Mon Amour (PK)

[Pompilidae 237]

Mon Amour:

 

    When caring for a rose garden, one must be weary of the most common pitfalls. Overwatering can soil the most beautiful of gardens, rotting the roots and wilting the leaves. Too little water can crumble the soil and leave it barren. Of course, too much sun will almost certainly scorch the leaves and fragile petals. Oh how fragile roses are…

    At exactly half past eight o’clock in the morning, Claude cracked two eggs and whisked the whites into a ceramic bowl of flour. She tucked the stray hairs from her face, leaving little crumbs of flour to dot her nose and cheeks. She, of course, did not mind. A weak wrist was nothing to complain about, so what if it took a pinch longer to whisk those whites into a batter? 

    Twelve noon and it was time for a daily walk. Perhaps venturing out into town was just what she needed- being cooped up is enough to drive anyone out of their mind. Out she went, for that fated stroll. There was nothing unusual about her walks- the crows opted to cry out as they always did. Scratchy and low pitched garbles of sound juxtaposed the melodic songs of wrens and finches alike. The bakery and tavern wafted their delightful aromas out into the streets. 

In the midst of the crowd, a familiar figure drew close. A white coat and dark hair heralded the man she loved. 

"Mon amour...I was thinking we could visit the Gardens.”

“I am busy.”

 

Busy.

 

It was true. A mayor, an aldermen, an architect. Busy titles for a busy man with a busy life and busy colleagues. Surely such a busy man had no time for his family. Unless, it was a recent business. Oui...for such a busy man with a busy life, he had ample time for his children: Hera, Eri, Ena, and Leander. Never once did he forgo those fatherly tasks in infancy. As they grew older, they grew apart. He became a man shrouded in paperwork and dim candlelight to keep him company. Those hallowed winter nights were all the more cold for his absence. 

 

   Claude had begun to ponder, as housewives did. How his work days grew later, the setting of the sun an all too familiar reminder that the stars would be long in their celebration of night before he was to arrive home. The chest tightened, and the eyes threatened to spill their secrets. Forlorn for a love she may have lost, Claude swelled with a mother’s courage. 
 

“What is her name?”

“Do you think me adulterous?”

 

Maybe.

 

Words flew, the time did not. It stood still, as a confused child betwixt two parents screaming nonsense. She reeled her hand back and followed through with a fury to her eyes. Her grievances sent out for a physical delivery were intercepted, a harsh grip and venomous words. 

-‘Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.’

 

To my beloved. You know our time has come to a close. It’s a Fairytale.

Perhaps I was just a character in your fable.

 

Maybe.

 

That lovely ring she wore for nearly thirty years, slipped from her finger. It spun and vibrated, clinging across the marble tiling of the foyer. Then, a stillness. In that solem silence, Claude had joined the stillness. There, she lay. A heart so fragile could never be mended. 

“Claude?’

 

Silence.

 

A clearing of throat and he spoke:

“Right...well I am off to work.”

 

In the days that followed her departure, as she melded with the Earth- where she rightfully belonged- her soul was weary. Tormented. For no matter how irresistible the urge to toss and turn, she remained curled. What a waste.

 

'It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.'

 

In memorium of Claude de Rosius Frand, Aged 43 at time of death.

 

Spoiler

The following are a collection of the only surviving letters penned by Claude de Rosius Frand. The writings within are for her immediate family, written during her last clinic stay.
 

To Hera de Rosius:

 

  My beloved, adored Hera. The day I met you, I met perfection. You were beautiful and happy and oh so loved. I have had the absolute delight of watching you grow into a strong young woman. You were never a fussy baby, and sometimes I resent the troubles you never put me through. I am certain in adulthood you will more than make up for it

 

As I am sure you are aware, my health has always ailed me. It has never been and never will be your fault, or anyone else’s. My long stays in clinic have been hard. I miss you all so much, and writing to you is what keeps me sane. When I come home, I promise we will read up on astrology together. I’ll purchase some new books for you. 

  You are capable of great things, I’ve seen it. I cannot wait to see what you will do.

Beaucoup d'amour, 

Maman

 

To Eri de Rosius and Ena:

 

  My dearest girls. I hope you and your sister are not causing father too much trouble. Though, who am I kidding. You are a joy and your antics bring a smile to my darkest days. Taking you two in has been one of the greater decisions in my life- along with your eldest sister. Your energy parallels my own, and I may never be able to catch up. That is alright. For it is my life’s goal to run alongside you. 

 

I remember you hated fruit cake, so I have added to father’s letter not to bake it for you whilst I am gone. Hopefully he will comply. I miss you so much and I cannot wait to hear about the adventures you’ve gone on.

Beaucoup d'amour, 

Maman

 

To Leander de Rosius:

 

  My sweet, sweet boy Leander. I often think how I thought my family was complete with your sisters. How foolish I was. You are so kind and tender hearted. I hope I can always be there to assure you that you are never too sensitive. The world needs more minds like you, more kindness and joy. You have the rosiest little cheeks and look most like your maman- you’re welcome! I am so proud of the young man you are, and will be. I have no idea what you may grow to accomplish, only time shall tell. Let all things you do be with love. 

Amour,
  Maman

 

@Vi @WillowBeatle @Spleen @Matheaww @Viraj Dobrial


 

 

[EmiliainWonderland 2309]

"Aunt Claude, the only one I truthfully admired in our wretched family. You will be missed. GOD bless." Murmured the de Falstaff, Agnes. Her eyes filling quickly with tears. "My only hope is you were happy when you passed, as you were the happiest woman I had ever known." She signed the Lorraine, sobbing more.

[Songwitch 1832]

Once replenished with joy and endearing semblances, that isolated Chateau commenced to mourn. Weeping, especifically, protruded from the faint structure. Hera Claude bawled for her mother's death, for stains had proven their presence most fruitful about the de Rosius' visage. "Woe to us, and peace to you, Mother." That youthful dame murmured, to no one especifically. 

[Franczhiz 4437]

Philip Hughes de Rosius took off his hat as he signed the Lorraine, dipping his head afterwards. "Repose en paix Auntie, la famille will do tu proud." With that he moved into the dining room to continue writing letters.

[Mattiii 1663]

Otis returns from a long day of counting taxes, hammering eviction notices, drawing blueprints, fully expecting to greet Claude and their children at the door. He assumed she had only fainted after their fight from earlier and would wake up eventually. Upon seeing her lifeless body lay in the center of the foyer, he dropped his suitcase and he soon followed, both falling to the ground with a loud "THUD". Beginning to shed the tears he was so desperate to hide, he still denied that his wife of almost thirty years had passed away, thanks to him.