#domremy la pucelle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jesus-otaku · 3 years ago

Text

Title: La Pucelle et la Coccinelle (part 12)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Word count: 2650

Discovered while updating my fic master page last night that I never did finish posting this fic here. So I am rectifying that. This is, by far, the most brutal chapter of the entire thing, and may or may not have made me cry while writing it, just as a fair warning. (Also tw for this chapter for some implied/attempted sexual assault.)

Tikki's heart sank. She knew, at that moment, that there would no longer be any mercy for Joan.

________________________

Joan's hair was shaven close to the scalp and she was given women's clothes after her abjuration, which she put on when she had been brought back to her cell. Tikki rejoined her there, sneaking in through the outer wall to avoid being seen by the guards.

Her charge sat in the corner of her cell, staring blankly at the wall across from her, her hands folded limp and unmoving in her lap. “I abjured,” she said in a hollow voice when Tikki landed on her knee with the earrings. “I have betrayed my counsel and my God.” A single tear made its way down her cheek. “What have I done?”

Tikki started to nestle against Joan's hand to comfort her, but the cell door creaked open again, and she was forced to phase through her charge's skirt instead to hide from the guards who entered.

“What could you possibly want with me?” Joan asked them, still in that terrible hollow voice.

“Come now, vachère, is that any way to talk to us?” one of the guards taunted. Joan was yanked to her feet.

“Let go of me!” The hollow tone was gone from her voice, replaced with the keening edge of panic.

“Not so confident without your heretic's garb, are you?” the other guard remarked in a disgustingly honeyed tone. “Under all that bravado, you're just a woman like any other.”

“I said, let go of me!” Tikki could tell from the way she was bracing herself that Joan was doing her best to pull away from the two, but her chains were hindering her efforts. She couldn't even break their grasp. “Let go! Stop touching me! Stop touching me!”

“Aw, but didn't you change for us, vachère? This is so much easier to remove than that pesky hosen.” Someone's hand tugged at Joan's skirt, and Tikki's heart leapt up into her throat. She needed to find somewhere else to hide—but where? And how was she supposed to conceal herself from the guards and protect Joan at the same time?

“Get your hands off of me!”

“Ouch!” The tugging at her skirt stopped. “The witch bit me!”

There was a harsh slapping sound, and Joan went tumbling to the ground.

“You bitch,” one of the guards said. “Mark my words, la Pucelle, we are not finished with you.”

When Tikki finally dared to come back out from her hiding place, Joan had one hand pressed to a hideous red welt on her tear-stained cheek, and her other clutching at the disheveled collar of her dress.

The guards made good on their promise. Over and over, they grabbed her, cornered her, fumbled at her clothes and their own, only stopping when Joan bit or got in a good elbow to the gut. The men's clothing which she had been wearing before was dumped in a sack in one corner, a deliberate temptation in the midst of the sexual harassment she was enduring. But she stubbornly kept wearing the dress she had been given.

Until, on May twenty-seventh, the guards stole her dress while she was in bed.

They dumped the male clothing out onto the floor in front of her, laughing the whole time, and stuffed her dress into the sack. Joan sat bolt upright in her bed and stared at the men's clothing as if she thought they might be poisonous. They may as well have been, knowing the consequences she would suffer if she put them on.

“Please, return my clothes to me,” she said to the guards.

They laughed again. One of them pointed to the men's clothes on the floor. “There are your clothes; put them on.”

“You know as well as I that the judges have prohibited me from wearing this clothing,” Joan protested. “Please, I must relieve myself. Return my clothes to me.”

“You have your clothes there,” the guard repeated.

“Sirs, you know this is forbidden me; without fail, I will not accept it.”

“Without fail, we will not give you a woman's garb,” another guard said, in an exaggerated mockery of her tone of voice. “You have clothing there; men's or women's, it is what you ought to wear.”

“I will not. Now return my clothing to me at once.”

But the guards kept refusing, and Joan could only hold out for so long—she had to relieve herself, and there was nowhere to do so in her tiny cell, which meant that sooner or later she would have to dress and leave her cell. She eventually gave up around noon, and put on the men's clothing which she had been trying so hard to avoid wearing. When she returned from relieving herself, she tried again to convince the guards to return her dress, with the same results.

And then the inquisitors came to see her the next day.

“When did you put on men's clothing?”

“I have but recently resumed men's clothes and abandoned women's.”

“Why did you take it, and who induced you to do so?”

“I took them of my own free will,” she answered solemnly, “without being forced; and truthfully I prefer these clothes to women's.”

It was the only out-and-out lie Tikki would ever remember her uttering.

“You promised and swore you would never resume wearing men's clothing,” one of the inquisitors reminded her.

“I never understood myself to be taking such an oath.”

“Why have you resumed it?” she was asked again.

“As I am among men, it is more lawful and appropriate that I should wear men's clothes rather than women's. I have resumed it because your promise to me has not been kept; that is, that I should go to Mass and receive the body of Christ and that I should be released from my chains.”

“Did you not make an oath never to take men's clothes?”

“I would rather die than be in chains,” Joan said firmly. “But if you allow me to go to Mass, and release me from my chains and place me in an agreeable prison with a woman for my companion, I will be good and do as the Church wills.”

“Since last Thursday, have you heard your voices?”

Her answer was a blissful exhale. “Yes.”

“What did they tell you?”

“They said to me that God had sent me word of the great pity it is that I betrayed Him, when I abjured and recanted to save my life. I damned my soul to save my life. Before Thursday, my voices had told me what I should do, and I did it. When I was on the scaffold, my voices instructed me that I should answer the preacher boldly.” Her voice took on a sorrowful, bitter curl. “In truth he is a false preacher; he accused me of many things which I have never done. If I said that God had not sent me, I would damn myself, for truly I was sent by God. My voices have told me since Thursday that I have done a great evil in saying that what I had done was wrong. Whatever I said and recanted, I said for fear of the flames.”

Tikki's heart sank. She knew, at that moment, that there would no longer be any mercy for Joan.

The next day went by unbearably fast. Tikki spent most of it huddled up close to Joan's side, holding on with every ounce of strength she had. They didn't talk much. Both of them knew what was coming, and they would say their goodbyes when it came, but for the time being it was better to sit in silence and just be together.

After suppertime, footsteps approached down the hall. Joan's head snapped up to look at her cell door with dread. Tikki buried her face in Joan's clothes as murmurs floated in from the hallway. Then the cell door was opening, and Joan was standing, and Tikki hid herself under the bed in a rush.

“You needn't hide from me, Tikki.”

It was the great guardian's voice.

Slowly, Tikki popped back out from under the bed. She was greeted by the great guardian's kind smile. Joan looked back and forth between the two of them in obvious confusion.

“Joan d'Arc,” the great guardian said, inclining his head to her. “It is a pleasure to see you again after so long.”

Joan's mouth popped open in surprise. “You're…”

He nodded. “The elderly gentleman whom you aided in carrying wares across Domremy, yes.”

She turned to look at Tikki. “And…”

“He's the one who brought me to you,” Tikki answered. “This is the great guardian. He protects all of the Miraculous, and distributes them to those who are worthy during times of trouble.” She turned her attention to the great guardian. “If you're here, then…”

The great guardian nodded again, his expression turning sorrowful. “It is time for you and Jhennette to part ways. We cannot risk the Miraculous falling into the wrong hands.”

A sharp wave of pain stabbed through Tikki's heart. She'd known it was coming. She really had. But it had come much sooner than she had wanted. Joan bit her bottom lip to keep it from wobbling; it looked like she was as upset about the notion as Tikki was.

The great guardian bowed his head. “I will give you time to say goodbye.”

Tikki flew straight to Joan's cheek to hug her. Joan's hand came up to cradle the back of Tikki's head.

“Thank you for everything, Tikki,” she whispered. Tikki felt a tear drop onto the top of her head. “You have been such a gift in my mission.”

Tikki nuzzled her cheek against Joan's fingertips. “I only gave you added protection. Everything else was all your doing. You're the bravest girl I've ever known.” She tried to smile at Joan, but it was hard to smile when her eyes were filling with tears and she was on the cusp of sobbing. “You truly are.”

“I could have died at Orleans without your help,” Joan reminded her. Another tear fell on Tikki's head. “And then what would have become of their Maid? You have been a great gift, and my best aid.” She lifted one finger to tap the dot on Tikki's forehead, just as she had done so many times in the past three years. “I am sorry for ever having thought you were a daemon. It's clear to me now that God brought me to you, and you to me, so that we could accomplish this mission together and show the world His glory.”

Tikki choked down another sob. “If anyone ever deserved to go to heaven, it's you.”

Joan chuckled, and smiled through her tears. “Don't attempt to speak for God, Tikki.” She rubbed the spot on Tikki's forehead. “My counsel has promised me I will be delivered tomorrow, in a great victory for His kingdom. It will be a greater victory even than Orleans. My martyrdom.”

Tikki couldn't say anything to that. She was crying too much to say anything anymore.

Her charge squeezed her close one final time. “Be of good heart, Tikki. By the grace of God, I can go to Paradise tomorrow.”

Joan was to be burned the next morning in the old market square of Rouen. The great guardian thought that it might not be a good idea to go watch, but Tikki insisted until he gave in. She was going to be there for Joan even if only as one of those looking on.

Joan stood before her condemners on the platform that had been erected for her to hear her sentence, her white shift fluttering around her ankles. She looked tiny and insignificant on that great platform, with all the robed clergymen opposite her in their glittering baubles and miters, her beautiful black hair shaved to dark fuzz and her deceptively delicate body sheathed in the white of a death shroud. While one of the priests read some long-winded sermon about pruning dead branches off the vine and protecting the Church from heresy, she remained upright and calm. They concluded their sermon with a sentence of her excommunication from the Church, and she was abandoned to the secular authorities.

That was when Joan broke down crying.

As Massieu escorted her down from the platform and took her to where the executioner had already prepared for the fire, she called on the Trinity, on the Virgin Mary, on all the saints she could name and the rest of their communion besides, professing her faith throughout.

“Please,” she begged of the people she was taken past, and of the soldiers who waited at the bottom of the scaffold, “pray for me and for my soul. And forgive me—” she choked on her words, and had to restart her sentence. Tikki, hiding under the cover of the great guardian's hat, stifled her tears. “Forgive me and pardon me for any wrongs I have done any of you, for though I will be killed and my body destroyed by these judges today I pardon them as my Lord Jesus Christ has pardoned my sins. You, Cauchon, who have excommunicated me, and all you judges who have aided him, yes, I forgive you. Though I die through you, I forgive you.”

She kept praying and begging for pardon for a long time, and Tikki wasn't sure her heart could take much more of her lamentations, and even some of the priests who had just condemned her were beginning to cry by the time she was placed on the scaffold. Massieu stayed with her, his hand on her shoulder. She said something more softly, which Tikki couldn't hear from her position. An English soldier near her picked up a stick from the ground and broke it in two, and fashioned a little cross out of it with a piece of string. He offered it to Joan. She took it, smiling at him through her tears, and kissed the cross several times before pressing it to her breast. Again she said something to Massieu, and he spoke to a Dominican priest standing off to the side. The Dominican hurried off, and Joan resumed her prayers and weeping. He came back with the crucifix from the nearby church.

Joan flung her arms around the crucifix, holding it tightly to herself as if it were a lifeline.

One of the English soldiers by the scaffold cut through her prayers. “What, priest,” he said to Massieu, “are you going to keep us here till suppertime?” Massieu was shunted out of the way, off of the scaffold, and Joan tugged away from the crucifix to be tied to the stake.

They didn't even bother to read her death sentence from the secular authorities. The one who tied her to the stake only said to the executioner, “Do your duty.”

The Dominican priest still stood on the scaffold with the crucifix. “Wait,” Joan said to the executioner, and then, to the priest, she said, “Please, move down from the scaffold, and then raise the crucifix very high, and never let it leave my eyes.”

He did as he was told, and the executioner lit his fire beneath the scaffold.

Tikki couldn't see much of what happened after that. Her vision was far too blurred by tears. But the crucifix never wavered from its position in front of Joan's eyes, and over the crackling of the flames, Tikki heard Joan cry, “Jesus!” As the smoke began to rise, the cry came again. “Jesus!”

Be strong, Joan, Tikki pleaded silently. If ever anyone deserved to go to heaven, it's you. You've earned your reward. Your suffering is almost over.

Joan continued to cry out the name of Jesus for several minutes before, at long last, her eyes fluttered shut, and her head drooped down over the little stick cross still pressed to her breast.

It was finished.

#drabble #mbb2k17 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #la pucelle et la coccinelle

1 note · View note

lordmartiya · 5 years ago

Text

Fox Rain chapter 5

@lilanette-week

@supermenteuse

@emblian

@starcrossed-stardust

@theitalianscribe

@thekitsune

@volpinarena

Some school life. Just simple school life. And if you believe that the Akuma class can have “just simple school life”, let me tell you the French government is planning to sell the Eiffel Tower for scraps and I’m their agent. Oh, and there’s totally no reference on just why Lila recognized that Fox Miraculous Holder on the book. I swear! On the other hand, parts of this and some of the next chapters are based on quicksilversquared’s “A Different Kind of Inspiration”. P.S.: Let me thank the Lila Protection Squad Discord for some help-turns out the cultural differences between the various parts of Italy are greater than I thought.

Chapter 05: Slice of Life

It was a calm Saturday, and Lila, not having bonded much with her classmates yet, had thought to take the chance to try that place suggested by her friend-and it had indeed satisfied her mother, for the time being. Still, Maria, not having a friend proud of certain traditions, was puzzled by the name, and asked about it.

“This place, this gym, started out as a Savate club-and our art may have been born in the south but was later forged in the street fights of Paris during the Belle Epoque, fights that involved gangs called Apache(1).” the professeur, Remy Eclair, explained. “Some of my colleagues don’t like bringing it up, but I feel we should remember the errors of the past so we won’t repeat them. That being part of why we slowly expanded to offer a few other styles and our students are trained to compete in MMA tournaments: the other instructors and I aspire to teach young men and women how to avoid our mistakes.”

“I see.” Maria replied. “But why the Omega?”

“I like the letter, why?”

Both of Lila’s parents pinched their noses at the reveal. Lila, on the other hand, was savoring the situation: she needed proper venting, and perfecting her boxing skills(2) and learning something new at this Omega Apacheria was just the thing.

“Hey! Aren’t you my cousin’s new classmate?”

Lila turned, and saw Bridgette Dupain in a full Savate outfit-and someone expected to enter and possibly win the World Games(3) in Muay Thai. She didn’t want her interest in MMA to become public, and not just because of the (small) chance it’d get her exposed at Vorpika, but keeping Bridgette from getting it out will be worth the chance of training with Anansi.

_______________________________

“And now you know.” Marinette said to her Kwami, who had just heard why Marinette had known how to calm Lila-and a few other things. “I-I’ll understand if you’ll want a better Ladybug, I mean-”

Marinette was interrupted by Tikki hugging her head, calming her down.

“What you told me is why you’re an amazing Ladybug.” the Kwami replied.

“But-”

“My past holder Jehanne and her family had to face hostility for their loyalty to the Crown, she even had her house burned, and yet she was always calm and sweet, and proud of having never killed once-just like you, in your way. Just try and not be too generous like her…”

“I suppos-wait, Jehanne, too generous… YOU MEAN JEANNE D’ARC?!”

“No, Jeanne Romée, from Domremy…”

It would take a while, and Marinette’s parents asking why she had shouted about France’s national hero, before Tikki realized that her most self-sacrificial user was known with a different name now(4). And so much pressure on Marinette.

_______________________________

“Auroch, do you have a moment?” Remy Eclair asked to the gym’s boxing instructor. As “quirky” (to say the least) and greedy as he was, the American boxer he had nicknamed after the ancestor of cows was a great asset to the gym, having helped his students perfecting their use of fists and quickly dealing with any problem or information need-just like what he needed to ask him right now. “I need you to find out a few things about our newest student.”

“Let me see.” the boxer said as he took Lila’s file. “Dammit, name too long to be unmockable and too short to be mocked properly, a bit unlucky for being Ladybug’s friend. So, what do ya need to know?”

“Her mother was quite insistent about us teaching restraint.”

“Say no more. And no, being a diplomat’s daughter won’t stop me.”

_______________________________

“So what?” Vorpika said to Ladybug that night when they and Chat Noir met for patrol and the spotted heroine explained what she had found out from her Kwami.

“But-it’s Jeanne d’Arc! La Pucelle!” Chat Noir protested.

“Nǚwáng Húlí. Or if you prefer, Donna Volpe. She saved ALL OF ITALY in one fell swoop, and shortened World War II-because I doubt the Germans would have collapsed in 1944 if those seventeen divisions had been available. And do you see me complain about the pressure? No!”

“You and I have a much different sense of worth.” Ladybug said. “How am I supposed to be worth of her?!”

“As my grandmother used to say, you aren’t, just do your best and surpass her. And if you fail… Well, you still did better than you would have done otherwise. You’re my pard, and I won’t let you make me look bad.”

Ladybug blinked for a moment, and just hugged her ally, much to Vorpika and Chat Noir’s confusion. It would take a while before she realized what she had called Ladybug.

_______________________________

“You can ask, if you want.” Ladybug said to her partner after the patrol ended and Vorpika had left.

“Why did you hug her?” Chat asked, as expected.

“She called me a pard-and in Italy they use that word only for the true friends, at least if you read the right comics(5).”

Chat looked at his partner as if she had suddenly grown another head, so ridiculous the idea was, before reminding her of one thing: “My Lady, she’s planning to beat you to a pulp as soon as we’ve dealt with Papillon.”

“Come on, if Chloe can be nice to some people then Lila can become friendlier.” Ladybug replied. “I know she can.”

_______________________________

“Welcome! Glad to see you here!”

Lila blinked at the strangeness of the situation. She had already realized that Chloe Bourgeois wasn’t the friendliest person, and yet that Monday she had arrived at school early and was greeting all her classmates-with the most strained smile she had ever seen when it came to Marinette. And now she had been greeting her with a sickeningly sweet tone in her voice-the kind that made her itch to punch the talker in the face.

“Come, I’ll bring you to the infirmary.” she said instead, half sarcastically and half actually worried the blonde had some mind-altering condition.

“Miss Bustier insists we all take turns in greeting our classmates, now move your ass and get in.” Chloe replied with a less abnormal tone.

That explained it-and she didn’t like it. She could be wrong, but in Lila’s book such a trick hinted at the teacher being desperate about some bullying-and not having any idea this kind of things didn’t work. It was worth investigating it-maybe she had been underestimating Marinette. Who knew, maybe she’d become a friend, or a pard, and-

“PORCA MATRIGNA!”

And she finally realized what she had called Ladybug. But why?! She couldn’t be growing fond of her! Not after what she had done! Or could she? She needed to take out Papillon soon, or she may forget she’s supposed to squash the bug!

_______________________________

“What was that?” Alya asked Marinette.

“I think it was the Roman equivalent of parbleu.” was the answer of the one who understood Italian. It had to be that, otherwise she couldn’t explain why Lila had insulted the stepmother she didn’t have. “No idea why, though.” and that was actually a lie-by Lila’s deer-on-headlights look, Marinette strongly suspected she had just realized she had referred to Ladybug as a pard. Something to give her back her good mood, after what she had just discovered the previous day.

“A bit strong for that… And I don’t think she has a creative block too.”

“Alya!”

“You think there’s a spot for her too?”

“Wait, you mean today? It was supposed to be just between us…”

“And you said you think she needs a good friend-and maybe she can help you with that block.”

“You’re right, but-”

“Hey, Lila! Are you busy today?”

Alya being Alya, less than a minute later Lila had promised to go with her at Marinette’s house. And having started to understand the Italian girl, the future host just hoped it wouldn’t go too bad…

_______________________________

“Marinette, dear, is this to get around the pet ban?” Tomas Dupain asked his daughter after taking a single look at Lila-much to said daughter’s embarrassment. And fear. Why, of all the embarrassing things he knew about her, he had to share that?

“What do you mean?” Lila asked, suspicious about the situation.

“Oh, nothing much-Marinette wanted a pet fox as a child, but we couldn’t let her due the bakery.” Sabine Cheng added.

And while Alya-the traitor-snickered at the news, Lila slowly turned to Marinette, surprise having replaced suspicion on her face-and then she apparently realized something, by the look she shot her before lowering her head.

“I can’t believe you…” she whispered, anger in her words. “All of this… I trusted you… And you only wanted my body! You pervert!”

Neither Alya nor Marinette said anything, the former was too busy laughing openly at what was happening and the latter was looking at the hammy fox with the same face she had when she had found out Kim was crushing on Chloe. And she wasn’t finished.

“Still… I love you so much!” Lila said, moving in the most melodramatic way she could and offering her hair to Marinette. “Here! My foxlike hair! It’s yours!”

Marinette just used it to drag Lila to her room, making sure Lila was following so she risk harming her or ruin that hair (if Juleka and their old classmate Mina were any hint, people with hair that long tended to be quite proud of it), quickly followed by Alya as soon as she realized they had left while she had been laughing.

_______________________________

“You’re just too easy to tease.” Lila said after they had reached Marinette’s room and got her hair back. Then she realized another thing. “And as unbelievable as it sounds, you aren’t the first one with the same reason to be attracted to my foxy charm. And no-” she continued as Alya looked about to ask who she was talking about “I’m not telling who. It’s her secret, and it came out in a rather embarrassing situation.”

While she didn’t show it, Marinette was relieved by Lila’s willingness to keep Ladybug’s secrets. Then, of course, she asked something she had hoped she wouldn’t ask: “Now, why did you girls wanted me here, exactly?”

“We’re friends, right?” and of course Alya did exactly the wrong thing: deny any ulterior motives.

“Leaving aside we’re not that close yet, I’m the daughter of a diplomat, I’ve experienced far too many liars much better than you will ever be.”

“She thought you could help with my creative block.” Marinette admitted before Alya could make things worse.

“Yeah, my girl just got caught a case of thinking she can’t do it, comparing herself to the big names like Gabriel Agreste, or Valentino.” Alya continued, repeating what Marinette had improvised to hide she felt not up to task of being Jeanne d’Arc’s successor.

Lila just looked at them with a strange smile, then she asked Marinette: “Can I use your PC for a moment? I need to show you a few things.”

“Sure.”

Lila went and connected to the Ladyblog’s wiki, and showed some of the data Alya and others had found on past Holders of the Ladybug Miraculous: “Here she is: La Mariquita, had a decisive role in the Mexican War of Independence, some even attribute to her the utter failure to even leave port of Barradas’ expedition and their recognition of Mexican independence in the same year(6). Now, this stained glass window in Notre Dame shows Jeanne d’Arc, that Jeanne d’Arc, facing Jacques “Darkblade” d’Argencourt in her 1429 attack on the city-that may have well be aimed specifically to destroy his supposedly demonic sword(7). Oh, and this one I actually saw a couple times when I lived in Tokyo, Ladybug’s immediate predecessor Benten-chan(8), who gave her life to annihilate a terrorist organization, finishing the job started by her predecessor Bo Rùa. Who, if I read among certain lines right, also played a part in France doing the smart thing with the Việt Minh in 1946(9). Ladybug knows of these ladies, and sometimes she feels overwhelmed… But still soldiers on, doing her best to be as good as them if not better. And considering that, from what I’ve seen, the only reason you aren’t Ladybug was that whoever held on the Ladybug Miraculous after Benten-chan’s death met Ladybug before you… Agreste, Valentino, and Coco Chanel together won’t cause you problems for much longer.”

Marinette was of two minds. On one hand, she appreciated Lila’s attempt at helping her, even with the lie-she hadn’t known of La Mariquita and Bo Rùa until Lila had mentioned them, and had only suspected that one of Tokyo’s past superheroes had been her predecessor. On the other hand… How was she supposed to compare to them?!

“Come on, I know Coco Chanel was revolutionary, but you are a genius too.” Lila commented, guessing the wrong reason for Marinette’s barely repressed panic. Then she finally gave a less disastrous suggestion: “Have you tried to look around the city for inspiration?”

Marinette just pointed at the bulletin board near her desk and the dozens of sketches of people and monuments on them.

“Then, what about the Station of Lyon(10)? To paraphrase a certain saying, the best part of Paris is the train from and to Rome(11), to better appreciate the best places in the world, and just a glimpse may help.”

It took a moment for Marinette and Alya to realize Lila was actually serious about that.

“I should actually go there to feel inspired by Rome…” Marinette replied.

“At this point I could suggest a brief break, but if you intend to go pro you can’t have that, or the fabric store.”

“You’re a genius!” Alya added. “Mari, she’s right, maybe the fabric will talk to you.”

“I think you’ve been watching too much Project Runway, Alya.” Marinette replied after snorting and rolling her eyes.

“Well, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then, field trip!”

And so, the aspiring journalist dragged the other two girls to Marinette’s favorite fabric store.

_______________________________

As she visited the fabric store with her tentative friends, Lila thought at the strange situation, also wondering at just why they hadn’t asked her help. She could understand in the diplomatic world, what with the absurd mix of lies and truths international relationship were based on, but among common people she felt it was stupid.

Still, in a way they were bonding, even if she felt Marinette too had some hidden reason for it-the girl struck her as somewhat paranoid, and allowing a recent acquaintance in her room was just too strange.

Not that she wasn’t manipulating her herself-she hadn’t suggested the fabric store just because her composer uncle used to go at the music instrument shop for inspiration, but also because she had seen a certain announcement on the web, and she was waiting for the store to put it on their announcement board. And if her intuition was right, it was just the challenge the pigtailed genius needed. And maybe even unnecessary, by what she was hearing.

“It does, from what I can tell, but I get squicked out by the whole ‘it’s actually skin’ thing, I think.” Marinette was saying to Alya, answering a question if leather draped well. “If I could get past that, I could probably come up with some ideas for jackets and whatnot. Jagged Stone has some amazing leather jackets that I'd love to kind of replicate, but… Skin. It gives me creative block.”

“Then I know just what you need.” Lila said, knowing it would also work with her original plan. Then she spotted an employee stapling the awaited announcement at the bulletin board, and as she pointed to it she added: “In fact, it’s actually two things you need-and one has just come out there.”

“Wait, what-Mr. Agreste is holding a design contest! Oh, no, this is the worst possible timing! I don't have any ideas!”

“Read it in full.”

“’Outfits must be designed using nontypical fabrics. No cotton or wool knits/weaves, silk, et cetera. Fastenings such as buttons and zippers are allowed. Contact Bessie Leroy with questions.’” she read off the flier, before adding she was a lower designer at Gabriel. Then she looked at Lila and asked: “Did you knew?”

“Checked their page this morning to have something to speak with you and Adrien, and discovered an early announcement. At a guess, he wants to know what kinds of materials are out there and the best way of doing that is a contest, or maybe he’s tired of contest dominated by silk dresses. This little trick should push designers out of their comfort zone.”

“Yes, but this will make it harder to be inspire-what’s that smile? It’s-”

“Predatory? Scary? I probably showed it off to Ladybug when I was Volpina-because it comes out only when a plan comes together and I came quite close to win. But I digress… Now, tell me: did you know there’s a material almost identical to leather but made out of cork?”

Five minutes later it was Marinette to drag the other two back to her home, already having the basis for a design. The fact that, as long as one followed the very simple and clearly outlined procedures, Agreste would pay for the materials in order to let potential talents with little money enter his contests and (hopefully) his company, something Marinette believed had been his missing wife’s idea and he continued because it worked and Lila believed was simply the result of him being a good and astute businessman, meant the budding designer wouldn’t have troubles with her design. The only thing that hadn’t been going well in Lila’s opinion was the red-and-black combo that would homage Ladybug, but in Paris that was the same as wearing orange in honor of Donna Volpe and the actual Volpina back in Rome, and she could take it. Then Marinette surprised her. Surprised her, and triggered her mistrust.

_______________________________

“I said I want to fit this to you, so you can have it once I’m done with the contest.” Marinette repeated. She was a bit surprised herself by what she had decided, but she just wanted to do it.

“Why?” Lila asked, suddenly cold. “This is the kind of things one does for their friends, and unless I’ve missed something we’re still at the “friendly acquaintances” stage. Or you want to become friends really, really fast?”

In hindsight, Marinette realized she should have seen this coming, considering what she had realized about Lila. But it wasn’t a problem, all it took was to remember where she had hidden her pre-Ladybug diaries this time (she had thought the traps were enough, but after Chloe sent Sabrina to steal her then-current diary she had decided to increase the precautions) and show one to Lila.

“Here. Read a page, any page.” Marinette said after picking it.

“Did I hear something that could have been a lock or a deactivated bear trap?”

“Sabrina stole her diary once.” Alya explained.

“Oook…”

Lila took the diary and opened it, slowly reading one of the page-and then widening her eyes and reading it again, and three times, and then flickering through the pages. It would have been comical if she hadn’t know what caused that reaction.

“But-oh-Madonna santa, ched’è ch’a puttana incora campa?!”

“I wonder that myself.” Marinette replied as she took back the diary. “And please, don’t correct the situation.”

“But-”

“Don’t. She’s not worth the trouble. But… Do you understand now?”

Lila just nodded.

_______________________________

“Did you have to shout that loud?” Remy asked his fellow instructor as he, Nora “Anansi” Cesaire and Bridgette came to him.

“No, but it’s funnier. And it’s about your research.” Auroch replied. “The girl’s got boxing in the blood, her father, Andrea-he he-Rossi-”

“It’s a perfectly manly name in Italy(12).” Bridgette pointed out.

“Whatever. Anyway, her father Andrea Rossi was a boxer, and was expected to get the Olympic gold and then gun for the Heavyweight championship but he injured his hand right before the selection, and by the time he healed he had to look for a steadier job, if you get what I mean.”

“Uh-hu.” Nora replied before noticing something on the screen. “Wait, the date of his retirement-”

“Congrats, you noticed one of the reasons for the parents’ protectiveness. And you won’t ever hint to anyone about it. Anyway, as I was saying the man taught his daughter how to fight, enough she won a few amateur matches and even got in a kickboxing one ‘bout five weeks ago… An’ now you’ll see why the lady was so insistent on restraint.”

Auroch opened a YouTube video, showing Lila in a kickboxing getup facing a blonde girl and giving her a rather unsettling glare, while the blonde smirked. Said smirk disappeared once Lila hit her with a one-two on the nose, followed by two other crosses as the nose started bleeding and continuing until the referee intervened.

“That was a bit harsher than I’d expect from two teens.” Remy commented.

“You say that-last guy I’ve seen hitting with such determination was Buster Douglas in Tokyo, and I see no dead mom for the girl(13). They had a score, and Rossi settled it-and the still alive mom doesn’t want a repeat. Something I can understand, wouldn’t have got in so much trouble had my parents done the same.”

“Well, I suppose we can help the girl too, can’t we?” Remy said. “We’ll have to count on you girls-Bridgette, you’re about the same age, and you, Anansi… Well, the girl seems to look up to you.”

“No problem, boss!” Nora answered while Bridgette struck her chest in the Savate salute.

_______________________________

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Andrea Rossi asked his daughter as they dined. “After Selah, your mother and I were starting to fear you wouldn’t trust new people.”

“I’m not letting that fatah(14) win.” Lila coldly replied, the contempt for the other girl evident in the use of Arabic in place of the usual Romanesco. “But where’s mother?”

“At the embassy.” Andrea replied with a sigh. “She called in earlier and said she’s got an important translation to complete.”

“I see.”

After dinner, Lila went back to her room, thinking about the day’s discoveries, when Trixx had to ask her about one thing:

“Isn’t your mother too important for translation work?” the Kwami asked.

“Welcome to the diplomatic world, where you lie even to your family and they won’t call you out.” Lila replied with fake mirth. “I think she got involved with something from the intelligence… Or it may just be a secret negotiation, or who knows. Or cares. All I know is that she has disappeared again. And right as I’d need her advice. Again.”

“It’s about the Bourgeois girl, isn’t it?”

“Who else? I mean, you’ve seen what she did. And don’t you try and convince me you didn’t read that diary…”

“You should support Marinette when she needs it. Dealing with the bullies should be the teachers’ job, and doing it in their place could get you in trouble.”

“So, just watch and do the bare minimum?”

“Unless she crosses the line. I mean, it’s not like she’s a danger to you, right?”

_______________________________

Chloe Bourgeois alternated looking Sabrina and the phone with the article her friend had just pointed her to.

“Well well well… Didn’t think the new girl had something like that hiding in her past…” Chloe said once she was past the shock.

“It’s not exactly hidden, I mean, there’s articles, and-” Sabrina pointed out before getting cut off.

“It’s a figure of speech. But this explains a lot. You said there’s more?” as Sabrina nodded, Chloe just grinned, knowing that one recent problem was about to be solved.

Notes

(1)”Apache” was the name given to a particularly ferocious (from which the name, comparing them to the perception people used to have of the actual Apache) criminal underworld subculture active in Paris in the early 20th century, subculture that survived the police’ attempts at suppressing it because the gangs would stop fighting the moment they spotted the police and in total they outnumbered them about five to one. Due the powerlessness of the police, the Parisians fought it themselves until, in 1914, Joseph Gallieni, military governor of Paris, managed to convince them to join the army in defending Paris from the invading Germans… At which point the Apache found themselves in the middle of World War I, with obvious results.

(2)Lila actually shows some knowledge of boxing defensive techniques in the series, mainly her surprising nimbleness (boxing footwork) and the famous scene of the “killer napkin” (a reflexive parrying).

(3)A multi-sport event meant for sports not included in the Olympic Games, held every four year, one after the latest Summer Olympics, with the athletes being the best in their respective disciplines. Combat sports at the World Games include Ju Jitsu, Sumo, Muay Thai (as stated), and Karate, though the latter could be missing from the 2021 due being disputed in the Tokyo Olympics.

(4)According to the trials transcripts, Jeanne (whose name at the time was indeed spelled “Jehanne”) herself stated that, at Domrémy, it was use to take the maternal surname, if one had a surname at all-hence Tikki referring to her with her mother’s last name and not with her father’s.

(5)Specifically, Tex (Tex Willer for English-speaking audiences), where the word is used by the characters to refer to their friends, and, most significantly, the four main characters, some of the truest friends in comic books, do the same and are referred by fans as “The Pards”. The readers would recognize said word, and considering Tex is Italy’s most popular comic, even among adults…

(6)In real life, Barradas’ “Spearhad Division” actually landed in 1829 and was promptly defeated, and Spain would not recognize Mexican independence until 1836. But as Astruc revealed a past Ladybug Miraculous Holder fought in said war…

(7)Darkblade’s nickname was in English even in the original French, and we know Jeanne d’Arc, who attacked Paris in 1429, was a Ladybug Miraculous Holder, so…

(8)Complete OC.

(9)Simply based on the fact a past Ladybug Miraculous Holder is confirmed as Vietnamite.

(10)Contrary to the name, this is one of Paris’ train stations, whose full name, Paris-Gare-de-Lyon (Paris Train Station of Lyon), comes from the fact most long distance trains departing from there pass from Lyon.

(11)Specifically, the Roman saying is “There’s one good thing about Milan: the train for Rome”. Paris and Rome, however, have an exclusive twinship because, supposedly, “Only Paris is worth of Rome; only Rome is worth of Paris”, so…

(12)Andrea, deriving from the Greek “Andros” like its English counterpart Andrew and the French one Andrè, means “manly”. As far I’m concerned, it’s more embarrassing for a girl to have that name.

(13)In 1990, James “Buster” Douglas was a “journeyman” Heavyweight boxer approaching his retirement when he was given a shot at facing then-undefeated Heavyweight Champion Mike Tyson. Given their, well, everything, everyone knew this would be another half-round glorified sparring session for Tyson while his manager got around organizing the big match with Evander Holyfield, thus no US arena would host the fight, leading to it being fought at the Tokyo Dome, the only Las Vegas casino that accepted bets gave Douglas 42-1 odds, and Tyson didn’t adequately prepare himself… Except Douglas’ mother died 23 days before the fight, and for her he fought like he had never done, or would. After the ten most hellish rounds of his career, Tyson lost by knock-out.

#lilanette #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #lila rossi #lilarossi

24 notes · View notes

princevulgar · 5 years ago

Text

La Pucelle Du Diable

I’ve never uploaded anything on here, and I figured I’d put up a writing assignment I did for a final project in college that I’m actually really proud of. I’m still debating on whether or not continuing it since I feel like I already had the entire plot figured out, but obviously had to cut it way down for my project. Hope you few who read it enjoy it as much as I did writing it. This is a historical piece with a twist of fiction

How does one do good in this world when it is so full of chaos? How does one do good when it could all be for nothing? How does one carry such a heavy responsibility? A burden…it is questions such as these that fill the empty cavern that has now become my mind. A place that no longer feels like my own. No. Not anymore. I lost that long ago.

Such a distant memory now. I hardly remember how the warm sun shone down upon me, kissing my skin ever so gently with its warm embrace. How the cool breeze of the winds would dance across our open fields, nourishing our land with seeds, so that we would receive a beautiful and healthy harvest; a gift from our Lord in the sky. But that all came to an end. The very image shattering to pieces before me like an old withered mirror.

I could see myself in those pieces of a faded memory. Pure, yet broken. But it was not just I, within those shards of glass. Something else breathed within them, something that moved through my eyes until it engulfed my green irises like the fires I’ve seen, oh so, many times taking the lives of my people and the lands they’ve walked upon. I stared back at my broken reflection long and hard, unmoving and afraid no more, for those now black and hellish eyes were no longer mine, but his. Abigor.

~ ~ ~

“-anduer. Commandeur?” My head turned at that strange title, my attention drawn away from the view of an old crushed field. The grass was no longer green, but instead beaten to mud and muck by the steps of my soldiers. As I looked over, I saw a man, or perhaps a boy even from his age, with a plate of food in his hands. Though he looked young, the scars and wear across his face had aged him. Dirt covered him from head to toe, his armor denied of the sun’s rays due to the mud that was smeared across it.

I smiled at him, reaching up to flick off a few pebbles of dirt that had nestled within his brown hair, “Please, do not give me a title for which I have not earned. My name is, Jeanne. As for you, you are?”

For a moment he looked flustered, not expecting that type of response at all, “Claude, Comm-“ he paused for a moment, “Jeanne. My name is, Claude.”

I smiled again, then looked at the small wooden plate he held. On it was a small bread bun with a block of cheese sitting right next to it.

Noticing my gaze, he quickly held it out to me, “Please, eat.” I looked him over once more before gingerly taking the plate into my own hands, thanking him. With a single smile, he turned and left, returning back to his group of friends. A group lost amongst the many other groups of soldiers that sat idly nearby. I took a bite of the bread I was given, suddenly feeling a wave of nostalgia course through the entirety of my small body. Even if it tasted stale, a part of me was taken back to my home in Domremy. Back to the farm lands in which I grew up in.

“Finally eating now, eh?” The memories instantly faded as a voice sliced right through them.

An older man, who looked much more aged than Claude, and with darker hair, stood before me. He smiled down towards me, through his salt and pepper features, though it looked more forced than it should’ve been. “It’d do us no good if the maid died from starving herself before she even set foot on the battlefield.” He mocked with a hard laugh.

I stared up at him, unbothered by his snark comment. I was used to it by now. John the Bastard they called him. The Count of Dunois, and the last defender of the city, Orleans. He made the rules around here, and I was to take orders from him. Although, I just met him, it was clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. “I was merely waiting for my share. I had no intentions of refusing any type of sustenance.”

What I had said clearly offended him, although I’m not sure how. The smile he had forced quickly turned into a scowl, “My god, woman. Call it for what it is! Food! Not this sustenance shit!” he nearly spat before pinching the bridge of his nose, “I swear, sometimes you don’t even sound human.”

I grew puzzled by that last statement, but I quickly pushed it aside before hardening my gaze towards him, “I ask you refrain from such obscene language, John. I honestly wonder why you resort to such ill words.”

He laughed again, this time through his hand before letting it drop to his side, “And I wonder why you still insist on dressing as a man. Guess we’ll never know.” With that he left, back to his tent I assumed. A hand unconsciously reached up to touch the few blonde strands of hair that hung over my face. I had tied my golden locks into a tight bun with the exception of a few that refused to stay up. My hand fell to my chest which wore a light piece of leather that waited for the smooth and shining armor that went over it.

As he walked away and disappeared into his tent, his words stuck with me like an arrow to my chest. Heavy, and painful. What did he mean by not sounding human? I am human! My body trembled at the emotions that spiraled out of control within me, then before I knew it, I had stormed off. The small plate of food left behind in my place.

It was a small clearing, but it was far enough from eyes that would grow suspicious. I knelt down, my knees instantly sinking into the small soft patch of grass beneath me. I clasped my hands together and bowed my head letting my lids fall closed. Though I have wandered far off, away from all the soldiers, away from John, if any had followed, all they would see would be a small girl praying to her lord.

As soon as my eyes had shut, I breathed out a calm breath. I felt something inside me shift and leave. My eyes opened, and I could see the clearing around me again. The thin trees that looked like they would fall at any second, the ground that was turned over, no longer a beautiful blanket of green. My eyes then fell upon myself, kneeling perfectly still on the ground. I wonder, was I always so small?

“You called for me?”

My ‘body’ immediately whipped around to the sound of a soothing, yet haunting voice. Not far off stood a man. From where I was, he looked like a shadow, a very tall looming shadow whose entire body looked to be covered in a cloak like the color of the night sky. A starless one. His hair was also as black as night and I still did not know where it ended. All I could see and pull apart from his body was his face, which looked as pale as a corpse, and two curved objects protruding from his head that looked they were nearly able to touch. When I first saw it, I thought they looked similar to a halo, but his had been broken in two. They were a set of horns, as I’ve come to admit.

Once again, my gaze was stern as I stared into his own black eyes, refusing to show any fear. The only color I could see in them was the gold irises that glowed and burned into my own. I took in another breath, then opened my mouth, “Yes,” my lips shut as I struggled to find words, “Human…I am still human. Right, Abigor?”

Abigor. My saint, my angel. So I have said when asked about my visions, or the voices I’ve heard. I would’ve been executed immediately for following a child of Satan, for heresy, and this would’ve all been over much sooner. But I couldn’t do that. Abigor told me so. It was not my time as of yet, and if I did not follow through with this prophecy he spoke of, the future of my people and my family would be grim. I was the only one who could fulfill his mission. He would help me, but in return, I would have to give up something of my own. Something precious.

In the blink of an eye, the shadow of a man was suddenly right in front of me. My vision obscured for a second from his dark body towering over my own. As I looked up, I felt a chill run down my spine. He was smiling, but it was anything but friendly. I felt something cold touch my cheek and as I turned my attention towards it, I saw a large, black, clawed hand. I’ve come to realize that this man, this monster, did not have human appendages. His hands were not frail like a humans’, nor did they have fingers like one. They just looked like long and sharp charred claws. A beast from hell. I did not want to think of what the rest of his body looked like. I hushed that curiosity long ago. “What makes you ask such a question my little maiden?”

The large claw moved to caress my skin, and I let it, unphased by this demon’s touch no longer. “I may appear human, but are my actions still such?” Like a lost child, I looked to my mother for answers, only that this thing was not my mother, nor my father, not my brother, my sister, not my anything.

I knew he could read me. Read my mind and body like an open book. His smile had cracked, “Are you concerned with what you had said to the Bastard?”

I nodded, gently pushing aside the claw which longed to tear into my skin. “Yes. I- for a moment, I sounded like-“

“Me.” He quickly interjected, his smile unwavered.

I nodded once more, my heart throbbing from his answer. “Sustenance…that’s what you called me.”

Abigor chuckled, his body moving away from mine. I watched him move, almost glide to where my actual body knelt. Ironically enough, I had found out through prayer was the only way I could speak with Abigor face-to-face. My soul, as he had put, would leave my shell of a body during these times. I had done this many times as a child. During prayer, I would hear a voice and would follow it, but never did I know that I was leaving my body. I always thought it was a dream. An innocent dream. So, when I saw my body I would ‘wake up’ and would be back within it.

“That was long ago my little maiden. That word holds no meaning to me anymore.” Again, his clawed hand moved, shifting the cloak around his body as if he were cutting through smoke. The hand came to lay atop of my kneeling body’s head. “You are something far more important.” He retracted his hand, the appendage disappearing completely when it returned to his side, “Although, if you’d like, I could get rid of those for you.”

For a moment, my body froze, and a lump formed in my throat. It felt like it took all my strength, but I managed to take a step back. My eyes locked with his. I knew what he meant, and I hated the very idea of it.

“Yes. That.”

I shook my head, “No. If anything, my emotions are what makes me human. I will not let you have that. Not while I still walk on this earthly soil.” I released a shaky breath, one I didn’t know I was holding, “Please. Let me be selfish this once and ask you to leave my emotions be…please.” Before I knew it, my cheeks were warm and wet. Tears? When had I started crying? “You have my word on following through with this prophecy of yours…and you have my soul, but please, leave my emotions be.”

I blinked, the tears falling endlessly, and in that moment Abigor was at my side yet again, only this time I was in his arms. As cold as they were, and as empty as he felt, it was the first time where I was being comforted. I let those long dark claws embrace my small body for however long he wished.

I could hear his voice above me when he spoke, and I could feel the emptiness in his words, “But of course, my little maiden. I will grant you this wish of yours.” He pulled away, and I was left alone once more. A part of me wanted to stay in his arms, keep that comfort, however empty it was, and the other part of me wanted to run as far away as I could from him. I did not know how to feel around this demon anymore.

“Oh, my dear child. You make it sound as if all your actions, all your promises are going to be in vain. Did you forget just how many lives you are going to spare? How much you are going to help your people accomplish?” he smiled, almost tauntingly, “The future you will secure for your grandchildren-“ I looked away at the last part. “Oh apologies, I meant your nieces and nephews.”

I had taken a vow of chastity when I had gone back home from the garrison in Vancouleur. My purity, along with my will and soul, was his. “You truly do not know just how big of an impact you will make in the future because of all this. You will be known throughout history as one of the greatest heroines, St. Jeanne d’ Arc.”

My eyes did not search for his. I kept my gaze locked elsewhere. I did not care for this title, nor did I care for becoming infamous. The only thing that put me at ease was the fact that my people would be free, that my family would be safe, and that their generations would live on.

“Now. You must leave.”

My brows furrowed at this as I finally turned to him, “Why so suddenly?”

“Your enemies. They’re on the move.”

My eyes went wide as I wiped away the few remaining tears, “The English?”

Abigor simply nodded, “Yes. You leave, now.”

Wait, everything was happening way too fast now. It feels like I barely reached Orleans, and that was only traveling. I had yet to fight anything, let alone go to war, “Now? But-“ My head felt like it was spinning suddenly. I couldn’t find words.

Abigor could see my discomfort. Feel it even. “I have aided you this far, have I not?”

“Yes, but Abigor, this is war.”

I had barely enough time to finish my sentence before he spoke up, “Precisely what you were born for.” I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to leave. “Show no fear, nor hesitation, and I shall be there to guide you. Now go before you miss this chance.”

One second Abigor was in front of me, the next he was gone. I looked all around only to be brought back by the strange feeling of numbness in my legs. I stood up, as wobbly as I was, and forced the blood to flow back into my legs. I was back in my own body, and I had to move fast from what Abigor had said.

I wanted to show fear, I wanted to hesitate, but it felt as if my body had a mind of its own when I turned around and ran back to the camp. I had to move now. I couldn’t waste any time. I was going to get through this. I was going to lift the siege on Orleans and take my Dauphin to Reims to claim his throne, because no matter how much I hated it, I trusted Abigor’s words. He would not lead me astray. As much as I needed him to help me accomplish this prophecy, it had become clear to me that he needed me just as much. For what, I did not know, but soon I would find out.

After my prayer with Abigor, I ran back to camp demanding to speak with John. I told him about my vision with my saint. How he had said that we needed to attack that very day. I’m not sure exactly what I had said, or how I looked, but John the Bastard did not argue against me that day. Instead he felt vigor and confidence in my words. He rallied the men up, and had given me control over more than half of them. The soldiers had armed themselves, grabbing their weapons, and putting on their heavy armor. I too was given a set of armor, one small enough for my body. Though I carried a sword on my belt, I felt a stronger pull to a long metal pole with a banner flowing freely atop of it. It was on that day that I had decided for myself for once. I was going to take that banner, and carry it all the way to Reims, through battle and all.

The next four days felt like a blur to me. It felt like it all happened so quickly, yet I was able to remember every detail of it. I could remember how my fear had shifted within me, and turned into something livelier. Excitement? No. I do not wish to think I felt something so positive when lives were being taken. But there was something there, something that stirred inside me. I felt strength and sureness that I would have never recognized as my own. And I exuded a courage that nearly terrified me. In one of those days, I was wounded. An arrow shot straight through my leg, and a heavy piece of stone had been thrown at my head. Yet, I felt nothing. I did not slow down. I couldn’t. I refused. Apparently, these were considered heroic actions. Heroic to some, nearly demonic to others. My behavior, so to speak, had gone unnoticed by my men, along with the English infantry. My comrades, my soldiers, became lions from my fearlessness, and the English began to retreat because of it.

What was four days felt like an eternity to me, but by the 7th of May at dawn, the siege at Orleans had finally been lifted, and an obstacle in my prophecy had been overcome.

Reims was not so far out of reach now, and soon I would guide my Dauphin to his rightful throne. I would pave the way for him, for his crown. I would save my people and free my homeland. I would accomplish all of this, because I knew that Abigor would be with me, guiding me, every step of the way.

#Joan of arc #demons #historical fiction #original piece #submission #do not repost only reblog plz #first submission ever on tumblr yaaaaay!

4 notes · View notes