***(DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DON'T START THE SONG NOW. I'LL TELL YOU WHEN TO.)***

The girl woke up with a metallic taste in her mouth. As she opened her eyes, her sight contradicted the choice of place in her mind.

She was on a shore. 

She blinked her eyes multiple times and saw the bright sun stretching itself right above her. Her eyes squinted and tried to see a couple of men and women dressed in heavy apparels a little away from her on the porch of what looked like a huge tent-like structure. A clamour of voices danced around in the crowd: Women giggling, men uselessly bantering and infants playing, and ignoring all the teenagers they found every now and then who were too busy sharing words of love and imprudent promises they weren't going to keep.

Drenched hair and attire all clumsy, she succeeded in getting up. "The sky looks different here",  she thought. She looked down at her palms, then arms, then her blue jeans: all coated with white powdery sand. She touched her the lower ends of her wavy auburn hair, and dug her hands into the front pocket of her jeans. No hair rubber band. A groan interrupted her eye roll.

It was Nathan Wilson. Ugh.

She jogged towards him, and felt the arching pain in her knees. She reached him and bent down and panted for a while.

"Hello, Emma," he said, half panting. "Oh, no. That's not your name, is it?" He coughed a mixture of sand and water as he spoke.

"No, it's--it's Sarah," she gasped. 

 The dark brown-reddish eyes of Sarah were saturated and deep. She had a sharp jaw line but her eyes shared a soft gesture. 

"Where have you brought me?" The "you" was exceptionally accusing. "I can see some people over there. I'll go ask for help."

"Didn't you listen to anything, you know, your guardian and I talked about?"

She made a face and said, "Elliot? She's not my guardian; not really. She cloaked me from hearing anything you two talked about until my name appeared. Nothing unusual," she added in a mumble.

"Then you've missed the whole lot of the plan. Well, I wouldn't resist you from saying that we are in France."

"This isn't France," she said unwaveringly. "I have been to France. Ergo, don't try to fool me." She felt unimpressed from the fact that how terrible of a liar she was.

"For heaven's sake, I don't think of you as a sucker." 

"If I wanted to deceive you, I'd have already done it without the slightest knowledge of yours," Nathan thought.

"What is this place?" said a frustrated Sarah. "I can get myself to my home again." My home. Sarah couldn't remember the last time she'd said that.

"Very well. This is France but it isn't the France you know."

"Oh, so you are Nathan, except you aren't. Any problem in understanding that phrase, huh?"

"Can you stop your commentary? And, yes, it's a rhetoric question. Alright, listen to me carefully. This is France but of eighteen seventy."

Uneasiness chocked Sarah. Seeing her face he added, "Welcome to Bordeaux, I think."

Keeping her facial expression unaltered, she nodded. "Right, awesome."

***

SOMEWHERE IN BORDEAUX, FRANCE

 Smell of sage was impregnated by the inner walls of the house. The Grand Mansion, which could also be mistaken for a palace, consisted of huge staircases with polished steps, leading to a suite of room on the first floor.

In the parlour of the mansion was kept a small wooden bowl with herbs mixed in paste giving off foul smell, attracting undesirable creatures to crawl their legs towards the bowl. Another bowl, kept aside, had petals of sage floating over red water.

There stood a man of nearly thirty-five years of age, taking out a parchment and quill and started to write:

This note is for Governmental purposes only. Any outside party is prohibited to go through this or can be put behind bars by the authority of the French Government.

(CODE: 19-7-6-24; 9-0-23-4; 4-16-12-6)

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The terror is rising again. There's more this time. My sources whisper in my ears that those abhorrent creatures and the Witches have had a unity pact made centuries ago. According to that, they gather up every fifty-five years and together sign a charter so as to once again pose it in power or something delusional like that. As to celebrate, they propose a ball. This is our chance at them. These creatures must die of profound fire burns and left without a degree of mercy and redemption. The Witches will die too. I do know of a Witch. He has some quarrels with the ones who will be attending. We can use this as our advantage. This is our chance, call your army together. There shall be no bloodshed. Intellect over agility. Meet me two hours after you receive this you know where.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The middle-aged man stepped out of his manor and asked a chapel to deliver it to some 'Thomas Duval' at the French Capital Tower.

As he went inside, he heard someone call his name—Romain de Fontaine--in a soft yet sharp voice. He looked upon his shoulders. A girl was standing with her hands crossed behind. She was glancing down and pouting, somehow making that an incentive for Romain to see her. So he turned and looked at her.

"I can assure you that I shall come in great help with what is brewing in your mind," said the girl. There was something so peculiar about her voice--something so enticing, so poised. 

"Pardon, Madam. I'm not executing any sort of plan," he said with a slight nod. "Wrong address, perhaps."

When he turned and begun to walking towards the mansion, she said laughed and said, "So you smelt and recognised that I'm not mortal. I wonder if humans can do that. I can help you in letting them down, trust me."

Her wavy, long hair wiped along her waist. The dark brown, almost black-coloured lipstick made her even more dangerous. Those thin fingers of hers wore lots of silver rings. A pendant hung around her neck, shimmering with a minute white stone; a quite peculiar one. Romain had to admit that he hadn't seen such a concoction of charisma and uncanny beauty before. 

Romain waited, then said, "I know better than trusting anyone of your kind. And, why help me?"

"Maybe because I want to punish someone for the wrongs they have done." Her voice became grimmer.

"What did that person do? Kill you, eh?" He stilted his head sideways.

"Some tortures are more fatal than death," her voice accelerated towards ominous. It was like one of those voices little girls and boys fathomed while picturing ghosts. "All my despicable brothers have become quite a connoisseur of persecution and played their dirty tricks on me." 

Romain could see her eye get red. He folded his arms and said, "How do you expect me to trust you?"

"Oh, I sincerely don't. We can be allies and mutually beneficial to each other. You see, you need inside information and I need an army. Isn't this a fair deal?"

"Frankly, I'm astonished that you didn't seek help from your clan."

"Well, you can say that my people have a lot of sympathy for my brother. More than he needs."

"He's your blood." His hands came down. He held his belt firmly with one of his hand searching for his gun. If only a gun could do anything to a creature like.

"After a while, that reason becomes what it initially was—an excuse for breaking someone's heart yet another time and finding a fascinating lie called redemption, and perhaps some contemptuous console." She paused for second. "I have a condition that has to be fulfilled otherwise this alliance will reach its least value too soon."

"You come here, to my house--my house!-- and make demands. Pathetic!" He spat without the slightest fear of the girl standing before her.

"Oh, Romain, you need me more than I need you. You know that quite well, now don't you?" She gestured him a devilish smile. 

A  sugary smile--as beautiful as the deep charming colour of the ocean, and as toxic as drowning in it. 

"My only condition is that everything will happen my way. I know how to fight them. My kin will trust me more than he'll ever trust you. You'll get to share your insight and inducements and do all your work, but with my permission, of course."

"Ludicrous! We're not on the same page here."

 "Then flip the page and be on the same as me, Romain."

The middle-aged man didn't utter a word.

"We've indulged into the business so much that I forgot to have a proper introduction" she continued. "I--"

Romain's French cuss cut her off. 

"You find me a lot more repulsive than anyone should. Not healthy for an alliance, you know."

"My hatred is non negotiable, you know."

(Play the song: "Toxic X Sweater Weather Remix")

"Impertinent but tolerable." She smiled a gorgeous smile and offered her hands. "Anyhow, I'm Florence Wilson. Enchanté!"

Romain refused her hand through a cuss and nonchalant whisks of his fingers in the air.

Like a swirling tornado, Florence spun on her heels, and almost as fast as a black hole sucking light, she took Romain by his neck. Sparks oozed out of his fingertips but went inside, for they were too afraid  to even dare to go against of the being that stood in front. 

"Your powers are nothing before mine." Crushing down his trachea more and more, she said, "I can hear your heart beating fast. And faster can I make it stop beating forever." Romain wasn't sure if he indeed was listening to the Devil's voice, after all, the Devil was a woman, and everyone knew so, but were just too horrified and hubris to admit.

She dropped him down and smoothed out his collar. Smiling, she cussed the same word Romain had, and said, "For future references, I know French as well."

***

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

Song name (Remix): "Toxic  x  Sweater Weather" 

All Rights of the song go to the respective artists, and also moonskumg (yt channel).

Infringement of copyright not intended.

(I know that writing all that isn't needed but I like to give credits to the producer/maker of the song I'm using as a sign of appreciation, respect and in a way, of gratitude as well.)

Have a lovely day!

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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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