dignity, titles, and fortune and present us to the world side by side, a noble brother and sister.

He says it is my disgrace that forces his hand. I assume he is a liar. It is a convenient excuse for what he would have chosen all along. My beauty is valuable to him. Was I ugly, he'd send me to a convent like the daughters of so many other families now gone. Men are frightened to marry most young ladies with titles on account of politics, and we cannot stoop to live as peasants. It wouldn't help things anyhow. Those who proudly sport the tri-coloured flag are beginning to turn upon one another.

As for me, I am to be merely married and called Duchessa Eleonora Vivenza. I do not speak much Italian, but I am to learn. Michel tells me it is good my dark looks fit in well in that part of the world. They shall likely find me beautiful. I hope so. I hope my new husband is kind. I cannot expect love, for how do you love a stranger? But I think I am good enough to wish for kindness. Michel also lectures that I must be pious and learn to act in a virginal way.

I once studied Madame Elisabeth, but I only wish to laugh and be merry in the face of such severity. I fear it is not my nature to be neither pious nor modest. I hope I shall at least find a friend there, a lady of my age who would help me to fit in or teach me better the art of deception. Maman said I was a charming actress. She loved to see me entertain; the way eyes lit up for me. It was as if they lit up for her. Now every day is to be a performance, and my life depends on my ability to charm a rather severe, dull world I have never seen before.

Yvonne, my former governess, she tells me it could be worse. I could have a need to journey to Rome, which is merely a nunnery that allows women to marry and have children. They think it our purpose. I have many other uses in my life, and the sooner Italy knows this, the better. My new husband's name is Romano, which is a kind and dignified name. Fifty is so old as almost to be dead. I am counting on the fact he shall want little to do with me and give me my freedom as long as I am no trouble. 

It should be easier to be no trouble. By the time I am seventeen years, I shall be a wife and behave as Maman did. I shall do it in Italy, and charm them into smiling.

Your anxious and beloved friend,
Eleni

Eleni looks down at the now unsealed red envelope. She does not recall opening it. Eleni had intended to write about her arrival here, the people, the hotel, the strange characters she had met. Instead, her hands had guided her toward a familiar red envelope without even consciously realising it. In her trance, her hands were moving, the pen meant to chronicle the day dropping onto her lap. Eleni did not just open a red envelope. She chose to open perhaps the dearest one of all.

Curiously, the journal entry written in impeccable but flowing script did not end there. At some point long before that day, Eleni had not only opened the envelope many times. She had added to it, although the when is a mystery. It is even a mystery to Eleni herself, who does not remember another chapter to the story. Eleni's visions are remembrances of the past and glimpses of the future, both equally haunting.

It is not the first time her writings contain something from the long distant past, only to be updated later. Eleni records her story as if one day, there will be someone who is reading and wants to know how everything turned out. The letters from the future are even more mysterious. Eleni keeps them a well-guarded secret, the way she always moves through life without speaking of dreams and the ability to see things. She knows the world cannot understand and she questions her own grip on reality.

As a child, she had told Eugenie of a vivid dream that terrorised her, the head of a king with a crown and powdered wig, yet missing its body. That had earned Eleni a firm slap across the face, whispered and venomous words of "treason" and "witchcraft" wrapping around her like snakes.

The small snapshots of the future would always hold an undeniable realism. It was as if a crystal ball had her trapped within a life not yet lived. Eleni does not write about this in the tone of a mystic who claims to see the future. She does not believe in nonsense such as fortune-telling and palm reading and determining what will happen based upon the moon. Eleni knows better than most that the only thing that deserves her faith is herself.  Louisiana's culture is full of those who claim knowledge beyond the present. Some are genuine, some less so.

Eleni is a diamond in a world of cubic zirconium, but she protects herself by allowing the world to make its own assumptions.

It was Eleni's recently deceased husband, Hugo, who had noticed her gift even before she chose to confide in him. Hugo had been a native of New Orleans, a conservative judge who eventually turned to politics before an untimely death. He was not the sort to give much credence to a world filled with mystics, psychics, and ordinary humans who at least gave the illusion of gifts that were without logical explanation. Still, Hugo never questioned Eleni or admonished her for her visions. He believed as firmly as she did in a power she had yet to understand or embrace fully.

Hugo was said to be a descendant of the notorious Marie Leveau, a fact he would neither confirm nor deny. He was a born politician who knew his silence on the matter would allow those who loved the woman and her legend to embrace him, while keeping the respect of those who had little patience for folklore and nonsense. Perhaps it was why he accepted Eleni's eccentricities so readily, embracing them with the same fondness with which he both hid and acknowledged his own.

"My little Oracle." He had always called her that, love and admiration in his voice. Eleni was his treasure, the one person in the world he chose to trust with his darkest secrets and fondest desires. Eleni missed him. She ached for the feeling of walking hand-in-hand through life with someone who loved her for both her strength and fragility.

Eleni knew she could have been a better wife, a more dignified and traditional type of woman. She loved her husband and made him happy. That is the part she chose to remember. A widow almost a full year, Eleni still struggled to move on as entirely as one might expect. It is the gift of the Future that reassured her. One day, she will find love within her heart again.

I am his little Oracle, she reminded herself often, with no small measure of pride. I have been chosen to carry a gift, and it is called foresight. My touch and my very being are made to call forth another gift. It is called emotion. Emotion is power and control.

Hugo had taught her much about what many believed, the witches and occultists of New Orleans. She had been afraid to approach the first time Hugo led her into the small shop, the air heavy with incense and forgotten wishes. The woman behind the counter stared into her eyes, the almost purple-gaze able to see through Eleni. "You have chosen a gifted one. You do your ancestors honour." The woman spoke to Hugo, but it was Eleni who shivered as if a curse moved down her spine. Eleni was amiable and kind as always, but she left the shop wide-eyed and spooked by the words.

Hugo had laughed. "You can't take any of that nonsense seriously, Eleni. It is fun, though, to learn about how people see us. Some even tell your fortune. It's a hobby to some in this city and a religion to others. "

He gave her a gift, and she happily tore the golden paper away. Inside, there was a thick white candle, engraved with symbols. On either side of the item, their names adorned the wax. "This was the real reason for going by there. It's said to banish evil spirits, and to bring us love and luck for all eternity."

In reality, Eleni's gift frightens her. The unknown is always something a bit dark and bone-chilling. Knowing, and yet only glimpsing a future in bits and pieces too small to change the course of Fate, that is something even worse. 

Eleni's eyes drop, something stirring at the presence of words from a future Eleni. She can almost see a duplicate of herself, the picture in her mind someone taller and stronger. The woman she sees carries herself without doubt or hesitation. She can tell that her heart is as much like Eleni as ever, and it makes her smile to know she is never going to lose that.

Is that what I am to be?  Will I become someone strong?

Her fingers run over the words almost lovingly, wishing she knew the answers. Her blue eyes show she is lost within herself as she reads the enigmatic entry. Eleni stares in wonder in much the same way she has many times before.

27 mars 2023
Calvert City, Oregon

I knew how to love once, and was punished with only cruelty until vengeance and wrath replaced love. Survival became more meaningful than any attachments to others. If I learn again, shall the punishment be the same?

If I let him see the heart I used to have, could he maybe see me as human again, and love me just a little?

It may be dangerous to wish for what is gone. I cannot bring back my humanity. But I can bring back love, compassion and hope if I want. Should doing so be my downfall? Perhaps even if so, it would be worth it. It would justify the sacrifice, to feel again and love again, even if only for a short while. Times have come full circle now. Perhaps none of us has more than a short while.

I do not wish to be remembered as a cold-hearted and unfeeling woman. Nothing would be further from the truth.

If he loves me, it is right Edward should know of Arnauld and Marguerite. Should I be taken from this realm, he might find comfort in knowing they are out there. If they were to meet, he would always protect them.

Mentioning Odelie to him should do no good. She shall want no remembrance of me, save perhaps trying to seduce the man I died loving. He might even seek her out, choose to love her without realising all how she is just like me. I wish I could think more highly, but I know my daughter. In so many ways, she is the most like me of all of them. It would be a triumph to win over her dead mother's beloved.  So, I shall never speak to him about Odelie.

I hope it is not too late for me to be something better, even if only in time to say adieu. If it is too late for Odelie, it is my fault. It is because I made her what she is by giving her to the one who made me. May she be shown mercy and forgiveness despite herself.

With worry and affection,

Your ever-beloved and honourable Eleni.

With a heavy sigh and hurried hands, she re-seals the red envelope and moves everything into her bag. Life is, after all, for the present and ruminating too much upon the past or the future a key to despair. Carrying it and herself up the stairs, she bumps into a strange-looking man coming out of his room. The hotel has people coming and going regularly. Eleni has learned to smile in greeting regardless of how she is feeling. Her head inclines slightly in greeting, the typical way Eleni has of acknowledging others, the corners of her lips pulling upward just enough to appear approachable. 

Very few would dare to argue that Eleni is a stunning woman. Standing a bit under six feet tall in the heels that are her trademark, she possesses a thin but well-curved build, disobedient onyx ringlets usually forced into a messy French braid or loose chignon, and large blue eyes that scream of intensity. Her skin is pale, but not the untouchable coolness of alabaster or porcelain. Instead, it is slightly darker, the touchable blush of joie de vivre ingrained within her very being. There is a sort of woman who fills the room with grace and at the same time, reminders of long-buried passions yearning to run freely.

Eleni is this sort of woman, and an exquisite woman who carries the facade of being still someone approachable is nothing short of dangerous.

When Eleni arrived in Aubrey Parish earlier in the week, she did not know anyone in the Parish except the blonde woman with whom she came to share an ornate but straightforward room done in hues of purple. She knew there were many bedrooms, all done in different old-fashioned but charming themes. It was as if the place hadn't breathed new life for a century, except for the constant cleaning and upkeep that told of its occupants.

The establishment unpretentiously billed itself as a hotel, but it was more akin to a boarding house. The kind people who welcomed Eleni to the small Louisiana town placed her here, at least temporarily. Three very charming rooms resided on Eleni's floor, but the hotel was overbooked. The helpful clerk, a thin girl with red hair in a pixie cut and plenty of piercings in both her ears, had been apologetic. "Alisaundra doesn't mind sharing her room, and she's very friendly. It will only be for a few weeks at most. When both your houses are completed, we'll help move you. We won't charge you for the first week's rent. My name's Kayla if you need anything."

Eleni hadn't much of a choice. Alisaundra was friendly, but the kind of friendly that made Eleni want to leave as quickly as possible. The girl was a pretty blonde, fresh-faced, nineteen, and recently off the train from some small town even more invisible than this one.

"I'm just so happy to meet so many different kinds of people," Alisaundra had enthused as a second bed was moved in for Eleni. Flopping on her own bed, the girl launched into a monologue. "Everyone calls me Ali. I came here to be a journalist. They're letting me intern at the paper! Can you believe that? They think I have enough to say to be a reporter!"

Eleni could believe that.

Stretched out on her bed, Ali said, "This is the best room, the purple room. Oh, and the coolest thing happened. The guy in the next room is kind of old and stand-offish, or at least that's what I thought. He locks himself in there and drinks way too much. Secrets, tragedy, blah blah blah. But oh-em-gee, so cute! I know he's too old for me but the tattoos are killer, and I think he likes me. Do you think I'd look good with tattoos? Or like, a little diamond in the side of my nose."

Ali paused for a minute and said, "You're beautiful, you know. Super-model thin and those boobs can't be real. You could be on TV or something. Why are you here?" Her voice seems amazed. "Not that this is a bad place or anything. In fact, it looks sooooo exciting. I can't wait until I have my very own house in the Parish! Anyway, you seem like you'd be from somewhere more exotic. Do you know famous people?"

Eleni sighed almost inaudibly. Her head was spinning from trying to keep up, and she doesn't want to answer the number of questions the girl rattled off. "I am from New Orleans. I needed to get away. There was a man.." She paused, feeling like Alisaundra now, reciting personal details to a stranger.

Eleni already sensed the headache-provoking enthusiasm as Ali's eyes lit up. She was staring at Eleni from across the small room. "You can't be that much older than me. A little but not much. You could have been like, my big sis back in the sorority. So spill! Details!"

Eleni chuckled lightly,  her reply a flippant one. "You're a good judge. I'm twenty-three." She paused, and against her better judgment, admitted quietly. "His name was Pierre. Talk about a French cliche, yes? I thought I loved him, but he loved someone else. It was someone dear to me who could not and should not return his affection. It humiliated me and in front of the whole city. I was naive. I thought he was planning to propose." Eleni's eyes narrowed, and she almost whispered her advice.  "You will learn quickly, Alisaundra. Being naive is a mistake that gets a girl nowhere fast. Always make sure you leave first."

Eleni's lovely midnight-tinged hair moved freely in kind of amusement. It was clear she disagreed. "You don't need tattoos. You'll forget all about that guy in a month or two and be sorry you did that to yourself. Diamonds are nice, though. Always accept diamonds. "

Alisaundra is still the only person Eleni knows in this town, aside from some movers and men offering her drinks in the town's one pub. If Eleni had been paying any attention, the man with whom she collided as she climbed to the landing would have looked familiar. He matches Alisaundra's description perfectly. His arms proudly sport elaborate sleeves, he carries a bottle of Jack Daniels, and his rugged, slightly unshaven features are closer to thirty-five than twenty-five.

Their eyes lock for a minute, and Eleni inclines her head very slightly in an apology. "My apologies, I am not usually so clumsy. I think I live in the room next---"

Almost at the same time, the man laughs curtly and says. "Woah! I'd report you for being a traffic violation, but I think I know you--"

The dark-featured pair laughs in a compatible, light-hearted way at one another. "Yeah. I definitely know you, and it's going to kill me figuring out where. The great mystery is NOT that I know you because you stay in this hotel." He takes a swig from the bottle and offers it to Eleni in a kind of greeting. "Large mansions have dark secrets." His head tilts to study her curiously. "Ever say that to anyone before?"

Eleni takes the bottle, wiping off the top, and moving to the common area with a piano and a small bar. Undoubtedly, the bottle had been hijacked from the unsupervised bar. She pours herself a glass and turns to him as she returns the container. "Thank you. A nightcap is sometimes the perfect ending to a long day." Eleni has already been here long enough to notice loneliness, and it isn't the only thing that would help her sleep better. However, those adventures would have to wait and would not involve this man. "I am called Eleni," she says, extending her hand in a peculiar, old-fashioned gesture where she only offers the well-manicured fingertips. In a different day and age, a gentleman would have responded by lifting Eleni's fingers to his lips while a lady would have returned the gesture with respect. In today's world, though, such things were beyond out of fashion.

The man grins and pointedly ignores the offer of Eleni's hand. "Eleni. Yes, I know. The Black Widow, in the flesh." He shakes his head and says, "It's a shame I find you way more memorable than you did me but playing hostess is hard. I was at one of your parties once. Well, more than once. They're legendary. Climbing up to your balcony, though, that was exhausting. I digress, however." He pauses to down some Jack, eyes moving over Eleni slowly and deliberately. He is better at savouring women than alcohol.

"So, tell me this, Eleni. What's a guy have to do to see The Black Widow with less black clothing and more flesh?" He steps closer to her, two fingers idly moving to push the thin strap of her black cocktail dress from her shoulder. Eleni can't tell if the grin is a challenge or an invitation. "Do you remember me yet?"

Without warning, the bathroom bursts open and Alisaundra's perky voice echoes before the short blonde appears, hair pinned to her head and a towel barely wrapped around her. Her body fits her personality, that stage of life where baby fat and dimples are still cute, and it doesn't occur to a person to be shy about running around half-naked. "Scott, I'm going to sleep in your room tonight, 'kay?" Her voice echoes and feet patter to the room that is always locked. Ali freezes for a moment when she sees Eleni and the lack of distance between the two. She says with a false casualty, "Oh, hey Eleni. The room's all yours for the night." before disappearing out of sight.

Eleni laughs merrily, taking a step back, and moving the strap of her dress firmly upward. "I suppose he must do something that interests me, and possess far more sophisticated taste. My parties were never for the young ones."

Winking at Scott, her crimson lips turn up into a teasing glance. "You kids have fun. I, fortunately, have earbuds. The only sounds that put me to sleep are the gentle breezes and waves of the ocean"  Eleni's black heels click elegantly across the hardwood floor, into the purple room. "Good night, Scott." Eleni's voice is a soft murmur before she closes the door. She can feel his eyes observing her as she disappears. The knowledge pleases her.

"I do know you, Eleni..." Scott's reply is cut off by the abrupt click of the door and the turn of the lock leading to the purple room. Taking a few more swigs, he shakes his head in amusement and disbelief before walking into his own.