archiving + preview of manifold 2 novel

[pseudogeek]

It was a sunny day when Madame de Roquedur died. She was murdered by her younger cousin Emilie-Eve de Summerville, a clean stab on the heart. She died very pretty. The dearest child of hers buried her near the lake the same afternoon. Many sent flowers, but only a few attended her funeral.

“A sunny day!” one of her uncles claimed “such a nice day to die and to be buried, isn’t it! The funeral of a king! If it was a rainy day, sure you’ll have the glorious feeling of the sky crying your death, but you’ll be soaked in rain, dragged and covered in mud. Not a pleasant thing. Even in death.”

“I believe I cannot agree with you, my dear father.” His son replied, “I would not like to be buried on a sunny day. The people attending my funeral would be rather distracted by the cheerfulness of the weather. I prefer a misty day. In a heavy, but not too heavy, fog, the only thing the people can see will be the people around them and the grave.”

“But would you like to have the people think of you when you are to be put in the ground?” His sister objected, “I believe it’ll be quite noisy. I’d prefer to be buried without being minded.”

“Then you’re quite a loner.” Her brother said, “To want to be left alone as in an ivory tower… You should run for the royalty, my dear. Or become a scholar.”

“Scholar? Princess in a tower?” She laughed, the fan in her hand shook with anger. “That’s all you can think of, my brother? Oh no, you did think of something else. Another one in the family will be rid of soon, and a lady is always a better scapegoat than a gentleman, right? I will have none of the nonsense. I’ll leave as soon as this hypocritical farewell to my cousin is done and I swear you’ll never find me again!”

But the lady of Lingerston did not have the privilege to leave. One of the sticks in her fan was buried deep into her neck. She was then laid to rest near her cousin. A coffin was already prepared. A pretty white box with a frame of mother-of-pearl.

“Well, white does fit her quite well. Don’t you think?”

“I agree, the traditional black is way too gloomy. A lighter tone sure do her good. Even in death.”

“Even in death.” The daughter of Roquedur echoed, “A lady must stay pretty at all times. It’s their duty.”

“One… two… three ladies will make a set!”

They did not make a set. The third was a gentleman who was much hated by his family, men and women alike. By the time the funeral was done the sun was ready to sleep and the sky was burnt a fiery red. Like a pyre-fire. All admired the beauty of things. A small poem contest was held in the carriage and few attempts to describe the beauty. Later, the poetry became brouhahas and soon all the nobles started to laugh and scream like drunken peasants.

In six months time all of them died except for the young daughter of Roquedur. Her father died in the hands of a stranger two days after. She was twelve that year. Her name was Antoinette, but she preferred Anne.