Sonate pour un masque d’amour: Verso Dessendre and Julie
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What woman carves a window to her lover’s bare, beating heart?
And what man claims to still love her afterwards?
What remains of Julie’s chroma tries to reach out to Verso before the canvas is destroyed.
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A flash of emerald eyes caught his through the dancing crowd. The blonde woman looked at him, her hair tousled, colour riding high on her cheeks, then spun away.
Verso sighed into his glass. “She looks happy dancing on her own, though, doesn’t she?” he said quietly.
Clea shrugged, then nudged him with one elbow. “Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t like dancing with you,” she said, in a rare show of sisterly support. “Now go ask her or I will.”
Verso asks Julie for a dance at the Lumière harbour festival.
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Julie thought of their playing the piano together, how their hands had joined to summon something that had never existed until this moment; and wasn’t it the same now, their bodies vibrating in tune, their pleasure twined to create a brilliant harmony that could only be sung by the two of them?
Verso and Julie spend the night together for the first time.
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un train vers de nouveaux souvenirs by aban_asaara for Sucette
Fandoms: Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (Video Game)
22 Dec 2025
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Julie laughed, then readjusted her position so that she was lying on her belly, ankles hooked behind her. “And where is that powerful, thundering engine taking us?”
Verso was grinning wide now. Was it the wine? The late hour? Just having Julie with him in his childhood bedroom? Looking at her now, he saw the little girl she had been once: freckled and rosy-cheeked, her blonde hair burnished by long afternoons under the sun.
He sent the toy train wheeling along the curve of the track, towards the books piled up high on the floor, white pages stacked in an approximation of snowy peaks.
“To the Grandis Mountains,” he answered.
Julie and Verso enjoy a train ride to the Frozen Hearts, and make the most of it when their ski day takes an unexpected turn.
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“I swear if it was up to her, I’d be on bedrest for the next five months,” she replied, the pent-up frustration sending her hand flying through the air as she finally gave it voice. “She caught me carrying a sack of flour and I thought I’d never hear the end of it.”
He cast her an appalled look, though not for the reason she’d hoped. “A sack of flour?”
Julie rolled her eyes. “It was half-empty. And don’t you start, Verso. I’m pregnant, not terminally ill.”
Two conversations: one in the cellar, one in the glasshouse; one with Verso, one with Aline.
Or: a pregnant Julie must contend with the expectations of carrying the newest addition to the Dessendre family.
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