#Damoiselle
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Damoiselle
#Damoiselle#demoiselle#young lady#bel oiseau#Nice bird#portrait en manteau#portrait#photo art#digital illustration#artists on tumblr#digital photography#digital portrait#photocomposition#creative art#photocreation#figurative art
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Catherine Deneuve & Françoise Dorléac behind the scenes of Les Demoiselles de Rochefort, 1967
#on the set#behind the scenes#le damoiselles de rochefort#jacques demy#catherine deneuve#françoise dorléac
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Trick or Treat! and a Happy Halloween to you!! :]
Happy Halloween! Enjoy your beautiful damoiselle!
(img src)
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bug people
#original#i just named them after the bugs theyre inspired by bc naming is hard#damoiselle tag#may tag
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Damoiselle - Alain Girard
Ma villanelle. (je n’ai su l’écrire en sept syllabes , désolé!) Damoiselle. De votre beauté damoiselle Mon âme n’est plus qu’un émoi Je suis l’oiseau à tire d’aile Qui s’envole, vous êtes celle Gravée, là, tout au fond de moi De votre beauté damoiselle Ma vie vous offre, jouvencelle, L’amour comme le doux chamois, Je suis l’oiseau à tire d’aile Et chaque jour où par ma foi Vous êtes mon plus bel effroi De votre beauté damoiselle Je suis l’oiseau à tire d’aile ! Le 10.07.2023 Alain Girard C.T.D.R. Read the full article
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This is:
Calopteryx virgo, aka beautiful demoiselle, aka motýlice obecná
Fun fact!
Only mature males have blue wings, as the color develops with time. The females don't live near water, but need it to lay eggs in it. Thus, in order to have the best chance at mating, the males keep territories near bodies of water that they strictly guard.
#animals#do you know this animal#cw insects#calopteryx virgo#beautiful damoiselle#motýlice obecná#critter found
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Repanse de Lyonesse, le Damoiselle de Guerre
Another classic Bretonnian joins the army. This one is especially interesting to me because it's the first miniature Michael Perry sculpted after losing his dominant arm in a reenactment accident.
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Noisy little mess
Hi sweetie ⁓
I swear to god i'm dreaming about the future plot lately, and I chukle in my sleep since it's so funny dealing with (stalking) the Task Force even if i shouldn't laugh about the things i'm thinking about and i'm so happy to see you've got the same problem as me.
Send hugs to wherever you are ⁓
DISCLAIMERS: clean from smut, but a lot of ignoring feelings and responsabilities; GhostxReader and his will to pretend she doesn't exist (spoiler, he fails); how-to-not-doing-a-mission-safely; a sprinkle of paternal chat; Task Force being misterious about their Lt.; ghosts scared of gnomes.
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Third part here:
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You don't know how you've managed to come back safely to your room.
What you do know is that, since yesterday, your Lt is nowhere to be found.
Oh, and you've finally got menstruations. Soap is the first one who gets aware of this, welcoming you at the breakfast table with the sweetest:
«Ye're finally bleeding, aren't ye?»
Gaz throws him a bunch of towels before Price manages to save the few left, hiding them under his plate.
You sit next to Johnny. It is so rare to have the Captain at breakfast, and it is even…suspicious. You swallow your oatmeal silently, gazing at Price till he murmurs: «What is it?» that smells like coffee and late night work.
«Mmmnothin'»
He sighs, finally raising his sight at you.
«Spit it out. What's wrong?»
«Mmmh…»
He sips his black coffee while exchanging a sight war with you, who're looking at him through the spoonful of chocolate oatmeal, eyes sharpened as a knife. Price leans toward you, willing to win the challenge, when Gaz suddenly asks:
«Have someone seen the Lt? I need to give him a-»
«Speaking of him-» you suddenly burst, breaking the eye contact with Price just to make him sighs for the second times in five minutes. He raises an hand toward your face.
«If you're seeking revenge for your injury-»
«I'm not» you reply almost immediately. «Even if he was a dick»
Price scolds you immediately with a threatening: «language, rookie»
You scroll your shoulders, knowing well you can push yourself so far just 'cause they don't really care about discipline towards each other. At least not at breakfast.
«He's disappeared. So: either he really is a ghost, and he vanished; or he's hiding from me»
Gaz was about to make a joke on your words, but he suddenly stops, with his fork still stuck on the omelet.
«…what? Why from you?»
«Ye'r not that scary»
«I bet i am»
«Hold on, hold on»
Price makes his way through the speech, raising his hands to gain silence. Then he looks at you like he's watching a child trying to convince an ice cream he's not about to eat it.
«So that's what it's going on» and murmurs to himself: «that bloody liar…»
You gasp in surprise, just to make some drama, and Johnny follows your move like a Victorian damoiselle. You slam your hands on the table before Price could speak again, or try to run away from his own words, and you suddenly remember about your elbow. Painful moans are choked in your guts as you spit out a too loud:
«Explain»
And Price answer with an abrupt:
«No»
And Johnny puts out his best puppy eyes, leaning on the table toward his Captain:
«Please! We need to know!»
«We?» John looks at him like he's surrounded by chatty widows. «Why in the bloody hell would you like to know somethin' you're not even involved in?»
«At this point 's a matter of principle»
«A what?»
«We're a team, secrets can't tear us apart»
«That's not a secret»
«Than speak»
«Is it about the fact that Ghost is either tryna kill or getting acquainted with her?»
Three pairs of eyes suddenly glare toward Gaz, who once again freezes with his fork balanced toward his mouth. He smiles nervously.
«…am I allowed to feel in danger?»
Johnny answer with a too sudden: «yes»
Price takes out a cigar with nonchalance, pointing it at Garryk « So you've noticed. At least one brain in my team is not totally burnt»
«Waitwaitwait» you bring back to you the attention, raising an hand to take the floor. «Is he really scared of me? That's why I haven't seen him around in 24 hours?»
«He told me he needed to figure something out 'cause of a problem you've made». Price gives you a look. «I've thought of talking to you about it, but… I'm not blind, rookie. And now that you've speak about him fearing you…i kinda understand what it's passing through his mind»
Gaz nods in agreement. Johnny takes his time to think about it, and after ten seconds of the other two staring at him he eventually realizes something.
Something that you're not getting.
Your eyes jump on their faces with the urge of the only gamer in the team who doesn't know how to cheat. Your fingers dig deeper in the cuticles as you see the three men stand up and make their way out of the dining hall.
«Hey! You can't leave with the secret all to yourself!»
«Sorry kid»
Price pat your head before waving at you, leaving you with what's left of your oatmeal and a few, terse words:
«If he'll feels like it, he'll tell you»
He stops. He suddenly turns serious.
«Do you think you're ready to show us how reliable you are?»
You falter, mumbling: «…yeah…?»
«Good. I've got a work for you, rookie»
Documents are on his desk. Not just any pile of paper: the pile of paper, the intel they were waiting for, the information they've searched for for almost three months.
Ghost is reading the sheets again and again. Yeah, there's no doubt: it's what they've needed, and it is there, on his desk, spawned out of nowhere when he was away for a…mission. Let's call it a mission.
He should be pleased. Happy to say the least, since this kinda intel's like food from heaven for the task force.
But he's…kinda lost in his thoughts. Almost annoyed.
«Who in the bloody hell…» he murmurs as he takes a look at the sheets, not even realizing that someone else has entered the room.
«your fav rookie»
Price's voice makes him fall from his thought's tree. Ghost glares at him through the mask, inspecting his Cap who's clinging on the door frame with a lot of nonchalance, arms crossed and an amused smile on his face.
«…ya'r not meaning-»
«I am»
«Mh»
«surprised? She did an hell of a job, in a good way» he comes in, shutting the door. «She's a good one»
«yeah…»
«That's all you've got?»
Ghost almost stops to breath; his gaze at Price's like laser beam, and he has to collect enough air to blow out a stern:
«Do ya need something else? 'Ve got work to do»
And Price waste no time to smile back a:
«Old demons eat your tongue?»
To what Ghost' s answer's a growl: «mh»
Price shakes his shoulders, approaching the door to go out. «Just an impression of mine»
Ghost's voice stops him at the door knob:
«Ya'r wrong»
«Mmm, yeah? About what?»
«Stop thinking about it, i know you are»
«Tell me what to think then»
«She's not like that»
«Oh, so there is a "she" in your brain»
«Don't read into it»
«You know what's fun?» the Captain comes back, taking a seat in front of Ghost, pointing at him with his judgmental finger «You're dealing with her like she's blackmailing you, or something. Nervous smiles, stupid revenges…»
«Bullshits»
«'S that so? And how do ya call the little problem during training session?»
«A problem. That's all»
«Ghost-»
«No»
He stands, turning his back at the Captain. And that, for him, was the end of the chat.
But not for Price.
«Is not a shame falling for someone»
And the Lt. gives him the coldest glare, jerking his sight at his Cap.
«I'm not» he spit with a harsh voice.
Price doesn't move. He checks his pocket, taking his first cigar of the day just to put it through his lips and chewing the tip lightly, eyes glued to Ghost's. The Cap. nods.
«Good to know» he murmurs.
That was the end of the story. Or at least Ghost has hoped so.
Three days later, he can't help but walk through the base with his eyes fixed on every rookie who stands in his way. He had searched the dining room every morning, checked the training field, the goddamn gym in the evening, even waited for a few minutes every time he passed by her room.
Nothing.
None.
No sign of aggressive gnomes around.
Ghost sips his black coffee in complete silence, glaring at everyone for no apparent reason. He needed to end that odd feeling, those annoying jumps of adrenaline, the bad sensation that something hostile was growing within his stern, cold behavior, breaking it from the inside, scratching away the metal wrap he had built to better control every inch of himself.
And he needed to have her in front of him, speaking out loud the reasons why she was eating his insides like a virus, and asking her, gently or not, to try her best and pretend the two of them do not know each other.
Feeling things for others, either bad or good…it wasn't for him.
«Bloody little idiot…»
«Hope ye'r not talking 'bout me»
Ghost's gaze raises as Johnny joins his solitary coffee-sipping ritual. He put his mug on the table, spreading around chocolate aroma.
The Lt. recognizes it immediately: «That's her goddamn pudding»
«I'm addicted»
Breakfast brings back silent eating and mumbling on caffeine. Soap devours his oatmeal, waiting.
'Cause he knows he just has to wait.
It takes Ghost just one minute and a half to burst out a pretended unselfish:
«Maybe she has eaten that much chocolate that she's become one bar»
«Mh?»
«She's nowhere to be found in person, it seems»
«Are ye searching for her?»
«'Cause of the intel she'd collected» he rushes a justification that Soap doesn't really buy. Johnny almost absorbs his last spoonful, chewing out words mixed with chocolate:
«Price's sent her on a mission. Confidential» he adds. «Dunno 'bout details»
Oh.
That was unexpected; so unexpected that Ghost bites his tongue after rushing out a too fast:
«When?»
The spoon falls in the mug with a metal tingle; Soap's side eyes reach Ghost.
«…are ye worried?»
«No» he bursts.
«Well, we are. Me and Gaz»
That doesn't sound like a lie, and Simon has to lower his shield made of pretending-not-to-think-about-her stuff. Soap keeps on, his eyes wandering around the crowded room:
«Maybe Price's overestimated her skills, dunno…or maybe she's just not ready. 'S strange not having news after three days»
«You two do like her»
Soap sighs, shaking away from his shoulders the morning stiffness.
«She's a good one. She's fun. But she's not so skilled on the field»
«You don't get worried about every rookie's first time. Sooner or later they'll have to be kicked out of the nest»
«If the one that's been kicked out 's ma fav sparrow chick, at least i hope that it'll fall on something soft»
«She's no chick, and not my fav» he rushes again, eagerly to end the conversation and get the fuck out of there. He stands, with a chuckling Soap next to him, who knows his Lt. too well and knows he just has to wait a little more, to give him time to elaborate his thoughts in a more sensible way.
Ghost's first impulse is always imposing himself as a threatening and leading figure. It's an habit.
But this time he doesn't have time to retry his answer.
A worried Gaz appears in the dining room, rushing toward them in some sort of urgency.
«You two» he breathes out, clinging on the table while regaining some air in his lungs «Do you want the good news, or the it-could-be-better news?»
«Were ye runnin' a bloody marathon at the fucking six in the morning?»
«Good new» Ghost answer, still holding his empty coffee mug. «Always good news first»
Gaz gazes at them, elaborating his words as best as he could: «…do ya remember the no-one's-going-to-do-that-mission topic in our last meeting?»
«That sort of suicidal duty 'bout sneaking alone in a mafia boss dirty party?»
Gaz nods. «That one»
«With none to cover your arse?»
«Yeah»
«That one Laswell was tryna to figure out so bad 'cause the goddamn boss had valuable infos 'bout big weapons traffic?»
«Aha»
«But none was that stupid to try it?»
«Soap». Ghost stops his Sergeant's stream of thoughts with a glare through the balaclava. «Cut it. What's the bloody good news 'bout it Garryk?»
«Mission's been accomplished» he spits, with neither a smile nor optimism, and a strange, worried look. Soap's eyes get wider.
«Are ye fucking kidding? Who's the idiot who tried it in the first place?»
Gaz sighs.
«'S our idiot»
It takes a bunch of seconds to link the description with a face, but your silly little smile rushes through their brain almost immediately. Soap stands up so fast the chair almost falls.
«WHAT-»
«The other news » Ghost's harsh voice talks over him, with a hint of hurriness, an almost audible tip of concern that he swallows.
And Gaz wastes no time:
«Now she can drain pasta with her arm»
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#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#cod fanfic#fanfiction#task force 141#ghost x reader#ghost x you#johnny soap mctavish#kyle gaz garrick#john price#writers on tumblr#a little bit of Kate Laswell#i like being annoying#i've tried not to write so much dialogues#i've failed#sorry#i just love to think about the task force being concerned about their little gnome#so surprised i could even managed to post something long enough to reach a part four#i promise there will be smut at some point#you perv
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Damoiselle
Flatcolour piece for a user on TH of their OC which was designed by @dazelvel
#hazbin hotel#digital art#helluva boss#hazbin#hazbin hotel oc#hazbin hotel art#helluva boss oc#helluva boss art#helluva boss adopt#hazbin hotel adopt#digitalart#digital drawing#digital illustration#drawing#hazbin art#helluva art#helluvaboss
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narcissus design update: i settled on a bird to model him after! something i kept putting off for some reason! he's based on a damoiselle crane
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List of books I’ve mentioned or reviewed on my blog
Here is the master list of books I’ve mentioned, with links to their pages. I will be keeping this list current and linked in my description.
*The ankh symbol [ ☥ ] indicates that this book is especially important to me and/or drastically changed my life
Secular/Science-Based/Skeptic-Friendly:
☥ Atheopaganism: An Earth-Honoring Path Rooted in Science by Mark Green
Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer
☥ Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler
☥ DIY Magic by Anthony Alvarado
How to Become a Witch by Julie Wilder
☥ Psychic Witch: A Metaphysical Guide to Meditation, Magick & Manifestation by Mat Auryn
Storytelling Alchemy by Renée Damoiselle
The Beginner Witch’s Guide to Grimoires by Julie Wilder
The Door to Witchcraft by Tonya A. Brown
The Enchanted Life: Unlocking the Magic of the Everyday by Sharon Blackie
The Witch of the Forest’s Guide to Natural Magick by Lindsay Squire
The Witch’s Guide to Manifestation by Mystic Dylan
☥ Witchcraft Therapy by Mandi Em
Wisdom, Psychology, Philosophy, Self-Growth, etc…
☥ The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz
Non-Secular:
☥ Sane Occultism by Dion Fortune
Simply Wicca: A Beginner’s Guide to the Craft of the Wise by Lisa & Anton Stewart
☥ Wicca for Beginners by Thea Sabin
#book reviews#books#bookblr#wicca#pagan#paganism#neopaganism#witchcraft#secular witchcraft#witches#witch#witch vibes#justwitchythings#goodreads#litblr#reading#pagan reading list
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EL BAILE DE LA HORCA
Al cadalso negro y manco van campeones a la baila, flacos campeones del Malo, saladinos en carcasa.
Maese Belcebú de la corbata jala sus negros fantochitos, que hacen muecas al cielo, y, plantando en sus frentes los reveses de un púgil, ¡los pone a bailar todos un rancio retornelo!
Y topan los fantoches, y se dan el bracete, y sus pechos desnudos, como órganos negros, que abrazaran antaño las nobles hijasdalgo, se chocan sin parar en amores horrendos.
¡Hala! ¡qué alegres bailan sin que estorbe la tripa! ¡Brincos y zapatetas, que el tablado es bien ancho! ¡Ale, que no se entienda si andan en baile o gresca! ¡Rascuña sus violines Belcebú enajenado!
¡Tienen talones duros, nunca gastan sandalia! ¡Ya se sacaron todos la camisa de cuero! El resto no molesta, tampoco ofende a nadie. La nieve en sus calacas pone un blanco sombrero.
El cuervo es el copete de sus crismas quebradas; tiembla un cacho de carne del canijo mentón… dijéranse girando, confundidas las sombras, caballeros muy tiesos con su arnés de cartón.
¡Ole! ¡el aquilón chifla, bailan las notomías! ¡Muge el negro cadalso como armonio de yerro! La réplica da el lobo desde la selva cárdena, el cielo en el confín tiñe un rojo de infierno…
¡Que siga el zarandeo de fúnebres caudillos que desgranan cazurros con falanges partidas un rosario de amor en su blanco espinazo! ¡Ya los rezos dejad… que estáis en mejor vida!
¡Cata que en el furor de la macabra danza bota en el rojo cielo cierta carcasa loca que arrebata su brío como jaco empinado: y sintiendo el dogal que le aprieta la gola
hinca sus finos dedos en un fémur que chasca, y chillando parece que rompe en mil denuestos, y, como un saltimbanqui se planta en la barraca, torna de un bote al baile entre el chinar de huesos!
Al cadalso negro y manco van campeones a la baila, flacos campeones del Malo, saladinos en carcasa.
*
BAL DES PENDUS
Au gibet noir, manchot aimable, Dansent, dansent les paladins, Les maigres paladins du diable, Les squelettes de Saladins.
Messire Belzébuth tire par la cravate Ses petits pantins noirs grimaçant sur le ciel, Et, leur claquant au front un revers de savate, Les fait danser, danser aux sons d'un vieux Noël !
Et les pantins choqués enlacent leurs bras grêles : Comme des orgues noirs, les poitrines à jour Que serraient autrefois les gentes damoiselles, Se heurtent longuement dans un hideux amour.
Hurrah ! les gais danseurs, qui n'avez plus de panse ! On peut cabrioler, les tréteaux sont si longs ! Hop ! qu'on ne sache plus si c'est bataille ou danse ! Belzébuth enragé racle ses violons !
Ô durs talons, jamais on n'use sa sandale ! Presque tous ont quitté la chemise de peau : Le reste est peu gênant et se voit sans scandale. Sur les crânes, la neige applique un blanc chapeau :
Le corbeau fait panache à ces têtes fêlées, Un morceau de chair tremble à leur maigre menton : On dirait, tournoyant dans les sombres mêlées, Des preux, raides, heurtant armures de carton.
Hurrah ! la bise siffle au grand bal des squelettes ! Le gibet noir mugit comme un orgue de fer ! Les loups vont répondant des forêts violettes : À l'horizon, le ciel est d'un rouge d'enfer…
Holà, secouez-moi ces capitans funèbres Qui défilent, sournois, de leurs gros doigts cassés Un chapelet d'amour sur leur pâles vertèbres : Ce n'est pas un moustier ici, les trépassés !
Oh ! voilà qu'au milieu de la danse macabre Bondit dans le ciel rouge un grand squelette fou Emporté par l'élan, comme un cheval se cabre : Et, se sentant encor la corde raide au cou,
Crispe ses petits doigts sur son fémur qui craque Avec des cris pareils à des ricanements, Et, comme un baladin rentre dans la baraque, Rebondit dans le bal au chant des ossements.
Au gibet noir, manchot aimable, Dansent, dansent les paladins, Les maigres paladins du diable, Les squelettes de Saladins.
Arthur Rimbaud
di-versión©ochoislas
#Arthur Rimbaud#literatura francesa#poesía simbolista#cadalso#ahorcados#danza macabra#sarcasmo#impudicia#di-versiones©ochoislas
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Casse-toi. Tout est fermé. Serrures, cadenas, Verrous, portes, Ton cœur se paume. Le mien s'est barré… Hier. Être de peu ou de rien Avec une dame de bon aloi Qui supputait ? En vieux François La ballade des pendus ! Encore eut-il fallu Journée de la langue française Oblige, que cette damoiselle. De peu, cacochyme et valétudinaire ; N'oublie pas son abécédaire. Pour s'élever tel un dicérion Comme Platon se promenant Souvenirs au cœur À l’entrée de la Drôme Laissant une infortunée S’accoudant mollement au cubiculaire À demi couché et paumé, Les serrures ouvrent les maux ; Les cadenas aiment les mots. N'est-il pas ?
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oc stuff
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Serge Lifar in Scherazade, a ballet which he interpreted one evening during he display of Draghilew’s Ballets Russes. Serge Lifar was born in Kiev in 1905, started studying ballet in Russia in Bronislava Nijinska’s school. In 1923 he succeeded in joining Diaghilew’s Ballets Russes in Paris and was immediately engaged. Very quickly he became the star of the company. His natural grace and ability made him unforgettable in La Chatte, Ode, L’Apollon Musagète, and La Fille Prodigue. In 1930 he became star-dancer and ballet-master at the Paris Opera. His taste and great experience brought back the real prestige to the French ballet. He produced several extraordinary ballets: Icare, David Triomphant, Entre Deux Rondes, Le Chevalier et La Damoiselle, Suite en Blanc, and at the same time formed a new generation of french dancers. [Photo by Serge Lido. Text, including spelling errors, from the 1947 publication La Danse: Masques.]
#serge lifar#ballet history#ballets russes#ballet de l'opéra de paris#serge lido#dancer#danseur#ballerino#bailarín#male ballet dancers
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25k reached! I'm halfway there🎉🎉🎉! It's still pretty satisfying. I'm done with that long battle scene and I'm currently writing everyone's endings.
It's certainly something given the amount of time I've put on this fic. And it's really moving as well. Everyone is going home, a new chapter of their story is about to begin. And I love seeing how much my characters have grown!
To celebrate that, here's a little (quickly edited) snippet (spoilers for the end of my FE3h fic, of course) :
-Philomène ! s’exclama une voix masculine.
Ayant échappé à ses gardiens, un prisonnier se jeta à ses pieds. Le sang maculait son riche manteau. Bien que dur, son visage aurait pu être beau et élégant dans d’autres circonstances, capable d'arracher une damoiselle idéaliste à son foyer. La peur déformait néanmoins ses traits et ses cheveux grisonnants en désordre lui donnaient un air sinistre.
Le sang et la suie n'occultaient pas la ressemblance de Maeve avec sa mère. Les serres immondes de l'homme agrippaient sa cape, tandis qu'il scandait le nom de la défunte, hagard et enfiévré.
-Oui, oui ! Tu es ma fille ! s’exclama-t-il avec une jubilation mauvaise.
Il le clama haut et fort pour souiller Maeve, l’entraîner avec lui dans la déchéance. La magicienne lui agrippa le poignet, le tordit vers le sol et recula d'un pas.
-Ne me touchez pas et ne souillez pas le nom de ma mère ! menaça-t-elle dans un grondement d’orage.
Ses lèvres devinrent une ligne, une lame. Son regard gela. Elle paraissait prête à lui trancher la langue.
-Je suis innocent, supplia l’homme. Sauve-moi, je t’en prie. J’aimais ta mère, tu sais. Je ne sais pas ce qu’elle t’a raconté sur moi, mais j’ai voulu te connaître toute ma vie. J'ai de l'argent et des terres. Je ferai de toi une femme riche. Tu ne manqueras jamais de rien.
Maeve combattit sa nausée. Les mots se bousculaient dans sa bouche. Il osait essayer de l’acheter avec son sale pécule ? La prenait-il pour une idiote ? Ou pire encore n’avait-il aucun remord, trop dénué d’empathie qu’il était ?
-Vous avez essayé de coupé les ailes de ma mère mais elle était plus forte que vous. Allez en enfer, c’est tout ce que vous méritez.
Elle n’avait jamais ressenti une telle froideur et indifférence. Il n’était qu’un insecte répugnant mais pas effrayant. Tant de conscrits et de gens innocents avaient perdu la vie dans cette guerre. Elle avait encore sur ses mains et sur son armure le sang fumant de ses ennemis. Pourquoi aurait-il mérité de s’en sortir ?
Le masque suave tomba et l'homme révéla son vrai visage. Le courroux le rendit tout simplement hideux. La séduction avait échoué, il passait désormais à la crainte et à la soumission.
-Je suis ton père ! s'emporta-t-il. Je t’ai donné la vie ! Tu n’as aucun droit de me faire ça ! Tu ne peux pas me condamner, tous tes camarades sauront que tu es une parricide !
Maeve haussa les sourcils. Elle entendait la menace sous-jacente dans son discours : “tu es ma fille et tu m’appartiens”. Et comme pour confirmer ses pensées, il répéta “je suis ton père” avec une suprême indignation. Ces mots semblaient être pour lui une incantation toute puissante, donnant le droit à vénération inconditionnelle. Sa bouche dégoulinait de venin et il montra les crocs.
Maeve rassembla les pans de sa cape autour d’elle.
-L’amour et le respect se méritent. Et vous n’avez rien fait pour cela. Vous êtes mon père, oui. Mais nos liens s'arrêtent-là. Ce qui vous arrive aujourd’hui est la conséquence de vos actions. Vous devriez y réfléchir pendant le temps qui vous reste. Bientôt vous ferez face à ma mère, déclara-t-elle froidement avant de l'abandonner à son sort.
Reconduit par ses gardiens, l'aristocrate hurla, se débattit, supplia et la maudit. Aucune de ses imprécations ne l'atteignit cependant.
Maeve ne connaissait même pas le nom du noble et n'avait aucune envie de l'apprendre.
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