She gently unfolded the drawing, running tbe pad of her thumb over the surface in interest.
(Cameras didnt come round til the civil war, but its ok. We'll just say its a rly good drawing)
(Shit sorry, I forgot that Pierre originally comes from a time after this)
To the right were a man and woman, clearly the oldest; the mother and father. The woman was petite, scrawny, clearly underfed, with light hair and threadbare clothes. The man resembled the soldier lying on the bed in front of Edonine— his father. Somehow, the artist of the picture had captured the exhausted, scared look in his eyes.
Edonine looked from the paper to Pierre, wondering now about his family. Surely as much as he wondered about hers.
John kissed her nose. "Good."
The second paper, beneath the drawing, fluttered in another brief draft, drawing her attention.
John kissed her nose. "Good."
"How long will you be gone?"
She shuffled them gently around to examine the second. Her nose crinkled with focus and curiosity, blocking out the distracting conversations just beyond the tent.
It was a letter, penned carefully, with little to no errors visible. At the top, the two opening lines seemed to carry the most weight.
Dear Papa,
"I'm not sure," André answered honestly.
Edonine frowned slowly as she read.
The first few lines were full of pain, a seemingly standard introduction— except for the last few lines.
“We all miss you, Papa. Bernard is even afraid you’ve gone to hell… I hope that you can read my letters from wherever you are. Heaven? The underworld?”
"I'm not sure," André answered honestly.
"What shall I do until then? Do you wish to speak with my father today?"
"Oh," she gasped quietly, feeling her heart break.
"I do," John replied. Took a breath. "Until then, I'll keep the image of you in my head and as my blessing for safety,"
She smiled. "And I shall do the same of you. When must you leave?"
"Oh," she gasped quietly, feeling her heart break.
The letter continued, almost an informant of everything that was going on in the family’s life.
Mama.. I fear for her health. Each day she loses more of herself and her mind. And she’s dragging Victoire down with her, into her line of work.
Edonine wiped her nose, from the cold and her hurting heart. She moved on.
She smiled. "And I shall do the same of you. When must you leave?"
"Tomorrow," he exhaled.
"We must waste no time then. Shall I take you to my father now?"
"Absolutely.." John beamed with excitement.
She pecked his lips in a whispered of a kiss and smiled. "Alright. We shall be off!"
"Yes we shall!" He exclaimed.
Time skip?)
After Louis died, we had to leave Paris on the run. That was approximately a year ago, and now Bernard is falling ill. There isn’t enough food for all of us, each time we go longer and longer without eating, and Maman is desperate. Victoire is too, which is how Maman convinced her to take up work as a…
Here there were several words crossed out.
As a prostitute..
"Oh," she repeated. "oh. Pierre.." Edonine croaked quietly, she put the papers back in their place. Who was she to forage through his personal affects?
"Yes we shall!" He exclaimed.
Time skip?)
(Sure!)
Jane opened the door of her house and burst in. "Father?!"
He was in the sitting room, reading a newspaper.
"Father! Father!" Jane cried, dragging John behind her.
Pierre mumbled something in his sleep— and it sounded awfully like a plea.
"Jane, please–" John tried to plead her to calm down.
Edonine sniffed, leaning to kiss Pierre while he slept. "You poor soul.."
Pierre shifted, but didn’t wake, just kept on calling out in his sleep. “Maman?” A stream of incoherent words followed, then… “Step back…. come back from the edge…”
"Pierre," Edonine spoke, patting his cheek, "Pierre, wake up,"
His eyes opened, slowly, dazedly, then he was pushing himself upright in bed, heart pounding.
