1870, FLORENCE WILSON'S MANSION, BORDEAUX, FRANCE

No sooner than Florence Wilson's eyelids flickered opened than her pure soft incandescent sapphire eyes captured the intermittent movement of the curtains near a half open window of her room. Her legs slid up to her knees as she turned her body to get an exit from her bed. As her feet soundlessly glided over the wooden floor, cracks appeared all over it which were immediately mended a second later as if some Witch had cast a spell.

Down the streets was a bloke with a stern face and ireful fireballs for eyes. It was none other than Louis de Fontaine.

***

1870, CEREMONY PALACE, BORDEAUX, FRANCE

Outside the parameter of layered hallucination, the twentieth hour of the day was tugged with stark and dense dusk. Twenty minutes had passed but Sarah and Nathan weren't at any success. Sarah kept on calling out names of the hexagonal boxes that contained long dead flesh, however none of them were recognisable to Nathan.

Seconds turned into minutes and soon melancholy put a cloak around them, closing every crystal clear path of sheer guidance getting received by their insight. Although a vial of discontent dropped in their system, they took a sip of enchantment from the extraordinary evening.

Sarah felt it was totally absurd and unnatural to accept the fact that she was a maniac. She couldn't meet any of her feeling. This evening turned from picturesque to sinister in no time.

This time she thought she should desire of screaming herself inside out; she'd already been imagining her firsts being clenched and tears of confusion throwing rivers on the face which dripped down the face in their own steady pace onto the floor, being so invisible and miniature. Nonetheless, nothing of this sort was happening in reality making her flummoxed.

She felt exhausted, astray and a bit hopeless.

"Next column." Nathan too felt weary at this point of time.

"What are we doing?" Sarah asked as she sat down on smooth black marble floor with her legs drawn near her face, her chin dug into the space between her knees. She kept on staring at the floor without spending a second of time to blink, as if going into some momentary trance.

Nathan was too fatigued and drowsy to stay balanced on his feet as a lot of energy was harnessed from him for the time travel for he didn't want to ask for some energy from a teenager. He unhurriedly drooped down onto the floor; into darkness, and began to take off his black blazer from around his shoulders and arms. Then he quickly loosened his black tie, took off the layers of jackets and  unbuttoned his off-white shirt. Inside he was still wearing a casual plain white-coloured T-shirt which he was wearing in the twenty-first century. He detested tuxedos and brogue boots for the formality they reflected. No attempts were made on changing the trousers, although his brogue boots were really adding to incongruity. The veiny muscular arms of his were conspicuous, chiefly the slim nerves on his elbow pits. His fingers curled their way through the already curly, twisty blonde-brown hair making them more exquisite. 

His eyes closed as he said: "I honestly don't know."

***

"Why'd you visit me at such an hour?" said Florence as she tucked her blonde-copper hair behind. She was standing at the windowsill with her beautiful hair whipping all around.

Louis, with his vexed face took a turn into insatiable ire. He also had a fixed glance on a teenage girl who Florence couldn't capture since the girl was standing at the end of the alley, however she could inhale the fragrance of tears. There was taste of guilt and repent in the little salt of the tear; more was the degree of regret of being caught and disregarded as a Grandmaster of strategies in her own mind and solace. 

"It was in your conscious, the knowledge of my reckless daughter discreetly attending that pathetic ceremony. Lucky her fate was that she didn't get registered as one of those many Witches who were burnt to death there or the ones who still continue to. You little punk knew that the fire was of no specialty! You knew that that fire could harm both the Witches and Terminals while you had promised me that only and only it will hurt the Terminals."

Florence wasn't interested in the despising words of Louis as she was in the thoughts of the other girl, who, supposedly, was Ava Clair. 

Ava Clair was the daughter of Louis de Fontaine. 

Ava too was well aware of the girl-at-the-windowsill penetrating into her mind for, albeit she now had the knowledge of Florence not being a very amiable soul since there was the blood of her community on her hands, she felt an eerie connection. Florence smiled at her, however Ava didn't dare to reciprocate the action, although she did imagine of doing it, knowing that the other girl would get it when she reads her mind. She was trying tooth and nail not to think of what happened at the ceremony---how Peter was gone somewhere and how some random guy who seemed a little weird, saved her.

"No, Louis, I'm not daring to sneer at you," said Florence as she read Louis' mind. "It was your daughter, the rightful seeker and receiver of my action. Nay, I'm not showing her any category of dark interests, I'm merrily reading her mind. It's such a book I've alas never read."

"Your spiteful breed makes me barf. You're all repulsive humanoids and no one can ever trust you of all with any interest of information. I shared the word of that Witch communicating with me from the twenty-first century—Elliot Smith. Nay, I shouldn't have. I should not have." Louis de Fontaine was part of the French Government which meant he was highly intellectual but when it came to trust, he completely sucked.

She moved her eyes from Ava to her kin with utmost persistence. "My dear Louis, may I bestow upon you the reminder of the factual knowledge of me being always one not step but indeed a staircase ahead of you. I say no more than the words of gratitude I show to you for telling me of Miss Smith and the truth that I have moved my piece of chess, and lie in await of the dearest opponent to play theirs. The game has commenced."

She gave a pause, smiled an elderly smile and said, "Also, your kin's plan was marvellous. Had no fire occurred, she'd have retreated home without the slightest knowledge of yours and your better half, who I pray is literally the better half of yours in terms of agility and specifically of wit."

Ava couldn't help but release a snicker and at the sight of her father's eyes she shut up.

"What would you want to know more from Elliot?" asked Louis.

"Why antagonise your mind and soul so much, eh? It's a tale not to be told, but I dare say, your daughter's choices would lead her astray in future, so much as to our paths may cross like two acquaintances rendezvousing after a few decades. Elliot Smith told me that."

"I'll kill myself but not let my blood be called of your reach," Louise spat. "Talking like a queen leaning through a prophetic windowsill," he muttered.

Teen Ava didn't think meeting Florence in the future was that a bad of an idea. However that was the viewpoint of the sixteen-year-old Ava and most conspicuously contradicted those of the now hundred-some Ava for Florence was the very reason of her unfated death.

***

Thank you so much for reading till here. It really means a lot to me.

Question: What's the best thing you like about the Victorian Era? Is it the language and speech or the costumes and cosmetics or the dance and poem or the literature? Or ANYTHING else?

This question is subjective but subtle. I really want to know if what you'll choose and, and, and in the next chapter I'll let you guys know my answer. It'd be fun, innit?

Date for next upload (for me today is 1/06/21): 7/06/21

Have an amazing first day of June!

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Please DO NOT promote plagiarism AT ALL. It is a punishable offence. If you do, serious action may be taken against you.

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