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Jeanne Valois didn’t mean to wander this far into the Red-Light District. Nicholas had been acting more boorishly that usual, and she had just run out of absinthe; her feet naturally carried her out and away. At least her husband knew better than to try and follow her.
The worst part of her trip, besides the smell of putrid feces, and stray dogs nipping at her ankles for scraps, were the men asking for her. Did she even look like a prostitute? If anyone dared to answer, she’d have killed them.
“Oi! That’s a good one!” a slobbering butcher still in his stained apron yelled after her. She didn’t stop for a second.
She could feel him, and his fat friend reach her periphery. Once they got arms-reach, Jeanne turned, and flashed the poignar hidden under a fold of her velvet dress. They immediately stumbled back.
“Dare take a step closer and you’ll be gutted just like your pigs.” Jeanne had never actually used the weapon, not even in practice, yet she felt insulted enough that she was sure she could cut them both up, even if they were twice her size.
Their eyes shone with fear, and not the interested kind Nicholas throws her way when she gets drunk enough. “I’m sorry Mademoiselle…” The men left as fast as their legs could take them. Jeanne wasn’t going to wait to see if they would return.
Ducking into a smaller alley, and up some stairs, she pressed herself against a grime slick wall, catching her breath in tune with the bedframe knocks that came from some room.
It wasn’t the one she was pressed against though. It was dead silent. Turning over her right shoulder, and placing her ear carefully against the worn door; still, nothing was heard. Jeanne stepped through.
In the middle of the room, on a wooden stool – wobbling over its shorter-than-the-rest leg – sat a girl. It was dark, the room backlight by the moon struggling to shine through the dingy, but intact windowpane.
“Welcome.”
By now Jeanne’s eyes had adjusted. The girl was a dirty blonde, darker than Rosalie’s, but straight and long. It probably wasn’t very clean.
Her build was slim, similar to her own, but much more fragile-looking. Jeanne still stood where she first was.
“Only 10 sous for the night.”
Jeanne had noticed the girl hadn’t moved her head since she had entered. Even still treating her like a potential customer. Her eyes were big, but barely blinking. Jeanne took one more step in.
“Payment must be made upfront.”
As she neared the sitting figure, Jeanne wondered how a blind girl could have possibly survived this long as prostitute. What could have stopped someone from robbing, or hurting her?
She took another look around the room. There were no tapestries to hide spying holes, or rugs to cover a watching pimp. The bed was high enough to expose the bare floor. She hadn’t sensed anyone outside either. Maybe she bites.
“Monsieur, payment must be made upfront.” She’s stretched this out long enough.
“Forgive me, but I don’t have anything to offer. I’ve made the mistake of coming emptyhanded."
As she spoke, Jeanne took in the surprise on the girl’s face. She truly had no idea. The guest finally reached the host’s side.
She stood, as wobbly as the stool, steadying herself with hands outstretched, that eventually held onto Jeanne’s forearms. Her grip was strong. Jeanne made sure not to take the both of them down.
Hands crawled up until they met the skin of her shoulders. They were much colder than her own heated skin. Moving towards, and up her neck, the girl’s fingertips felt like spurs, calloused from maltreatment, yet deft enough to know their purpose. The first (left) palm to Jeanne’s cheek felt like an unexpected snowball. She wanted to turn away, but the other hand had already caught up.
“A woman…”
“You’re very beautiful.” Jeanne’s tongue slipped, expression mirroring the suddenness of her words. She was sure the girl felt it. “What is your name?” She might as well allow her curiosity to be fed.
“Nicole; Nicole D'Olivia, Mademoiselle.”
It was nothing like a meeting between two newfound friends, but Jeanne felt as though she should introduce herself as well. “A pleasure to meet you, Nicole. I am Jeanne.” It didn’t have to go any farther than this.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne,” Nicole removed her hands to curtsey as best as the space between them would allow, “How may I be of service?”
Laughter bubbled within Jeanne’s chest. Didn’t she say she had no payment for the girl?
“Be still, there’s nothing you can offer me that I can afford. Yet I must have wandered in by Fate’s hand, it’s been far too long since I’ve been blessed with the presence beauty bestows.”
At the first of her words, Jeanne returned herself into the girl’s space, raising her head with two fingers to her chin, until she whispered the last of her flattery into Nicole’s right ear. Her left hand orbited dangerously close to the other’s gaunt hip.
Nicole shook her head. “I am but a common prostitute. Milady must be mistaken.”
Her words sounded grounded in someone’s truth. They heard heavy, with repetition and submissiveness. Jeanne instinctively knew it was wholly wrong.
She took the girl’s shoulders and separated them enough to get a good look at her face. “Lies!” Jeanne quickly scanned her face. “Paris surely has awaited for an angel of your semblance since the dawn of time.” With closer inspection, Nicole looked eerily similar to the Queen. “Even the Austrian Marie Antionette would cower in comparison.”
The girl before her didn’t blush, or acknowledge her last remark. Her eyes still staring intently and nothing in particular. Jeanne felt afraid to look at them any longer. So she hugged Nicole close enough to hook her chin over her right shoulder.
“You could pass for a proper princess.” was mumbled under her breath, as her hands started to loosen the back of the girl’s dress. Nicole only reacted when the cloth fell, and exposed her small chest to the cold air of the room. She had nowhere to go, trapped in Jeanne’s embrace. The older woman’s hands deftly pressing over her waist, and eventually down to her hips.
“Hold still.” The worn dress pooled to floor with a gush of even colder air. Jeanne separated enough to move her hands around Nicole’s breasts and back. “I’m taking your measurements.”
Jeanne had already figured it wouldn’t help to look at the girl’s expression. It always looked painfully dumb. “For what?”
“A dress fit for court.”
The next time Jeanne stepped foot inside Nicole’s room, it was a week and a half later, with one of her footmen carrying a large trunk up the steep stairs.
“Leave it right here.” She pointed to room’s landing. She didn’t want anyone that wasn’t needed to take a look at her jewel.
As the servant bowed and left – she told him not to wait, and it’s not as if she could afford him to stay – Jeanne knocked on the door. For some reason it didn’t echo like that night. Maybe the warm, bright sun softened the peeling wood. Still, an answer was heard in reply.
“Come in.”
Propping the door with her bent hip, Jeanne reached down diagonally, to drag the chest over mantle and onto the wood floor. She paid attention not to run over her toes. By the time she stood to full height, and stretched her back, she must have taken too long. The girl in the room sang her usual song.
“Only 10 sous for the night.”
A smile bit at Jeanne’s cheeks. The childish thought of toying with the girl, and pretending to be someone that she’s not creeped into her mind. Then she remembered, she was already doing that.
“Nicole, It’s Jeanne.”
The usual, dumb look Nicole kept plastered on, finally showed some emotion. It seemed as though she had time enough to mull on their first encounter. She smiled wide, and crookedly.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne!”
She lifted from the still hobbled stool and took two strides towards the door. Only stopping when caught in Jeanne’s embrace. Nicole’s top half leaned forward enough to have her grabbing at the older woman’s shoulders. Jeanne reflexively tilted with her, giving sufficient space to hold her left arm around Nicole’s waist, and wrap her right one up to her neck. She kept the momentum her actions caused by slightly swaying them both left and right. Nicole giggled at the ticklish sensation of Jeanne’s lips over her left cheek, jaw, and ear.
“It’s been less than a fortnight, yet my angel hasn’t the faintest idea of how much I yearned to see you again.”
Jeanne’s words held nothing but the truth. Their fate encounter scarred the woman more than anything else she had ever experienced. Her sudden, feverish obsession over a malnourished prostitute burned her chest and made her hands quiver in longing. Her head couldn’t let go of its immediate recognition of Marie Antionette in Nicole. The combination of both mind and matter was enough to duly invest a small fortune into the offerings she brought for the muse in front of her.
“I’m very glad to see you again.” Even if her eyes where as useless as a porcelain doll’s, her voice was heavy with innocent sincerity.
“Come, sit. I have a gift for you.” Jeanne spoke as she led her to the table slated against the far-right corner. She pulled out the chair – that didn’t wobble – and pressed against Nicole’s shoulders until she met the resistance of the seat. “Just a moment.” Jeanne hurried back to the trunk, squatted down, and pulled a key from her dress pocket. Removing the lock and opening the lid, she made certain it didn’t dangerously clank against the back of the container. For some strange reason, it was important that Nicole felt safe in her presence.
“Put out your hands.”
Jeanne was still strides away from the sitting figure, yet she didn’t want to waste any time in her plans. By the time she reached her, Nicole was placidly waiting for further instruction.
The dress Jeanne held was crafted from the same silk and lace Marie Antionette wore. Nicholas and she scoured all the shops in Paris to finally find the white, frilly trim. It then took a week for it to finally be made (the tailor employed was perfectly good at keeping secrets, and creating quality pieces).
As she gently folded the dress over Nicole’s extended arms, the older woman wondered if anything good would come from this plan. The more time she spent looking at the girl, the more she shone in her eyes.
Nicole was nothing like Marie Antionette, the Austrian she’s watched from the palace grounds since her husband joined the guards. The Queen was frivolous, and surface level in all her desires and actions. She didn’t dare waste a second on someone if they weren’t ready to spend livres on her. Her heavy makeup clashed against the sun’s exposing rays. She’d always have to retreat by high noon.
Nicole couldn’t even afford a single thing that made Marie Antionette queen. And that’s what made her so beautiful, thought Jeanne. Her hair was long and tangled at the ends, slicked from unwashing and kept in place by habit. Her dress ripped where it caught with shoes and other objects. Her hands scarred from blind work. Her thin chest, rising and falling to expose a steady frame. Her nose and lips nothing special, yet Jeanne yearned to touch. Even her dead and useless blue eyes danced with a certainty that could only come from a subconscious want to work. Jeanne wondered that if Nicole could see, would she even want to look at her?
She blinked and bit the inside of her cheek as Nicole let out a gasp, she was still in the process of feeling at the fabric.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne!” She pulled up the hem of the gown, as to not drag it on the floor, and stood to hand it back. “I couldn’t possibly accept this gift.” The smile on her face was placid. Jeanne tilted her head and uselessly smiled back.
“You have to take it.”
Nicole shook her head without blinking.
“The dress is uniquely yours. It fits no one else. So, if you decline, it’ll just be binned…”
The younger hurried forward, catching Jeanne’s folded arms and leaning in to where the voice came from. She blushed from the suddenness of it all.
“Oh, please say it isn’t so! How could I possibly afford this?”
“If you want to repay me, I have the simplest of jobs for you.” Jeanne reached for the girl’s cheek. “And it’ll just involve one sentence.”
The ride back to the chateau was as best as Jeanne’s 2nd worst case scenario. She didn’t have to kill Oscar, but the dress was ruined. And Nicole was wet up to her shoulders. She sent Nicholas out with the lone driver, in the pretense of his smell and to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He was perfectly content to when Jeanne alluded that he was the only one capable of it. Her husband was just the right amount of stupid.
It would take about an hour to get back, and all Jeanne could do was wrap Nicole up in her cape. She wasn’t going to undress her with the slim chance they could be stopped.
“God, you won’t stop shivering.”
They sat with Jeanne’s back to the left corner of the carriage, hips angled as to pull Nicole into her chest, and fold her into her arms. Now her own dress was ruined.
“Thank you.”
From her bundled state, Nicole was still able to touch her fingertips to Jeanne’s forearm, under the cap. She reached her head back, until the posterior of her neck hit the older woman’s right shoulder. Her lips still trembling by the time they touched the first piece of skin they could find; the space between the right corner of Jeanne’s mouth and her jaw. Jeanne took a deep breath in, as reply. She hugged Nicole even tighter.
Nicholas was sent away to another room, after carrying Nicole up the stairs to Jeanne’s chambers.
The host wasted no time in undressing her guest. She had gotten as far as removing her shift, when Nicole stopped her. A hand gripping her right forearm.
“I need to get you in the bath, your skin’s still wet.”
Nicole shook her head. “I’m too tired.”
Even blind, she closed her eyes to rest. Jeanne wanted to dip down and hear the flutter of her lashes.
“Please sleep with me, Mademoiselle Jeanne.”
The bed was queen size, big enough for a grown man and woman, and even bigger for just two women. It was filled from a combination of duck feathers and cotton. Nicole’s light frame still delicately sank in.
“Alright,” Jeanne removed herself from Nicole’s failing grasp. Her eyelids fluttering against their own weight, to stay open. “Wait for me.”
Jeanne stood, and went to the door, sliding the lock into place. As she walked back, she grabbed an extra quilt from the wardrobe.
Nicole was asleep now. Uneven rise and fall of her chest moving the mattress along. Jeanne took off her own gown. It was weaved with coldness.
As she laid herself alongside the sleeping girl, she brought the quilt over both of their bodies. The only comfortable position for her arm was around Nicole’s waist. And her right leg over both of Nicole’s thighs. And her head to rest against the pillow Nicole’s hair ran over. Her breath created a moist spot under Nicole’s right jaw. Jeanne didn’t dare touch her lips to it.
Next morning came, and Nicole was sent back to Paris.
Oscar was going to send someone to snoop around soon. At least Jeanne had the excuse of visiting Cardinal de Rohan, and accompanied her guest back.
The ride was spent commenting on the fresh countryside air, and Jeanne pressing trimmed flowers into Nicole’s eager, open hands.
She would describe the color, and pattern – if applicable – while Nicole would rub the petals delicately between her fingers, bringing up the flower to smell it.
Jeanne learned that Nicole wasn’t always blind.
“It went slowly. Starting after I got sick 3 years ago.” The girl turned her head to face the incoming sunbeams. “I’m lucky I can still remember a lot, and was able to get adjusted. Not an all-at-once thing, you know?”
They sat opposite each other. Every time the carriage hit a bump, their feet would knock together. Jeanne wanted badly to kneel down on the dirty floor and rest her head against Nicole’s knees. She very much looked like a goddess at the moment. And Jeanne herself felt like an eager disciple.
“I had a strange thought a couple of nights ago.” Nicole had turned back to face her.
“What was it?”
“Have I ever seen you before? Maybe we bumped into each other on the street.” The blonde had a listless smile on her face; eyes open and seemingly trying to reach the impossible. “I’ve been trying my hardest to remember every face I’ve ever seen, but no one seems to be as beautiful as you, Mademoiselle Jeanne.”
The honesty and forwardness of her words wretched Jeanne’s stomach, as if she were hit with the blunt side of an axe.
Tight-lipped, she hummed to keep herself from sobbing, forcefully wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“That would be destiny!” Jeanne spoke, after a long period of silence. She took the chance to hop over, and join Nicole on her bench.
“Yet maybe it’s better this way, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my angel.”
“How could you ever..” Grabbing onto Jeanne’s hands that were balled up in Nicole’s lap, the younger girl enclosed them in her own, eventually bringing them up to her chest. Jeanne could feel her steady and slow heart beat.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne, you are the most kindhearted, gracious person I’ve ever had the fortune of meeting. Regardless of what you think you are, you’re no less than a deity of blessings in my life. I’m still to understand why you’ve been so good to me.”
Jeanne rested her head against Nicole’s left shoulder. The wind coming in through both open windows had started to pick up, tossing flyways into her eyes. She squeezed them shut. Tears fell.
It was only four days since she’d seen Nicole. Jeanne had tried her hardest to stay away; busying herself with hosting an extravagant ball, guesting in two, and racketeering Cardinal de Rohan out of his fortune to pay for it all. The time away gave her the chance to wear herself out. Yet she couldn’t shake the exponential longing held for the damned prostitute.
She decided that after the day’s visit to the Cardinal, she’d stop by. The satchel she carried held a forged letter from the Queen, and the most expensive profiteroles she could obtain from the court baker. She planned on buying the ganache as her penultimate stop.
The old man was as delighted as she had ever seen him, as he read aloud his newest correspondence.
“Can you believe it Mademoiselle Jeanne? The Queen of France, nay, the Queen of my heart send me a locket of hair!” he squeaked, raising his short arms, hand gripping the mere five centimetres of golden hair she had slipped into the note. Nicholas had the bright idea of finding some, and doing so.
“The Queen’s favor towards the Cardinal continues to flourish, and splendidly so.” Jeanne took two steps forward, heels clicking on stone. It was enough to reorient the imbecile. “I’m not quite certain if I should let you know, but just at mention of your name, the Queen Antionette would furiously blush.” The man’s face was starstruck by now. “So much so, that Madame de Polignac though she had suddenly come down with a terrible fever!”
The fictitious gossip Jeanne spewed was more than enough to secure 10 more months of stay at the chateau she currently resided in. The fortune she had amassed by now was enough to escape with Nicole.
Her last thought sent a chill down her spine. The entire reason she had painstakingly built up this intricate lie was to live in the fame and power of a queen. Running away to be with her newest infatuation (it felt wrong calling it that; a lie actually. She was in love) was worthless. Yet she could easily imagine the joy of waking each day, next to her. That night and subsequent morning was a mistake. It gave Jeanne a glimpse of a life she could never have.
She still went and visited Nicole. It was just past two o’clock, and the streets weren’t yet filled with customers. Even so, she moved quickly.
The climb up the stairs to Nicole’s room wasn’t as quiet as her past three visits. She could sense a palpable difference. It was as she neared the landing that Jeanne heard it. A man.
Her stomach twisted and an angry, cold sweat built on her trembling skin. The poignar she always kept with her was unsheathed. She reached the door. Still as beaten as she had first encountered it. She could still hear the man. Pressing her ear to the door, Jeanne whispered a small prayer in thanks; she couldn’t hear Nicole.
Suddenly an impasse came over her. What good would it do to enter and kill him? Disregarding the hassle of disposing of his body, Nicole would be frightened, to death. Mademoiselle Jeanne had a reputation to uphold.
She waited 16 minutes, as the pocket watch in her left hand told her. The poignar in her right mindlessly picked at the crumbling façade of the building. Every so often her anger – of being left out, put out – would spike, causing the knife to reactively stab the mortar. Only when she heard Nicole’s voice did she stand to attention.
“Thank you for your patronage.” The man only scoffed in response.
The way Jeanne had positioned herself, when the door opened, she would be hidden behind it. It swung harsher than she imagined.
The candlelight enclosed in the room, flooded out – it was dark by now –, creating a complimentary path halfway down the nearby stairs. Emerging from within, Jeanne caught glimpse of the man.
He had to be about two times Nicole’s age, and almost three times as big. The grinding of her teeth at the atrocious image that came to mind almost exposed her. While his lumbering shadow left, a slimmer one came to take its place. Nicole.
Peering at her from the hinge crack, her placid smile was still present. As was her green dress, and unfocused gaze. The only out-of-the-ordinary detail was a reddened scratch, going from the bottom of Nicole’s left ear, to the top of her chest. Tears formed in Jeanne’s eyes.
Nicole eventually closed the door, taking the light with her. Jeanne could only stand in the same spot she was. Replaying the image of Nicole in her mind. The sound of a chamber pot being used from inside woke her. The man couldn’t be too far away.
Jeanne found him sprawled out in the second tavern, two alleys down. By the looks of it, he was already drunk, and subsequently out of money. No prostitute in the bar even spared him a glance.
Entering and avoiding all others, she slid an arm around his heaving shoulders. He looked up groggily, yet quickly recovered seeing her face.
Jeanne was very likely the second most beautiful woman in France. And she was very lucky to know the first.
She smiled down at him. He straightened up on the stool.
She grabbed his arm. He turned to face her.
She started to walk out. He followed.
She led him to an empty alley. He busied himself with the buckle of his belt.
She stabbed him in the neck. He drowned in his own blood.
The blood splatter was barely noticeable. And it didn’t get on her skin. Even still, Jeanne stopped at a nearby well; washing her face and wiping the blade. As she stood leaning over the pool of water, she suddenly remembered the satchel she carried.
Guilt wasn’t an emotion Jeanne felt very often, if at all, yet the thought of innocently visiting her dear Nicole now, after that, weighed heavy on the middle of her chest. She couldn’t take a good breath in.
As she walked back towards the safer part of town, she took the carefully wrapped box, and threw it over to a sleeping group of beggar children. Their faint cries of a guardian angel as she walked away made Jeanne want to vomit.
A month had passed, and Jeanne had finally been able to convince Cardinal de Rohan of Marie Antionette’s desperate want for the diamond necklace. Nicholas had left for England a day ago.
The steadfast loneliness that always surrounded her seemed to have recently evolved into something new. Jeanne felt threatened.
Oscar François de Jarjayes was a pestilence. And her recent apprenticeship of Rosalie compounded on her misery. There was no right way of getting rid of them. Jeanne only had the choice of getting rid of everyone else.
The forger was given enough to shut him up. He was spared; who knows when she may need another letter.
The Cardinal was much to visible to be touched, and she still waited patiently for his offerings to the Queen.
Nicholas would though. Die, that is. Jeanne just had to patiently wait for his return, purse heavy with well-retrieved gold. Now she only had Nicole to worry over.
Her visit was during the late morning. After the last encounter, she had to avoid the monster of jealousy from appearing again.
Opening the door for what felt like the last time, was impossible to do in secrecy. Its rusted hinges creaking loud enough to wake anyone sleeping in the room. Maybe it’s on purpose, Jeanne thought.
Yet there she was, sitting plainly on the same hobbled stool, as if awaiting the woman’s presence.
“Welcome.”
In the not-so-far back of her mind, Jeanne envisioned their first meeting. It would be so much better if she had kissed her then. She took the steps necessary in, and closed the door behind her.
“Only 10 sous for the night.”
If she had just paid the measly price to satisfy her momentary lust, she wouldn’t feel as if she were ripping apart her own chest with bare hands. She would have never came back.
“Payment must be made upfront.”
The unsheathed poignar flashed in the midday sun. Could Nicole feel the difference in shadows? How about in temperature? Jeanne blocked the rays that shone over the sitting girl’s feet. Her raised arm trembling in desperation.
“Monsieur, payment must be made upfront.”
The use of the nameless, faceless honorific froze Jeanne. She couldn’t.
“Nicole, it’s me, not a customer.” The knife was still in her palm as she lowered her cape’s hood, shoulder’s relaxing reflexively alongside.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne!”
The postured smile Nicole wore was gone. Surprise lilting her voice, and uncoordinated energy tumbling her steps towards the voice. Her cold hands reached for Jeanne’s cheeks, somehow heating her blood-deprived skin. She shook in terror, quickly putting away the knife.
As she wrapped her arms around Nicole’s waist, and pressed their bodies together, Jeanne dared to ask, “How is my angel?”
Happiness encapsulated the girl’s positive reply, as her thumbs idly wandered the older woman’s cheeks, and fingers twisted themselves in the short hair at the nape of her neck. She had better do it now, or the entirety of her life’s work would be put to waste, just for some stupid love.
“Nicole.”
Jeanne reached for the girl’s shoulders, pulling them apart just enough for her to see Nicole’s eyes were closed. She looked absolutely peaceful.
Licking her lips to rid themselves of hesitation, she leaned in and touched Nicole; who wasn’t the least bit surprised.
She dug as far as her tongue let her, dropping her left arm to bring Nicole flush. Jeanne pulled back as quickly as she came forward, pecking with a closed mouth Nicole’s open one.
She realized her own eyes were squeezed shut. Intuitively hiding themselves from rejection. When Nicole hugged her tight, Jeanne knew she could open them.
She couldn’t see Nicole’s expression, she was facing away, head resting against Jeanne’s left shoulder. They were close enough to a wall that Jeanne could lean them against it. They only stood like that for a minute.
Jeanne coaxed Nicole up, and away from her with a gentle rub of her back. She had to focus.
“It’s not safe around me anymore.” She gripped her shoulder with one hand while the other dug into her dress pocket. “Take this, and get out of the city for a while.” She slid her hand down until it could hold Nicole’s open. “It should be more than enough.” The weight of the gold coins was unexpected, and Nicole dipped along with it.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne, what’s happening?”
“I promise to fetch you when I can.” She ducked to catch her lips one last time.
“You’ll wait for me, won’t you angel?”
The next time Jeanne saw Nicole, it was in a Parisian courthouse. A guard led her in, yet she didn’t rely on his eyes, or his hand to reach the center of the floor. The gallery roared at the girl’s semblance to the damned queen. Jeanne scoffed. Eventually, she had to step down to meet her.
As the judge asked about the night in the garden, Nicole stopped a stride away from her. Jeanne could pay no attention to his words as the girl in front of her reached out to see her. Nicole’s hands were still as chapped as last time. Yet she looked uncomfortable for the first time ever. Beads of sweat gathered on her usually cool skin. She seemed frightened.
“There’s no mistaking it. It’s Madame Jeanne Valois!”
The woman was shocked. Not because Nicole had identified her, but because she had called her by her name. They must have told her before summoning.
Nicole was out of breath. Jeanne knew why.
They tricked her, stuffing her with lies about being a good friend and alibi for Jeanne Valois. She had no idea what she just said. It was instinct that had Jeanne raising her hand over her head, just like their last meeting. It was useless now. To mourn over the impossible, the life they could have had, made no difference in their fates. Jeanne’s selfishness had finally struck them both down.
Nicole still had her left palm on Jeanne’s corresponding cheek. Even now that her sweat rolled onto Nicole’s hands, the girl didn’t let go. She leaned into her hand. Nicole took a step forward with an inaudible gasp. Jeanne closed her eyes and gripped her hand as a last goodbye, before she could say anything.
“You’ve got me.”