THE BURNING OF PROVINS, 1839

[amyselia 2962]

TO PASS A TORCH,

AND LET IT BURN

 

The Burning of Provins c. 1839

 

A storm was upon the hills, rain soon to fall upon the primed lands of the Empire, for they had been without such a storm in years. A drought plagued the northern district of Oren, the swathes of acerola cherries that once enveloped the stretch of the north pruned of their scarlet hues in turn of a grey ocean. Looming above that grey sea was its own evaporation- a smoke, a plume of smoldering black kissed by rays of the tender sun that cracked through the coming clouds like a reflection upon a broken mirror. That smoke rose to no end, reaching upwards towards the dark clouds that sat within the sky like an audience filling in to watch the theatre of an inferno. 

 

From where the smoke rose was easily spotted the bright red spectacle that was the viscomital seat of House Pruvia, the Estate amidst a blaze, roaring with a great fire. In the span of an instant, the windows of the left branch were blasted out by the force of the infernal destruction, the right blissfully untouched - calmness ready to be disrupted.

 

Entering that estate in a peace most contrary to the tempest of the moment were the Viscount and Viscountess Provins, Philip and Claude, joined in-hand via the clutch of an iron pike and flint rock, resembling death itself in the dusky trance of their married promenade. Whispers were between them, incoherent beyond air in the crackle of flame and thunder that resound at their left. Their eyes were turned upon each other barely a moment before a bone-chilling crescendo of screams echoed throughout the central complex of the estate: the infantile chorus of the daughters of Provins, with innocence to wake the saints above. The Viscount and Viscountess were spurred by stupefaction, glimpsing ere the other as if grasping for a dual answer: « Elles sont-ici? » 

 

« Elles sont-ici?! »

 

Pandemonium spread like ripples through a lake as the cries of the Provins girls reverberated over the marble walls, the family’s extensive retinue of servants being roused from their sleep even below the sever of the ground. It was a commotion to rival the thunder of mother nature’s impending encroachment, the entire manor becoming alight with activity in the span of an instant, flames rapidly spreading onto the right whilst servants scrambled up from the underground, salvaging nothing but their very lives. Their lord and lady’s shouts were drowned by the roar of the evacuation, servants fleeing like rats from a sinking ship, forging impenitence by leaving the nobles’ screams of aid suspended in the increasingly ashen air. Claude’s breaths could no longer be caught in her chest as the nightmare of their daughters raw in soot consumed her. She went like a banshee of maternity, racing towards the girls’ rooms with Philip at her trail.

 

« Maman Maman ! » screeched the petite heir of just 3 years old, Amadie Marléne, collapsing into her parents’ arms at the stair’s landing, having abscond in violent footfalls from the tortuous flame that writhed ever closer. The Viscountess seized Amadie in her embrace as if she could disappear at any moment, frisking her avariciously to ensure that she was, in fact, solid and real.

« Stasie, maman ! Stasie ! » Amadie unrelented.

The jejune cries of the second daughter- too innocent to tote from the cage of her bassinet -racketeered against the snap of erupting flames devouring wood and walls all around them.  Philip and Claude’s eyes met once, sharing a common understanding through the veil of hysterics over their pupils. Philip swept without a word towards the door that imprisoned those cries. Thus, Claude began to maneuver the heiress back down the stairs.

 

The Viscount went to grasp at the copper knob of Anastasie Thérèse’s door and was met with amaranthine burning, his tortured scream contesting the babe’s ceaseless wailing within. With a grunt his shoulder plunged at the door, the physical pain being little against the panic suffered in the mental. Thrice it did not budge, until finally he dispensed his body as a commodity for his daughter’s survival, slamming against the wood and onto the floor as they both came plummeting down. There inside the crib was the tear-streaked cherub of Pruvia, her paunch little arms outstretched towards her papa as he appeared: « Papa ! »

 

The young lord rose to his feet, suffering immeasurable pain throughout each joint and tendon. His tailored red coat was doused in a liquid of its own color now, yet heedless he apprehended his beautiful girl of flaxen hair into his arms, nostrils flaring with the acquisition of an aroma of charred rat in the walls. In turning to exit, he was met with the sight of the flame having grown to canvas the entrance of the room and awn the adjacent ceiling - the Pruvias barricaded in a room progressively colonised by spired red tendrils of orange.

 

Philip’s eyes could not travel elsewhere than towards Anastasie against his chest, those grey hues embellished with a stain of tears. Wet, lacquered like a waterfall. And suddenly, water fell the door, authoring a hiss and severance of the flame. Claude, rod and irons traded for a bucket now empty, materialized at the door. Philip’s bust rose and fell, exhaustion exhibited by a brittle sigh. Together, the viscomital pair fled from the room and ushered their precious bairn from the tragedy that was the Provins Estate. The two were echoed by the waves of fire behind that doomed the manor to infernal destruction at their very hands. 

 

Just as they committed to mount the beckoned carriage of their escape, the Viscountess whirled. The ethereal wail of a disembodied child had caressed her ear, juvenile and lighthearted, mocking her with a laugh in the face of torment. Her stare sought immediately to place itself on Anastasie and Amadie, and she was astonished to discover the both of them sitting tremorous inside the carriage, awaiting their mother’s embarking in utter silence.

 

« Claude, are you alright ?

- I thought I had heard something . » She’d answer, continuing to gawk over the blazing terracotta just a moment longer... 

« Nevermind . »

 

---

 

Cleanse that which has been tainted by the wicked; 

the heresy abolished in GOD’s light.

 

[ncarr 2806]

From within the estate the disembodied cries and wails of a young girl ring out. Like a phoenix, rising from the ashes of the Provins ancestral home was those cries of the soon-to-be youngest Pruvian of her generation. She found herself within infernal destruction for just a moment, her eyes filled with the flames that surrounded her as the babe wailed for the grasp of her mother.

[clonky 1976]

The little Heiress, Amadie of Provins wailed through the house, trekking her way through flame and heat, in hopes to find her mother. 

After being seated in the carriage, her eyes could only wander back toward the burning Provins estate, her heart flittering with the adrenaline of flight. Her face betrayed her mind, a stoic child. She rummaged in her pocket, until she slid out a piece of parchment labeled Amadie. She knew not how to read yet, but at least one day she would know what contents lay within. 

 

[veganwalmart 1059]

A certain Provins girl cries for more milk.. she is hungry!

[FlemishSupremacy 6115]

"We didnt start the fire, though we did ignite it when we tried to fight it." Hummed a peculiar Nephilim as he heard of the news!

[valecu 2128]

Amidst the chaos, Philip took glance of his birthplace which was followed by sigh as he got on the carriage. He'd continue looking at the fire as they neared Carrington, already drafting plans in his mind for the new estate.