Caitlyn, s’il vous plait!” Madame said, whacking the blackboard with her stick, its end pointing to the irregular verb devoir, “to have to.” She
wanted Caitlyn to conjugate it.
Caitlyn felt the class’s attention turn to her, and a clammy sweat broke out in her armpits. Her brain stopped in its tracks, unable to move under
the pressure. A vague sense of having known how to speak French in her dreams tickled at her brain, but the skill was as lost to her in the waking
world as was Raphael.
“Devoir,” Caitlyn croaked. “Er. Je dev? Tu dev?”
Madame gaped at her, horrified.
Caitlyn shook her head; she knew those words were wrong. “Er … I mean, uh …” And then out of nowhere came, “Egli deve, lei dovrebbe …”
These words felt right. He must, she must …
Several girls burst into laughter.
“What?” Caitlyn demanded.
“You’re speaking Italian!” one girl shrieked, and collapsed into hysterical giggles.
Hi,” Caitlyn said.
“Hello.”
“I’m Caitlyn.”
Mathilde grinned. “The Wild West girl who rode bareback! Yes, I know. The whole school knows! Can you shoot a gun, too?”
Caitlyn’s cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Urg,” she gurgled, “no.
Some people say that love itself is the most powerful magic,” Caitlyn said.
“But would true love make a man go against every principle that had guided his life, and make him break vows he had made to God?” Raphael
shook his head. “Simon brought Eshael here, to the château, but she would not give up her goddess and so he could not marry her. The local men
were frightened of Eshael and her strange ways. There were stories of firelight in the caves that pierce the cliffs beneath the château, and the
dancing shadows of local women that Eshael had converted to worship of her goddess.
“Simon’s love for Eshael began to fade; he started to see evil in all she did and all she was. The final straw came after Eshael bore him their first
child, a daughter. When Simon discovered Eshael consecrating their child to her goddess, the last vestiges of his love turned to hatred. In his rage,
he killed her.
Don’t ever scare me like that again, swinging on the rope.”
“I won’t. I’ll find a new way,” she teased.
It’s a good thing you didn’t get out of the workshop much. The girls of Rome would have been in
trouble!”
He grinned and waggled his brows. “Do you think so?”
She pushed his shoulder. “Naughty boy.”
“I could be much naughtier.”
Caitlyn sucked in a breath, alarmed and thrilled by the dangerous look in his eyes. She clasped her hands primly in front of her
No! It can’t be!” She screamed, “Raphael! I need you! Raphael … !”
But there was no one to answer, and there never would be. She would haunt these halls forever, seeking him.
For she was the Woman in Black.
Foolishly romantic, yeah, sure, maybe: but she'd rather have dreams of Prince Charming than the reality of Mr. Wrong.
Lisa CachTags: romance
We don't put much stock in genealogy where I'm from [...] It's assumed that you're kind of a loser if you have to sink to boasting about your family in order to impress people.
Lisa CachDeath is the force that will create your new life. It is a mechanism of transformation. Welcome it.
Lisa CachTags: death
Because some information is better than no information. Life does not give you big, simple answers, Caitlyn. It demands patience, focus, and an open, intelligent mind to gather the pieces of a puzzle and fit them together into a coherent whole. Nothing worth knowing is ever easily learned.
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