Chapter Text
Alicia remembers her 10th birthday.
Not the one she spent in Paris with her family as Alicia Dessendre. No. Though she does remember that one as well, even if the details are a bit fuzzy now.
No. The one she remembers with perfect clarity is the one she spent in Lumiere. As Maelle.
It had been her first birthday after Gustave and Emma took her in and the funny thing was, they didn't even know it was her birthday that day. Or so she thought.
Because when she got home from wandering around the city, there was a simple but elegant feast prepared in the dining room and Gustave and Emma greeting her with wide, happy smiles and gifts. Maelle, meanwhile, could only stand in surprise, wondering how they knew.
“A little birdie told us it’s your birthday today.” Gustave had told her, a boyishly charming smile adorning his 27-year-old face. And at that moment, she felt…happy. In a way she hadn’t felt in a long time after being bounced from one foster home to another since she was 3.
She felt loved by them. She felt accepted. Like she belonged.
God, did she miss Emma and Gustave so much.
And it wasn’t just them who she missed: there was Lune and how focused she was in her pursuit of knowledge. Gustave’s apprentices and their eagerness to learn. Sophie and her kindness. Esquie and his easy going nature. Sciel and the way she loved and took care of her the same way a mother would. Even Monoco and his deadpan jokes and his weird odd obsession with Nevron feet.
She missed them. She missed them all so much it hurt. It hurt to wake up in Paris everyday, knowing she survived while they missed out on the happy ending they’ve fought so hard to attain.
It was like when she first woke up in the hospital after Verso died all over again.
It wasn’t fair.
It’s not fair.
Nothing about this was fair. And she hated it.
“Alicia! Come out of your room now. It’s time for dinner!”
Her head perked up as soon as she heard Clea’s harsh voice calling her name. Reluctantly, she stood, wiping the few tears that escaped her remaining eye before walking to the door. There was no getting out of this one: if she didn’t respond to Clea’s summons, she’d march to her room and drag her out herself if she had to.
Sluggishly, she walked to the dining room, slate and chalk in hand in case she needed them to communicate. Five years after the fire, there have been some improvements to her injuries: her scars are still obvious but at the same time, they’re healing. Apart from that, her throat is also healed enough to accept normal food again. So long as she’s careful in eating of course.
But the biggest improvement was her voice. Whereas just two years ago, she could hardly utter a word, now she’s able to speak coherent sentences again, even just a little bit. It still hurts to talk. Immensely so if she forces herself to keep going. And her voice has taken on a hoarse and raspy tone but Clea and Papa have great pains to ensure that she gets the help she needs. They hired a doctor to come over twice a week to help her regain the ability to talk little by little. Some new discipline they call “speech therapy” , apparently.
Still, she can’t talk much. And so the writing board was a necessary tool for her to get her words across.
“We can only understand so much through gasps and gestures alone, sweet sister.” Clea had said in that constantly exasperated tone of hers.
Finally, Alicia made it to the dining hall. Renoir was already seated at the head of the table while Aline was seated to his right. Clea, on the other hand, was looking out the window and into the gardens below, almost as if the flowers planted there held the answers she seeks.
“Ah, dear sister. Nice of you to join the world of the living.” She said with a condescending tone that made Alicia want to clam back up and return to her room. Instead, however, she stood her ground. Or at least as much ground as she can stand while walking towards her chair next to Clea’s.
They both sat down and the family began their meal. In silence. As always. Ever since Verso was taken from them. It was suffocating, even more so for Alicia, who could feel her mother’s piercing gaze at her every time. Back then, it used to be so much worse. Her gaze always showed her thinly veiled resentment. Her wish that it was her who had died in the fire instead of Verso. Now, though…
Now, it was mostly indifference. And honestly, Alicia couldn’t decide which one was worse.
The family continued to eat, still enveloped by the suffocating silence. Until of course, someone dared to break it.
“Alicia…” Aline said with a cold tone. The girl in question looked up in surprise. Her mother hadn’t addressed her all too much since the fire. Hell, she could hardly stand to look at her until recently. So her acknowledgement of her youngest daughter confused Alicia all the more.
“I saw the drawings, you know. In your room. Of…those people.” Aline stated. At her words, Alicia couldn’t help but drop her spoon and lean back in her chair, waiting for her mother to start berating her.
The drawings she spoke of were sketches of the people she loved from the canvas. Gustave. Esquie. Monoco. Sciel. Lune. Everyone she could recall from memory, she drew. An attempt to remember. To prevent herself from forgetting. To prove, if not to anyone else then to herself, that they existed at one point in time. That they were real and they loved and cared for her just as much as she loved and cared for them.
She could already see the disappointment in Papa and Clea’s faces, unable to fathom how she could still cling to the Lumierians even after all these years. Mama, meanwhile, she could only wonder what Mama would say.
“You’ve improved. Significantly. Well done.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. But it definitely wasn’t that. Of course, however, her mother merely left it at that and began to eat once more. And Alicia thought that would be the end of it until…
“How can you still cling to them? After all these years?” Renoir asked. It was gentle, of course. Papa was always gentle even when showing his disappointment. But disappointed nonetheless. And he would never understand exactly why Alicia still held to them like they were the most precious treasures the world could offer.
So instead of dignifying his question with a response, she picked up her slate and wrote, showing it to everyone.
“May I be excused?” It wrote. Before anyone could protest, Clea waved her away.
“Yes, go. And walk Monoco the Third and Noco while you’re at it. It’s been a while since they walked the gardens.” The eldest Dessendre daughter said. Alicia merely nodded and she finally left the dining hall, leaving the family to their own devices.
She put the leashes on the dogs, expecting nothing but a quiet walk in the gardens. The moment she walked out, however, she felt something. A sharp and sudden pull at her chest; one that left her reeling and coughing for a moment. So off-guard was she that Alicia didn’t even notice her chroma glowing in her chest. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it faded, leaving her wheezing and gasping in shock and pain.
‘What was that?’ Alicia wondered as she began coughing. Eventually, however, she caught her bearings, Monoco the Third and Noco circling her in confusion and worry as they whined and licked her hands. Finally, she straightened up and shook her head in an attempt to remove the incident from her mind.
‘Just a cold.’ She thought to herself as she began to walk. ‘It was just a cold. A chill in the air.’
As she walked the dogs in the surrounding grounds for minutes, her mind kept going back to this mantra, eager to handwave the event as nothing more than an effect of the weather and not some sort of ill omen. And yet there was something about the feeling…the pull…that felt so…familiar. Like an old friend who’s come to greet her again.
Alicia rounded the corner and there stood Clea, speaking to a blonde haired man she recognized as one of the Painters. Bernard, if she remembered the name right.
‘When did he get here?’ Alicia thought to herself as she hid behind a hedge, holding Noco and Monoco the Third back by the leashes lest they pull her towards Clea and disrupt whatever it is they're discussing. After a moment, they settled down, allowing her to finally listen in.
“...keeping an eye on her for weeks now. From Le Hevre to Rouen. It's her. We're certain, Clea.” Bernard told her sister.
“ Putain . Why? Why now?” Clea said, anger barely hidden in her words. “She must either be very brave or very stupid to come back here.”
“We're trying to find out now. But, Clea, it's clear that Paris is her destination. She may even already be here. Why, though? We can't say. Yet. But we have a hunch.”
‘Who are they talking about?’ Alicia wondered as she continued to listen.
“Yes. Do find out. And find out fast. I want to know if she's a threat.” Clea informed him as she paced around the gardens, hands behind her back.
“As you command, Mademoiselle Dessendre.”
“Watch her every move. Where she goes. Who she meets. Who she speaks to. What she does day in and day out. I must know all of it. But most importantly, Bernard, I need the ‘why’ .” Clea said with a commanding bite to her tone, before finally turning and meeting her companion's gaze. What she said next, however, brought a chill to Alicia’s spine. The likes of which she’d never felt before.
“I need to know just why Amelia de Rochefort is back in Paris.”
Paris. The City of Light.
For many, Paris isn’t just a mere city with plenty of history. For many, it’s the place to be. The place to have fun. The place to find love. The place to go on adventures and enjoy the follies of one’s youth while they still can. The place to achieve one’s greatest ambitions and dreams. Paris is all of these things and more for many.
But for a simple writer named Olivia Gautier, Paris is home.
It’s been five years since she was last here and finally, after five years away, after five years of being forced to gallivant around America against her will, she hopped off the train she boarded from Rouen and finally arrived back in her city.
Her city that holds so many memories, both fond and painful.
Olivia looked around a little bit to gain her bearings, the cold night wind sweeping her strawberry blonde hair to and fro despite it being already tied back. After a moment, she finally began to walk, exiting the station with one destination in mind. Thankfully, it didn’t take her long to find it.
“Cafe Etoile. Not the most creative name but props for trying.” Olivia muttered to herself as she crossed the street, entering the cafe with a single suitcase in hand. All her belongings have been sent to her new home in Paris ahead of time and so this suitcase was all she had right now.
The cafe was bustling with energy and activity. People spoke to one another, ate delicious pastries and entrees, drank tasty coffee and refreshing tea, and some even brought their work with them to the cafe. But Olivia was only here for a few people, one of them being the cafe’s owner. Striking amber eyes scanned the surroundings and thankfully, it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for.
Because there, standing by the cafe’s bar, was her small group of friends. Two women and two men. One of them, a man with short black hair and wearing a uniform, was behind the counter, cleaning a glass before putting it away as he spoke to the three other people. The two women wore casual clothing of skirts and simple blouses while the other man wore a suit. None of them has noticed her presence just yet.
Silently and while they were pre-occupied, she made her approach, sliding next to the brown haired woman and leaning on her side with a sly smile on her face.
“Room for one more?” She playfully asked. All four of them perked up and turned their heads at the sound of her voice and Olivia couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at their surprise.
“ Putain! Olivia? Olivia Gautier?” The man in the uniform asked in shock. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to check on my investment.” Olivia cheekily responded. “Do I need a reason to come back home, Alain?”
“Of course not, ma cherie .” One of the women said as threw a napkin at Alain in scolding before she took Olivia into her embrace. “Welcome home, Olivia.“
“Thank you, Beatrice.” Olivia responded with a smile as she returned the embrace. After a moment, they separated. “And I must say being a wife suits you. I'm glad you're doing well.”
“And what about me? No well wishes or “glad you're happily married to Beatrice” for your old pal Louis?” The suited man, Louis, jokingly asked her. Olivia couldn't help but return the joviality and she smiled before wrapping her arms around him.
“Of course, mon ami .” She stated. “I'm glad the two of you are happy. I am sorry I missed the wedding.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. You'll have many more days to make up for it.” Louis said as he gently gripped her shoulder. Finally, Olivia's gaze turned to the final woman, a blonde haired lady nursing a cup of coffee.
“Renee, you look dead on your feet. How are you?” Olivia asked her with a smile. Renee gave her a tired smile, good naturedly raising her cup in response.
“Renee here is on her day off and exhausted from her nursing duties.” Alain said, grabbing their attention once more. “Now, why don't we take this to our private room and catch up fully? Away from…prying eyes and ears, s’il te plait ?”
“Ooh, fancy. A private room.” Olivia said with a smile as she picked up her suitcase and followed everyone to the second floor of the cafe.
“I heard about the flood earlier this year. I’m surprised everything is ALMOST back to normal this quickly.” Olivia said as they trudged up the stairs.
“Yes, well, it was the 15th Arrondissement that was hit hardest. We were lucky the flooding wasn’t too horrible here and even luckier I haven’t opened up yet at the time.” Alain informed her. “It did delay my plans but thankfully, we endured. Renee had it worse though.”
“Don’t remind me.” The blonde said, exhaustion clear in her blue eyes. “We were scrambling to get our patients out for days. It was terrifying, really.”
They finally entered a room on the second floor, one that had a balcony overlooking the streets of Paris. It was a small room and yet it was tastefully decorated with the same circular table, chairs, and linens as the cafe’s dining areas. They all settled in their chairs, Olivia sat in between Louis and Alain while Beatrice sat next to her husband and Renee next to Alain, directly facing Olivia.
“So, how are things here? Aside from the natural disaster Paris just endured and all.”
“Oh come now, ask what you really wish to ask, Olivia.” Renee good naturedly said. A waiter entered the room, carrying refreshments, and left as soon as he came. Once she was sure he’s gone, Louis spoke up.
“We know you want to ask about how we’re faring against the Painters.”
At his words, Olivia merely leaned back in her chair, one hand in the pocket of her brown trousers, and chuckled.
“And is that so wrong to ask? I hear we’ve been dropping like flies for the past five years while I was in America.”
“You speak as if you care.” Beatrice said.
“YOU speak as if YOU do.” Olivia retorted with a smirk. “Come on, we’re all friends who are equally sick of this conflict. So, why not just spill?”
They all hesitate to talk. But eventually, Louis began to speak.
“It was…bizarre, Liv. When the flood happened, we expected them to take advantage of each other’s problems and start eliminating one another.”
“But they didn’t? Hell must’ve frozen over when the flood happened.” Olivia remarked with a small smile. “So, what happened instead?”
Her friends stayed silent for a moment, uncertain of how to perfectly recall the events of earlier in the year to Olivia. Eventually, Renee spoke.
“They helped. We helped.” She said, her eyes taking on a distant look. She herself experienced how Painters helped her and her fellow Writers firsthand. Painters, even the wealthier ones, had come to the hospital she worked in and started assisting patients in evacuating. “Men carried our patients out of the hospital and into safety and made dams out of sandbags while the women provided medical aid to those who were injured. Didn’t matter if they were a Writer or a Painter. They…just helped. Each other at times too.”
At her story, Olivia couldn’t help but let out a bitter scoff.
“So, they can work together, after all.”
“Yes, it only took a whole natural disaster for them to put their petty grievances aside and start helping each other. It was short lived but it was nice.”
“Of course. So, what else is there?” Olivia couldn’t help but ask.
Once again, they hesitated and with how heavy and tense the atmosphere suddenly became, Olivia knew what’s about to come next is no easy topic. Finally, Beatrice spoke up.
“It’s Clea. You know she’s been after us since…you know.”
“Ah, yes, Extrajudicial Clea.” Renee said with a chuckle as she drank her coffee. “Miracle she hasn’t come after us yet, to be honest. After all, if she wanted to get to you, all she had to do was come after one of us. Not that we’d tell her where you were, of course.”
“‘Extrajudicial?’” Olivia asked with an incredulous look on her face.
“Which brings us to our next topic.” Alain cut in harshly. “Why are you here? Your parents gave you an out from this conflict and yet here you are, five years later, waltzing back into Paris like you don't have a death sentence hanging over your head. So, why come back?”
Olivia didn't respond. Not immediately anyways. Instead, she put her coffee cup down and fished out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She pulled one out, lit it, took a puff, and tilted her head back to blow it into the air. Then, and only then, did she answer.
“Five years. Five years of running and eventually, you get sick of it. Miss the home you once wanted to leave even. So I decided to come back. Even if it means Clea will eventually come and take her due from me.”
“But-” Beatrice began only to be cut off by Olivia.
“I will make it very clear right now. Clea is more than free to come for me.” She said with a sense of finality. “But of course, she'll also have to work her damndest to spill even a single drop of my blood.”
Silence emerged in their group for a good while. Until finally, Louis spoke.
“What are you going to do while you're here though? Go back to writing?” He asked. “Your novels are still as popular as ever. Maybe even more so now that your short stories and poems have been published. Everyone’s ranting and raving about them and not always in a good way.”
“True. Everyone seems to be in denial that Amelia de Rochefort CAN write things that aren’t fantasy or romance literature.” Beatrice lightheartedly remarked, drawing out chuckles from the group. At the sound of her pen name, however, Olivia suddenly remembered one important detail she should let them know.
“Not sure about the writing bit yet but I did manage to buy a little place at the Rue Oberkampf. Nice building. I’ve had the ground floor converted into a bookstore while the second is my apartment. It’s all stocked up and ready to open in a week, actually.”
“You? A bookstore owner? Bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Alain incredulously asked her.
“Hey, it’s the perfect thing for me. Plus with Charbon Cafe nearby, I might just strike it big.”
“Also you acquired help to purchase the property from someone who isn’t me? I thought we were friends!” Louis indignantly exclaimed. Olivia, however, merely shrugged as she blew out another smoke.
“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” Was all she said to his complaint. “It’s going to be announced in the papers soon though so watch out for it.”
“Ah, yes, I can see the headlines already!” Renee said before making a gesture that made it seem as if she was reading a giant newspaper in the air. “ “Bookshop by Amelia de Rochefort to Open at the Rue Oberkampf” . Expect your fans to come in droves asking for autographs and telling them how much they love your books.”
“Or throw rocks at your shop windows because there are some des gens fous out there who really despise the direction you went with your poetry and short stories.” Louis added, earning him a slap on the back from Beatrice.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” Olivia responded before taking her cup once again.
They spoke of lighter things after that while they played cards. Renee’s work at the hospital, Louis’ work as a lawyer, Olivia’s adventures in America. It kept them occupied for hours on end until eventually, Olivia needed a breather. Standing up, she made for the balcony, enjoying the fresh night air of Paris for a moment.
“Nice night, isn’t it?” She heard Renee ask her from behind. Smiling, she nodded, allowing the woman to stand next to her on the balcony. They stayed silent but Olivia knew what Renee wanted to ask.
“Come on. Ask it. Or say it.” She said, earning her a confused look from the woman next to her. “I know you want to, so just ask.”
Renee nodded with a small smile on her face. Olivia was always the one who can feel such things, after all.
“You didn’t come back because you missed home, did you?” She asked. “You came back because you missed her.”
Olivia took a deep breath at her statement and nodded.
“I tried. I tried so hard to move on while I was in America.” She admitted. “But there were days when every thought was consumed by her. Of how happy we were when we were younger. It was a nightmare when you’re a teacher but…I just…I got as far as California and it still felt like I was being pulled back here. Because she’s here and not there.”
“It’s the chroma, isn’t it?” Renee asked her. “I’ve never seen you let it guide you before.”
“Chroma or no, I do miss her. More than anything.”
Renee nodded in understanding, knowing there was nothing she could do or say to ease her friend’s angst.
“Will you go see her?”
Olivia thought about it and eventually, she spoke up.
“Maybe from afar. I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it if she sees me and all I see is nothing but pure hatred in her eyes.” She answered. “After all, they do blame me for their misfortune. And maybe rightly so. My carelessness did bring it upon them.”
They fell silent for a moment and enjoyed the silence and the cool Parisian air from where they stood. After a few minutes, Renee spoke up once more.
“You know…I see her sometimes. And honestly, she looks…lonely.” She informed her friend. “Like there’s a great weight on her shoulders.”
Taking a deep breath, Renee turned to her friend, fully meeting her gaze.
“If you ask me, you should at least see her once. I think she misses you just as much as you miss her.”
With her piece said, she gave Olivia a pat on the back and entered the room once again, rejoining the card game that they vacated earlier. That left Olivia all on her own on the balcony.
She looked at the Paris skyline, allowing the wind to blow through her hair. As it did, Olivia closed her eyes, gripping the railing before her and let out a heartfelt whisper…
“Alicia…”
As soon as the name left her mouth, she felt her chest glow with chroma. Then just as quickly as it came, it vanished. Once more, Olivia opened her eyes and spoke.
“I’ll find you. Soon.”
Back in the Dessendre Manor, Clea was seated by her harp as she watched her father pace around the room. It’s always been like this with him in recent years. Since the fire. Since Alicia’s injuries.
The man had run himself ragged trying to keep their family together after Verso died. Now he's running himself ragged trying to ensure they remain as safe as possible. Especially Alicia.
Alicia.
Brave, sweet, strong but equally foolish Alicia.
Admittedly, Clea hadn't been the best sister to her in recent years. She had been harsh on her, sometimes unnecessarily so. On top of that, she was also hyperfocused on the conflict between the Painters and the Writers and in a way, she blamed Alicia for Verso's death (a fact she's not proud of, mind you). But at the end of the day, she was still her little sister.
Her sister, who she held in her arms as a baby, comforted through thunderstorms as a child, and silently wept for when she was burned as a young woman. When Verso died, he had traded his life for hers and Clea swore that she would not let his sacrifice be in vain.
So needless to say, Clea would do anything to keep Alicia safe. From The Writers who had hurt her and especially from Amelia de Rochefort.
Or is she finally going by Olivia Gautier in public nowadays? Another thing she needed to find out.
“Why?” Renoir asked through gritted teeth, the sound of his cane clacking on the floor abruptly stopping as he turned to Clea for answers. “After all these years, why has she suddenly returned?”
“Clea has Bernard and a few others looking into it. I'm certain they'll find out soon.” Aline gently stated, attempting to calm her husband, before turning back to the fireplace in front of them.
“Bernard has a hunch as to why she has returned.” Clea announced. “While I'm not a fan of such silly notions, I'm quite inclined to agree with it. For once.”
“A hunch!” Renoir indignantly exclaimed. “What kind of-”
Upon hearing her father cut himself off, Clea looked up from her harp and met his gaze. Despite that, however, she continued to pluck the strings of her harp, playing a gentle tune as the cogs in Renoir’s head turned.
“Alicia.” He whispered in disbelief. “You think she’s returned for Alicia.”
“Is it any surprise? With how close they were in their youth, I half-expected her to come here as soon as she arrived in France.” Clea responded as she continued to strum her harp. “But more than that, it’s possible her return will stir up the Writers. Make them think they’re invincible now that their prodigal daughter has returned. We must act in some way.”
“You have her on surveillance. That is enough for now.” Aline said with a decisive tone.
Clea couldn’t help but look at her mother in disbelief. How could she, the head of the Painters’ Council, just sit by and let their enemy amass power? The same enemies that killed her son and maimed her daughter.
“We need to act now. Prepare ourselves for a possible attack. We cannot allow them to catch us off-guard once again.” Clea argued back at her mother. To her annoyance, she was met with a hard gaze from Aline. One that demanded Clea’s full obedience and left no room for argument. Clea honestly thought she would never see such a look from Aline ever again.
Funny. After her mother hid away in Verso’s canvas, she’s spent so long thinking her mother weak that Clea sometimes forgets that her mother was and still is the head of the council. And a fearsome paintress in her own right as well. One that not even Clea, for all her talent and skill, could never hope to match up to.
“And we will prepare. We’ll tell everyone to be careful and not let their guard down. But we will not deal the first blow against them.” Aline firmly stated. “Not until we have information to justify attacking them first.”
Clea wanted to argue further. To make Aline realize that this was not a wise course of action. That they need to strike now before The Writers do. However, before she could voice her objections, her mother cut her off, already sensing what she wanted to say.
“You may join Bernard and the others in surveilling her. But unless she gives you a reason to, you will not attack Olivia Gautier in any way, shape, or form, Clea. I will make this known to the council.” Aline said, with all the authority of both mother and head of the Painters’ Council in her voice.
Clea could only sigh in defeat. Once Aline makes her decision known to the Council and everyone else, then Clea’s hands are tied. The more rigid, protocol following members of the Painters would stop her without a second thought. It was different when Aline was gone. Easier to get the Painters to see her point of view. But now that she’s steadily returning to her duties, they’re starting to remember just why Aline was made their leader in the first place.
Unfortunately, that also meant that some are now hesitant to follow Clea in her…attacks…against the Writers.
“I know how you feel, mon etoile .” Renoir said as he approached Clea. “But blindly attacking the Writers serves us no purpose. If anything, it could simply cause them to act before we’re prepared. We must be cautious and you’ve already spilled enough Writer blood to more than make up for Verso and Alicia’s tragedies.”
For a moment, Clea pondered his words and it didn’t take long for her to realize how right he was. God, she hated it when Renoir was right. Nevertheless, she nodded in agreement.
“I’ll join the rotation of those watching over Olivia Gautier soon.” She declared, earning herself a nod of agreement from Aline. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we must keep her away from Alicia. I don’t want them anywhere near each other.”
“Leave that to me. I’ll make sure the Gautier girl knows that she cannot approach Alicia ever again.” Renoir resolutely said and with that, the three elder members of the Dessendre family continued to go about their business.
xxx
Unbeknownst to them, however, Alicia had heard everything. From behind the wall she stood by, she had heard everything that was discussed between her parents and older sister and so, she learned that the very person they wanted away from her was now back in Paris.
‘So, it’s true…she’s really back, isn’t she?’ Alicia thought to herself as she continued to bitterly run the name Olivia Gautier through her mind. From there, it didn’t take long for a plan to form in her mind.
All these years she’s been tormented by the fact that only she got to live on. That the people she loved in the canvas, in Lumiere, were gone while she remained. And now she has found a solution. Someone talented enough to remake Lumiere and give everyone the happy endings they deserve.
It would be a hard sell. After all, Alicia knew Olivia and Olivia, for all her enjoyment of creating new worlds as a Writer, may be reluctant to undertake such a task. Especially if she learns about how she had almost let the Canvas consume her in an attempt to escape her life here in Paris.
But Olivia Gautier also owed her. After all, she had betrayed Alicia all those years ago and that betrayal brought her and her family nothing but grief.
Olivia Gautier owed her and Alicia would make sure that she would be the one to collect the due.