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Hey whatz up, read my new novel "Love on the Rocks", conact me for copy. look right now I'm rewriting the blood curse of the house of cassan. scarry!! here is chapter two of Chapter 2 They entered the elegant cathedral; Natasha was breathless, the fragrance filled the vastness of the cathedral, the sun radiated through the glorious blues, reds and greens of the stunning stained glass windows, an allegorical testament to the passing of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Natasha turned a full hundred and eighty degrees, awestricken; there was so much to take in consideration, from the nativity to the betrayal of Judith; it seemed to captivate her as the ambivalent stories clashed chaotically in her mind. But somehow these pictorials left her cold within their surreal patina. To the left was the orchestra, with its variety of instruments performing Mozart’s opus. 25 in D minor*. The violins, violas and fugal horns reached into the height of this ethereal cathedral; the beautifully composed sonata *filled the hearts of each and every member of the congregation who had set time aside to witness the love and maturity of this very deserving woman. The guests that had been invited were from the most royal and noble of families; that included René and his brother Phillip Dumont, as well as an entourage of decadence. These were the faces that surrounded the altar where her confirmation was to take place. Behind them sat the rest of the well to do guests and they filled the first two rows. Only the most prestigious of friends graced the guest list. To the left of Natasha was Sonya, René and Philip; to her right Papa and Miriam. In front of her was Father Louis. The whole time Miriam continued to direct her flirtatious eyes at René a constant annoyance to Natasha. The orchestra conductor’s hands moved with the rapidity of the score, now fell to his side as the crescendo ended, so tight you could have heard a pin drop. The congregation’s attention now drawn toward the altar boys who made their way down the seemingly endless aisle displaying the crucifixion as it might have appeared on that somber day of sacrifice. Next strutted the thurifer who swung the smoking thurible. The perfumed smoke drifted out and met the edges of the aisles and finally in this procession were the alter boys who carried the tall, handheld candelabras, their blue and white vestments draped to the marble floor. A chill ran the full length of Natasha’s spine in horror of the dismal reality which had been portrayed and to which she was to pledge herself. Nevertheless, she was still very aware of Miriam’s gambol behavior. She thought, “how rude could she be,” which in turn reinforced what she had already known to be true. Natasha wasn’t about to resign her endearment and tormented affection toward René. This was her secret, which in turn reminded her of Sonya’s soulful and prudent words. She would sacrifice herself as her Savior had done for her. “Take my body and my blood, oh my precious René, I’ve been brought here for you and for you alone my love.” Natasha magnified these delusions in her spirit. “These are the people that will in time witness our marriage.” Her thoughts settled along with the incense. The priest commenced. “These are the people, Natasha, that you and your family have chosen to witness the most beautiful of all choices a person will ever desire to make. To give oneself to the life of obedience through Christ, our Savior.” His words echoed off the cold somber walls; their poignant meaning resonated into her psyche. Natasha had second thoughts about her apostate view point. Her mind fluctuated, now helter-skelter. René, the war, and now this God awful confirmation. These trepidations fell hard on the adolescent. The sight of the Host distorted her focus. “Natasha, these vows and your dedication are not to be taken lightly, do you understand?” her eyes sparkled with a quixotic gleam. She looked to Sonya for motherly support and then back to the priest, “yes, Father I understand.” Nervously she squirmed; you could hear the creak of her corset. “I know you do, Natasha Cassan, I have watched you grow through the years. Your family has all the reason in the world to be proud of your scholastic abilities as well as the major achievements within the parish, not to mention your outstanding charitable contributions. Your teachers’ have given me nothing but praises of the highest admirations concerning your progress in curriculums as far as catechism goes.” Now he paused letting an uneasiness hang in the air. “Here we all come together to take part and witness this wondrously delicate young lady as she continues to walk in the foot steps of our Savior. Natasha, have you full heartedly accepted Jesus, knowing the ultimate price he paid for us: To be washed in his precious blood, (for the remission of sins)?” “Yes.” A trembling voice concurred. “Then I confirm you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” He touched two fingers to her head which he had previously dipped into the vessel of sanctified water; he drew a cross on her brow with chrism…. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes as well as in Sonya’s, for she knew of the shallow hopes and dreams which smashed esoteric idealism that the church offered. She detested the double standards, and reprehensible lies to which she had fallen victim also under the unctuous tongues of the ecclesiastic. The same perfidious cloth that had stolen her dream of a handsome husband, family and children, not by choice, she had forfeited all that, and settled for an adequate occupation as chambermaid, when she might have aspired to be an heir of nobility, married with beautiful children. Nevertheless, she loved the Cassans dearly and had forced herself to over look the scandalous flaws within their family’s circles. She held great affection for Natasha and loved her like a baby sister. For a brief moment she mused that maybe it wasn’t too late and that the unforgiving cruelty of time had given her a second chance, that it still might not be to late for her, that she could forgive and forget, and leave her atrocious past behind, forge forward, within the salvation of Christ… . Have her own family and most of all a loving husband to cherish. But for now she would just continue to live her life vicariously through the Cassans and mentor sweet Natasha in the ways of the upper echelon. **** René now made his way over to Natasha, but was stopped just short by Miriam, she was a complete chatterbox. She wanted all the attention she could get. “My René, you certainly are looking handsome this gorgeous morning.” She brushed a single tendril from her brow with her hand. Her gross platitudes were vacuous and nauseated the wholesome Natasha. She asked Christ to take her contemptuous thoughts, but spite was only one of the many sins she was rapidly becoming aware of. A surge of femininity raced through her heart. Natasha reconsidered and lusted for the life of an infidel; she wasn’t about to let go the contempt she felt for her sister or anybody else for that matter. Then briefly their eyes meet, and she knew it was true, what she had sensed all along: It hadn’t been a delusion in her mind and she hadn’t imagined his affections toward her. Now in her mind she projected these thoughts. “I’m yours forever René, I’ll never stop loving you. My prince and my confidant.” Right then she made a promise that as soon as she got home she would draw her blood and drip it into the waxen flames of the blackened tallow. If Christ couldn’t deliver René then her blood would have to suffice. Her mind tormented with sorrow; this curse, this awful infatuation, her menacing irascible sister, left her desperate. She wanted nothing more to do with Miriam. It was inevitable that they would elope, she reason in time the two families would forgive as was taught within Catholic doctrine, and before too long they would receive the blessing of both families chapter 2 pg. 6 Sonya and Natasha left the cathedral. Natasha’s eyes distracted by the middle aged female standing to the left of the carriage, it seemed that she was grooming the stallion’s mane. Her bony fingers interlaced with the long brown strands of hair. Natasha was entranced by this eccentric *sorci're. She approached this black haired woman. "These horses are exquisite mademoiselle, I particularly like this stallion." Her face was reflected in the glare of the stallion’s ebony eyes. "Are you a trainer?" "But of course I am, You see Natasha," Natasha felt faint as the realization of this crafted woman struck home, "Your family is cursed. I warn you Natasha, beware of the blood curse on Miriam. For the craft that you practice is stronger than any I've seen in years. Beware mon cherie.” "What's your name?" "Vera, I have been sent to warn you." She let her hand grace the majestic steed one last time, then smiled the most sinister of expressions. She turned and walked away. She left a vision of a scarab impregnated in Natasha’s mind. Her hand clutched tight to her amulet. The sorciere boarded the taxi. Sonya now joined Natasha; they watch the buggy glide down the wet cobblestone road. "Do you know that lady cherie," inquired Sonya? Natasha wasn’t quite sure how to answer; for some reason, in a most wondrous way, she felt attached to this lady. "I believe I do." Her quizzical mannerism left a shadow of doubt in Sonya's mind. The whole ride home Natasha seemed disturbed and agitated, her mind searching for a distant memory of this elusive woman. chapter 2 pg**** Who had sent her and why and how did she know her name? Then she remember the blood spell she was going to offer (as she had seen Sonya do before when she was a small child) sparking the affection of the gardener. The doll she had crafted and dripped her blood on. The black tallow which dripped on her alter as she been playing in Sonya quarters, when Sonya had caught her off guard--(she hid under the bed)-- still dressed in Sonya's over sized shoe and stocking. A crime she had been reprimanded for several time that year and to be caught would surly mean another annoying lecture from Papa. So as she listened to the patter-patter of her heart, entrenched in fear, she became aware of this diabolic manipulation her chambermaid practiced. She recalled how later that week she caught Sonya with the gardener by the side of the dilapidated veranda--a guest house which had long since needed renovation. Natasha never mentioned Sonya promiscuous rendezvous. Nevertheless, she made the enchanted correlation. The carriage hit a pothole at the end of their journey which brought Natasha out of her nostalgic state. She realized that they were at the entrance of the estate. They passed through the gates back to the sanctuary of the Cassan manner. Back up stairs Natasha confide in Sonya and told her about vision which Vera had projected into her mind and how the scarab she wore was identical to her, the only gift that Sonya had every given her. "Oh don’t You see, I feel like I’ve known her all my life, but I can’t be sure. She said she was a horse trainer?" chapter 2 pg. 8 She sensed that Sonya knew of this sorciere. They were now in Sonya’s quarters. Natasha sat on the chaise lounge and watched Sonya freshen her makeup in an elegantly gilded silver mirror. Her pointy nose and drawn emerald eyes sparked with magic. And that's when Natasha thought of her pledge for René’s love. The pledge that she had made during her baptism, when she finally realized wholeheartedly that Jesus couldn’t dissuade Miriam’s affection and that the preordained destiny didn't include her life with René. "My child This Vera, I know her. In fact we our sisters." "I never new you had a sister?" Natasha smile. "Yes, in the same sense that I consider you my sister." Natasha felt a much greater presence surrounding her. In the reflection of the antique mirror Sonya greeted her with loving eyes "I imagine you have many question and in time I will answer them.” Sonya seated herself next to Natasha placing her delicate hand on her lap. "What did my old friend Vera have to tell you." Natasha felt the scarab which hung around her pale throat. "She said, that there’s danger, something about Miriam." "Natasha, you remember the time you hid under my bed? Oh you were just a child then. Well, I let you watch those spells. I knew you would never say anything about the gardener’s love for me. I also knew that we were of the same spirit, the same enchanted essence." Natasha went to speak but, Sonya motioned with a single finger--keeping her attentive. "These are our ways, these are the choices we make. You see evil is everywhere and whether or not you choose to use your craft is entirely up to you." chapter 2 pg. 9 Natasha was captivated by the words Sonya spoke; her French was exquisite. And without hesitation she ask: "Please help me with my blood curse." "Blood curse," her nostril flared as she spoke, "Your can't be serious Cherie? Aw but of course, I wouldn't understand being so along in my age," she sighed. "Then you will Je vous mime,*" Natasha felt exhilarated an a slight hint of perspiration showed under her arms. Sonya drew the satin curtains while Natasha lighted the black tallow. Sonya mused how effortlessly these tasks came to Natasha, her graceful tack was mysterious and she seemed to be guided by her intuition. And with vary little instruction (it wasn't an elaborate ritual) the pentagram was fashioned with the candles. Sonya opened a wooden box, that was embossed with humans skulls and scattered the ashes around the silver pentagram, the only piece of jewelry her mother had ever given to her. "Do you like Cherie?" Natasha eyes glittered under the warm hollow glow of the candles. "Oui, oui. It's most fascinating" "Well, it was my mothers--(although I never met her)--our friend Vera gave it to me some years later." Natasha felt the a psychic connection which she suspected to be a witches coven, her baptism all but forgotten. "You Have a token form this Man," she pause recalling her beaus name, "Rene Dumont." Her lips clipped not letting the consonant resonate. Natasha rolled her eyes; she calculated her next move--she hadn't thought to procure a token to charm with. Than she remembered René had given a locket of his hair to Miriam, she sprang to her feet and fled down the hall and retrieved her charm. chapter 2 pg. 1 0 "This will due nicely." Sonya hand extended, she dropped the locket into her lily white palm. "Cherie, what we’re about to do today you must never revile to a soul." Natasha attentiveness was affirmation enough. Sonya withdrew a crows plum with a handsome silver handle, (Natasha again enlighten) recalled her prattle in the carriage. She watched Sonya dip the plume into the red ink. Then she crafted her letter’s in a ancient language; her penmanship was delicately precise and her hand curved with every contour of the blacken parchment. She left a space in the middle, where when she had completed drafting the gurmoire, she drew a circle. She Placed René’s locket in the centre of the gurmoire and then set the parchment in the middle of ashes. Last she placed the pentagram over the locket: "Chere give her you hand.” she grabbed her dagger, and sliced a fraction of the virgins wrist--twisting her arm letting the ruby blood drip over the star soaking Rene's locket. "Cherie, take this plume and spell out ‘Adomi I will it’." Her hand trembled as she scribbled out the letters. Her penmanship wasn’t desirable. It appeared like a child’s--now finished she pressed her wrist to her lips and licked away the remnants of blood with her soothing tongue. Sonya placed the parchment into a silver tin after Natasha had burned a portion of the bloody parchment and dripped the blackened tallow over the gurmoire (the finale process). "Voila*, there -is nothing anyone can do to perverse what has been set right. Rene Dumont is now and for always under your charm Cherie.”chapter 2 pg.11 Natasha now felt complete, independent of the world’s sorrow. Her conviction’s (in blood) a testament of time. For she had bewitched her first beau and whether she realized it on not, this practice was fastly becoming a part of her every day ritual. She reasoned, the stage couldn't have been set more perfect and again she let her hand grace the coldness of the scarab amulet. She now know the magical power which Vera had professed to her. The Star which Sonya utilized in their incantation, the scarab which she had given her, and the matching amulet of Vera’s, all struck home; tears welled in her eyes. Sonya led her into the centre of the ashed circle -(braided her nimble fingers though her raven hair)- and kissed her cheeks. The salty taste of her tears, flooded her with a overwhelming emotion. They were truly family now. For Sonya knew the delight Natasha felt. It had been the same sisterhood she had felt when she studied under Vera--before their differences became too much, before they had their falling out. "Why were you so perturbed when I asked you about your old friend." "Cherie. I can't expect you to understand things that I myself wished never happen." Natasha sat in the middle of the circle. You could see the candles as they flickered silhouetting their images in shadows which seemed to dance magically across the fresco patterned walls that extended beyond the distorted witches feature. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bF4yA-D0U2c I edited my profile with Thomas' Myspace Editor V4.4 THE BLOOD CURSE OF THE HOUSE OF CASSAN A NOVEL BY STU SHEFFIELDNatasha searched through her wardrobe franticly trying to find the prefect dress for her baptism. This was a very important affair for the thirteen-year old, green eyed brunette and the first time she was allowed to wear makeup out in public—she wanted to look her best. She matched the shoes that her chambermaid Sonya, handed her. She held them up to her dress and with keen eyes; each and every shoe went under the scrutiny of her crafty design. The silk stockings with the patent leather boots instantly became her favorite combination; she just adored the silver buckles on the side. She lifted her dress crumpling the delicate chiffon and twisted her hips in adoration of this wondrous ensemble, her petite foot snugly fit into the buckled boot where the paisley patterned stocking accentuated her ivory white thighs. At first sight they were a very handsome choice, quite becoming in the new light of brilliant morning. Her full length royal purple dress draped to the exotically hand crafted Persian rug, which occupied the center of the Natasha’s quarters. She sat on her ottoman and slipped the other boot on, she noticed a warm smile of approval from Sonya. “Oh my precious, they are exactly what we been looking for.” Natasha again pulled her dress up so that the stockings showed the sensuousness of her youth. She stood in front of the armoire her petite fingers gripped at the sides of her dress, which she had clenched up about her twisting to and fro. Natasha’s smile radiated in the cold reflection of the armoire’s mirror. Just to the side of her was Sonya…who lightly placed her hands juxtaposition on each of her delicate shoulders. In a way they served as a picture frame, which centered Natasha’s innocent features, her green hollow eyes, soon to become one of the many crippling features this smashingly charmed creature possessed. They embraced and it nearly embarrassed Sonya who was forced to recount her years—one solitary tear escaped her, “let me get a better look at you Natasha, you’re absolutely going to be the most attractive woman at your baptism.” Natasha flushed with joy, caught in this awkward state, for this was the first time Sonya had ever referred to her as an adult and more than that an attractive female, she twisted to the left, on the tips of her boot, arching her back just enough to let her bosoms protrude. She reasoned that Sonya was right; she was a woman and a very glamorous one at that. “Oh Natasha, it won’t be long before you have half of the aristocrat’s sons at your beckoned call.” Natasha glowed from with in, like a warm fire magnified through a crystal wine glass, she flung her arms around Sonya’s shoulders; over taken with gaiety, she drew Sonya tight. They parted and Natasha noticed that tear and wiped it away with her thumb. “Sonya, you know whoever my suitor is, not only does he have to stand up to Papa’s critical assessment I want your approval as well. I could never, not even for a minute, imagine living without you my dear Sonya.” She raised her eye brow in contemplation. “Do you realize that I can’t recall a day when you weren’t there for me?” She leaned in and kissed Sonya softly on her pallid cheeks, just beneath where she had previously wiped away that nostalgic tear. “Well that’s still several years off. We still haven’t decided which finishing school you’re going to attend. That is if you’re going to come out into society the lady you were meant to be.” She paused briefly than continued, “there’s so many things I wish to tell you.” She reached for a eye pencil which she passed to Natasha, “you’re going to have to learn to hide those awkward feeling better—remember those thoughts are yours, and yours alone—whether it be sister or husband, they still can be twisted into the sharpest of scimitars, slicing at your throat in a bout of jealous rage. My dear if you don’t mind me saying so, your heart will soon resemble a bloody pâté’ for all to poke fun at behind the closed doors of your closest friends or even worst your relatives.” She handed Natasha a silver hand-held powdering brush. She closed her eyes than dabbed in a rapid motion the entirety of her face—the air now perfumed with the atomized dust. The sun caught each particle and with a thin brush she delicately applied the lavender lip gloss; they danced to a melody which Natasha recalled. And lastly she picked a golden scarab amulet with braided chain. It hung loosely at the bridge of her delicate throat. Any admirer would be hard pressed not to let his eyes fall short ongoing a peak at her delectable breasts. Natasha’s skin pale an innocent, like her thoughts, left her cleavage shadowed lily white. She held her hands just beneath the scarab amulet; her nail polish reflected a worm amber color which captured the sparkle of the crystal chandelier where the tallow dripped into the leaded glass cups beneath each candle. She exuded much more feminine beauty than her older sister Miriam; plus Natasha’s precocious wit was sharper than any girl Sonya could remember. There were so many things that Sonya needed to discuss with Natasha, so many hidden secrets which the Cassan’s kept buried from society. For instance, the scandal which was covered up before the bloody libel from the local gazette could slander the family’s name. Extorting hands still fed upon such secrets. Secrets that would undoubtedly resurface sometime during the duration of Natasha’s life and strike attention to the mysterious incident and the accident that left her mother an invalid, and the even stranger sequence of events which linked her father to this heinous affair where Mama had taken that terrible fall down the second flight of stairs at Natasha’s two year birthday party. The police were never informed. Papa Cassan had spoken with the family attorneys and doctor—the sophism had spawned the ultimate price (a blood curse so to speak). But these issues would have to wait for the time being, for today was Natasha’s baptism and only the nobility and immediate family were to attend. Sonya cracked the dormer windows just enough to let the smoke out then she procured a cigarette for her tiny purse, sat on the edge of the built in bench and enjoyed her time. Natasha allowed her such liberties, but never cared for the nauseous smoke herself. She walked around the room with a jar of potpourri with its dried roses and other exotic incenses. She whisked the open jar around like a thurible in order to purify the air, a bit concerned that its redolent smoke might foul her beautiful dress. Then she realized that the carriage ride into Paris world undoubtedly freshen what ever spoiled scent Sonya’s cigarette might have left. “Yes,” she thought to herself; she swooshed one last pass with the potpourri which completed her frenzied jaunt around Natasha’s boudoir. She found herself once again in front of the armoire. Sonya looked deep into Natasha’s eyes checking for a sparkle of love. Although it wasn’t going to be as big an engagement as her sister Marian coming-out soirée which was schedule for the 23rd of next month, it was still very important to her and perhaps the biggest day of her life. She had taken all the lessons Sonya had diligently taught her and had mastered each and every aspect of literature and mathematic. She recounted each hour of each day. She stared into the mirror looking for any flaw she might have missed. Natasha closed her eyes and drew a calming breath and said a silent prayer---which was more of a spell—she wished for all the beautiful adventures life might have to offer. She wanted for nothing, except the fulfillment of a family that loved her, which up until now had only been partially completed. Her father never seemed to have time for her. He was always preoccupied in business, and or out of town, negotiating all in the best the interest of the Cassan’s monies. Furthermore her poor mother was confined to her bed. She had lost something mentally when she had taken that treacherous fall all those years ago; she would never be the charming, witty, hostess she had once been. How she longed to meet her Mama as her family spoke of her and it hurt Natasha deeply knowing she could never change the reality of fate. Her Mother was an invalid that needed help with the simplest of tasks. In fact the Dr. had Mama so heavily sedated that Natasha feared that she didn’t really know who or where she was. She wished all of these strange nightmares and distorted lapses in her memory would sort themselves out—how she longed for a friend to confide in. Someone who could help piece her past into a coherence she could live with, for Natasha knew that there were events in her past that she had slammed the door on, never to see the light of day again. She opened her emerald eyes which beamed like a hornet, her tendrils fell full length about her delicate shoulders, her high forehead and mysteriously haunting thin lips resembled a compressed crescent that expressed a look of profoundness. “Oh Natasha,” Sonya was back form her cigarette, “You mustn’t worry about such trivial things.” It was as if she knew exactly what tormented Natasha, and in a sense she did. “Cherie, I’ve noticed you’ve been very attentive when you’re around René’. He is strikingly handsome I can’t deny. But Love you’re so young and he has already been promises to your sister.” “But Sonya, he’s an exceptional attorney, and he is thinking about marriage, so why not me?” she pouted. “Natasha, your sister Miriam is coming out into society on the 23rd of next month.” Natasha didn’t particularly want to hear what Sonya was about to say. She covered her ears, “No! It’s not true! Not my Rine’ Dumont.” She recalled last week when she had tricked him into the garden and playfully kissed him on the lips. René’ was completely shocked by her precocious nature, but nevertheless, he felt something stir and so did Natasha. She always knew that she was the brighter of the two Cassan sisters, not to mention her delectably captivating looks. Miriam after some time felt her sister vexed curse: in her mannerisms and in her snobbishly condescending slurs that she often would mutter in an inaudible like fashion. A tempest brewed in Natasha’s heart. She was the perfect match for René’ Dumont. She closed her eyes, Sonya continued: “All has been previously arranged. He is more than likely to approach your Papa sooner than you might have expected.” She turned announcing as she walked away. “You know what I heard rumored?” “What Sonya, oh due tell me this instance.” She was short of breath; she pleaded with Sonya. “After the soiree… oh my sweet Cherie, you mustn’t let your feeling for this René’ get the best of you.” She sat next to her and draped her arm about her shoulders. Natasha shot daggers at Sonya which redirected her animosity in the armoire’s mirror. She jumped up and lurched under the over-head canopy. She knew she was a mature woman now. And she knew in her heart that René’ did indeed harbor feelings for her. Natasha swore to herself that the next time she saw René’ Dumont, she would make him promise to take her hand in holy matrimony and that time would be on the 23rd at her delightfully snobbish sister’s soiree. “Yes,” she whispered, she smiled over at Sonya. She knew not of the shame or the embarrassment she might have to endure if her love refused her charm. Her mind was still clouded by this immense jealousy, coiled up in pit of her stomach, they were to be wed and there was nothing that Miriam could do to stop what was so plainly imminent. She had practically seduced him while Miriam was just around the corner in the adjacent living room. The situation flashed back into her mind. She pried herself on how crafty she really was. She had supreme intellect over Miriam in every department. There could be no debate (to the contrary). She was tempted to secretly explain every allusion to Sonya, instead she cought herself in haste, and realized it not prudent. For even Sonya couldn’t be completely confide in, not as long as she was employed by Papa. Sonya only did that which she was instructed and that was to be expected. How Natasha wished she had someone to talk to, someone who truly understood the essence of her hardship and how her medaling sister never missed a chance to engage in destructive gossip each and every time her name came up. Nevertheless, she studied diligently all the tedious lessons that Sonya patiently mentored. If there was one thing that Natasha did learn, from all of Sonya’s endeavors, it was never forfeit your dreams at anyone’s expense and for Natasha that dream was Rene’ Dumont. The house bell rang which sent Sonya out to inquire if the carriage had arrived. Within several seconds she had returned, “Are you ready Cherie?” Natasha took her time. She looked into the armoire and twisted on the smoothness of her paten leather boots. She caught a glimpse of the only flaw on her face and that was a beauty mark which in all actuality was just a dimple right below her left cheek. It pocked when ever she smiled and was very adorable. “Cherie you look simply stunning. Come along now, we don’t want to keep your Papa waiting.” She stood akimbo and her hands rested on her tiny waist produce by the snuggling affect of the corset. The two strolled down the wooden staircase of the Victorian manor where Sidney the butler, helped the two ladies into their coasts. “You two look absolutely smashing and you Natasha, I want to personally show my admiration for your outstanding scholastic achievements.” He reached for her hand and placed a genial kiss to her glove. “Sonya has had nothing, but good things to say about you.” Natasha radiated with elation. “Can I speak truthfully ladies?” He didn’t wait for their approval. “Natasha, I can’t express—over the passed seven years which I’ve been under the employment of this house—what a pleasure it has been to watch you blossom into such a beautifully refined young woman.” He turned his attention over to Sonya. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed Sonya,” he kissed her hand as well, “to whom this credit is due. You’re a most splendid mentor and confidant for your brilliant protégé.” And there it was, the third time this morning, even Sidney had called her a woman. These flatteries left Natasha with fresh vigor, but still deep in her heart an insidious hatred boiled, and that hatred was directed toward Miriam. No one was going to get in the way of her witching her beau. Sidney had come to work for the Cassan’s in the spring of 1801, and over the past seven years--in countless ways--had proved himself indispensable. He was in his early fifties, snowy white hair and cooked an impeccable Christmas goose. Other than that, he was very tight lipped especially when it came to the curse that seemed to plague the Cassan’s family name. He led them to the carriage where Papa waited with Miriam. Andrea, Natasha mother unfortunately wouldn’t make the two hour trek into Paris where the baptism was to be celebrated at Notre Dame Cathedral. Only the most prominent of ecclesiastic patrons and closest of family would partake of the Holy Eucharist--(the sacrament of Christ)—on this glorious day. What a picturesque moment. The sun peeked out from over the majestic royal mountains which were frosted with snow. Shafts of brilliant light glistened across the icy meadow where a black line stretched out behind them running back toward the estate. The ebony carriage commenced onward toward Paris. The brown and white stallions twitched with nervous energy, their breath exhaled in poufs of white mist, their nostril expanded and contracted like fleshy valves, and the sound of their hoofs crunched the already wind-packed snow. Their manes fluttered in the calmness of the early morning and you could hear the jingle of the harnesses and riding reins which were attached to these magnificent beasts that drew the carriage. They moved at a brisk trot toward Paris. It was a queer twist of fait that god had played on these magnificent creatures, the way they submitted, yielding their will to the wishes of man. And yet these exquisite stallions, submissive without the loss of their awesomely strong demeanor, seemed to be guided by Christ himself. The crunching and trampling sounds of the oak wheels seemed to calm Natasha as they crossed the frosted meadow. Natasha took her palm and whipped a single pane of glass to better view the scenery. “Oh Sonya, look at those crows. They’re suck nasty birds. Oh how I do detest them,” prattled Natasha. Sonya didn’t say a word. She didn’t know how to tell Natasha what she truly felt about these scavengers. She recalled her childhood in the orphanage and how their lives were very similar and how these crows had a beauty unto their own. For inside she knew she was created of the same spirit. She sighed and pondered, just a chamber maid who had never married. She always wanted to marry, but since she was born of a prostitute, that and having had to endure the evils of the orphanage only added to her crippling neurosis, not to mention what the ramifications of a scandal would mean to the monastery. A truth the nuns would never let her forget, but mostly it was her mother’s sin; the embarrassment alone left her unwed. She reasoned that she was indeed lucky to have risen to such a prominent position in society without any detection of her mother’s scandalous past. The love she felt for the Cassans left her feeling almost complete; she had considered them her adopted family. No matter how much she still wanted a husband and family of her own, the hand of time (unfortunately at twenty-seven) had passed her by leaving her an old maid. Life was cruel so secretly she respected the squawking scavengers. Inside it gave her great joy knowing the antipathy the aristocratic families held toward these black birds. In any case, maybe one day, she would take the time to explain such intricacies to Natasha. Now wasn’t the time beside she wouldn’t understand unless she was able to elaborated utilizing the allegorical scenes of her disheveled childhood. The arduous life she had to traverse as she climbed out of the gutters of Paris--a daughter of a common street whore: Whose mother was forced to put her up for adoption, but instead she ended up in the Gnostic Catholic orphanage. She was only three then. Sonya’s mind searched through the chronicles of tragedies that had been rigorously inflicted upon her by the “Sisters of Clair.” The countless attacks on her personage and the punishments she had to endure. She recalled her first menstrual cycle, with no education in hygiene; she made an understandable mistake and asked Sister Margaret who scalded her vagina with a white cotton wash cloth, the whole time she told her about the atrociously destructive man species. But this only opened a door for Sister Margaret, who began to make frequent late night visits to her quarters. At first she brought her sweet cakes and spoke of the many blessing the Virgin Marry had bestowed upon them for living pure life styles. Other days she would have Sonya stay after class and recite the rosary and with her studies of the Holy Eucharist, but every time before she had completed her scholastics, Margaret would remind her of her mother’s sin and reprimand her with a riding crop flagellating her. Sister Margaret often times left welts across the tender flesh of her buttocks. She told her that the vexed marks were to be a reminder of her mother’s sin. Sister Margaret would chant in Latin ancient prayers to the Blessed Virgin while she masturbated herself utilizing Sonya fragile fingers, her habit draped in front of her face, so Sonya couldn’t see the grotesque facial feature of Sister Margaret while she engaged in such lascivious acts. After her climax she would always scolded Sonya, and then literally shove the rosary down her throat never letting her forget her mother’s curse which in her mind had undoubtedly been passed on to her. She reinforced the idea that she was going to have a hard time, given her disposition, and wouldn’t amount to anything more than a bar maid. Satan was already alive within her soul. And Once again she would take her through the Gnostic rituals of the rosary which included the Our Father’s and Hail Marry. She drove her point home concerning how wicked men truly were and how they wanted nothing more than to violate her virginity. Sonya knew this would be her cross to bear. Her present thoughts returned from her ardent past as she sensed the tension in Natasha’s voice. “How can you be so sure that René’ will even ask for your hand? You know Miriam, I’m not quite sure if he even thinks of you in that way at all. I can’t understand for the life of me how you can project the entirety of your whole life on such a fantasy?” her nose tilted upwards. Her sardonic maturity caused a brief moment of silence before Miriam retorted, “Because I just know; besides today is your day Natasha. We all know this is the greatest event a girl could hope to have, besides perhaps her coming into society soiree, which mine will be next month, and that’s when Rene’ will asked Papa if he could have my hand.” She rustled her petty coat readjusting her bottom on the chevron patterned leather seat. Natasha disdainfully twitched as she endured Miriam’s loquacious nature. Why she had to endure such arrogance from her snobbish sister was simple beyond her; whether Miriam knew it or not, she would do what ever she had to in order to steal Rene’ Dumont away for her. She hissed at one of the crows when they passed near the deciduous shrubs, where these abominable creatures nested. They passed through the outer gates, with their twisted wrought iron décor, flung open to the icy-snow covered road which led to Notre dame. Along each side were the dormant plum and pear trees, naked like skeletons stripped of their flesh. Shimmering icicles dripped from the well pruned fruit trees. Perhaps Miriam was right when she stated in her condescending manner that she should just be patient, that Rene’ wasn’t the man for her… a cold shiver shot down into the depths of her soul, she knew she was different, touched with a sixth sense. The carriage was stopped by a hussar on a brown and white stallion. His blue uniform stitched with gold threading and a handsome scabbard that held a magnificent sword. He wore a triangular hat which was jauntily adorned with a plume from an ostrich. Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the authority the hussar commanded. The chauffeur tugged up on the loosen reins and the carriage came to an abrupt stop startling the hussar’s stallion which reared up and whinnied…Natasha caught a glimpse of this magnificent beat’s crystal-clear eyes from beneath the blinder. The stallion came to rest on all four. It resumed it nervous stance shifting it’s weight to and fro on his hoofed feet—its breath hot and the mist expelled from its nostrils accentuated every syllable the adjutant spoke. “Monsieur, war has fallen upon us. The Russians have begun to fight on the front line in Durenstein. Our armies attack at five this morning.” Monsieur Cassan inquired, “How many miles is it from Durenstein to Kremes?” The hussar adjusted his blue hat, “three and one-half miles Monsieur, we French have abandoned the left bank at seven o’clock this morning. General Schmitt was killed. It’s sad that it had to come to this, this treacherous act. Bonaparte has been engaged in lengthy discussion with the sovereigns, but we have all feared what had come to pass. War has spread all through Europe. The Tsar has advanced his troop and so is Austria, we French have moved into Vienna Monsieur, the Tabor bridge had been fortified with mines and is now being protected by fifteen-thousand troops, but Napoleon will be pleased if they take the bridge. We’ve already taken the bridge in Vienna without a single blow, this inspired Murat to try and deceive Kutuzov so they could meet, Bagreior feeble detachment on the Znain road or perhaps even encounter Kutuzou’s whole army and make a crushing attack on Kutuzov’s forces. The forces which had started out in Vienna are hoping for the complete capitulation at the end of the three day truce. This was just yesterday on the year of our lord 1800 and 5 years. You see Wintzingterode was instructed not only to accept a truce, but sign any proposal of capitulation.” “Thank you hussar, we’ve all wondered when this nastiness would commence.” “Do take care of your women and with God’s blessing France can be nothing but victorious securing our homeland in short time. Good day Monsieur. The stallion reared up when the hussar put his spurs into its side, silhouetted in the brilliance of the morning sun and the carriage was again filled with chatter. The young and impressionable ladies discussed the atrocities of war. But something was different; Natasha’s blood pumped to a new beat, one where she was the wife of the uniformed hussar, and that that hussar was no other than Rene’ Dumont. He was a war hero, who worked hand in hand with Napoleon… Papa was so proud of him. She watched her dream galloped away; the flakes of snow were ripped form the ground and tossed into the air by the majestic creature. Sonya still engaged in the politics concerning the sovereign countries and if Austria was going to join forces with Russia before these skirmishes capsulated and the Bonaparte’s conquered all of Europe, if this was to be the out come would France hold its position magnanimously, or would the French just choose to crunch the countries, states, and property holder, into compliance with France’s Emperor? Such discussions sent Natasha into a panicked state; she never knew the right approach to these topics. For the one thing the adolescent did lack was a sturdy foundation when it came to history. But nevertheless, she was quite fascinated by money, power, and a strong handsome uniformed man like Rene’ Dumont.Look I’m a fast moving puck rocker that has just got to slow down. Tell me you know what I mean. Got the man on my ass and it ain’t nothing nice. No more on that. I’m in a band entitle “bucket slut”. If you like Turbo Nigro and burning bride you’re going to love this stuff. I’m single as of now. I got a few ladies calling, but like I said I’m Straight edge and looking for a clean environment to do my thing. Don’t get me wrong I never demonize smoking or booze but all the rest of the deal really starts to get in the way. I’m a writer and I’m currently working on a rewrite of one of my favorite novel Retro Shop. I’ll up date this later.