#she's grieving her parents so its a bit sad but kinda more bittersweet sad

[chasseuseartisane-blog]

Solace || Oneshot

Chère Maman,

Another year since I lost you.

Another year with the knowledge I’ll never hear another of your lectures on there being a time and place for things.

Another year without you scowling at Papa and Marian for tracking in mud, and throwing your hands in the air and declaring you’d given up when I followed in their footsteps.

It is a blessing, I suppose, that you and Papa left us so peacefully. I see too many people struggle with life and their deaths are unlikely to be as graceful as yours. But I miss you no less because of this.

Some days, I find myself turning to where you’d sit to ask what you thought of my new designs. Other times, when I fall asleep at the table, I could swear I wake up to your voice reminding me that a good night’s sleep helps with a good day’s work.

It was the fair the other day, and we did well, Maman, really well. I could have sworn I saw Papa at the gambling tables one night. I nearly cried out to him to stop wasting our hard earned money, just like you used to, before I remembered. He is gone too. You are together, but you are not with us. Not anymore.

Some days, I feel lost without the two of you, and today is one of those days. You and Papa taught me to pick myself up, to keep moving and working until everything is better. But Maman, I hope you do not think me weak for taking these moments for wish you were still here. You would make it easier for me to know what to do, even if it were the opposite of what you’d say.

I do know you’d shake your head at me for asking a Musketeer to teach me to fight, but Papa would laugh – you can’t deny it. Besides, René is harmless, to me at least. If he teaches me to fight, the next time Marian tries to pick me up, he’ll find it much more difficult.

Don’t scold, Maman. We haven’t fought in so long, it was just one fight. I know I shouldn’t have called him an imbecile, but I was upset. He was over-reacting over a few little bruises, but now that I think on it, I know you and Papa would have done the same. I won’t tell Marian though, even if I know you think I should. He shouldn’t be running off and seeking out trouble, should he?

I do try not to seek out trouble, I just seem to stumble into situations which no respectable woman should find themselves in. But you and Papa taught me how to handle those situations. With strength and dignity, even if I feel like I have neither. Perhaps if you hadn’t taught me to be so strong, I wouldn’t feel the need to prove it every time something comes to challenge me.

I apologise for that, Maman. I must have caused you so many headaches. I do try to behave, but it does not always seem possible.

My passions rise too easily, and yet I keep myself too distant from people. Such a terrible contradiction, I know.

I’m writing this underneath the tree we used to picnic under, and I can hear someone, so I must go. 

Give Papa my love and tell him that I’m causing just as much trouble as ever. Pardon, Maman, I know you don’t approve. I’ll take care of Marian though, I promise, and he’ll take care of me – even if I argue with him.

Your loving daughter always,

Marie

Marie rolled up the letter and tucked it safely into the basket she'd brought with her. Unashamed of the tears that had rolled down her cheeks, she studiously ignored whoever it was that had stumbled across her taking a picnic under the tree. Whoever it was ignored her, perhaps realising this was not something they needed to interrupt, or perhaps they simply hadn’t noticed her or even cared. She just felt relief that she wouldn’t be called upon to make meaningless conversation. 

When she’d been younger, her mother had sometimes taken her to this same tree so they could enjoy time away from home and work and the boys, as they’d affectionately called Papa and Marian. They’d eat and laugh and Marie would listen to stories from her mother about her own youth. 

There’d never be lectures under the tree, but there would be teasing about Marie’s latest adventures with misguided young men thinking she would be easily charmed. 

Those men were lucky if they were simply scared off by Marian. The unlucky ones ended up wearing ale or a handprint across their face. 

Now, when Marie came here, the place felt like a graveyard because of the ghosts of memories long gone. She often avoided it, unless she was taking the time to wallow in self-pity or to grieve. Once a year, she made the effort to come here, on the day her mother passed away, and to sit and picnic by herself. 

The food never tasted quite as nice as it had when she’d been here with her mother, but she liked the memories. Perhaps it was painful, but it was a pain she did not wish to forget. 

On the day of her father’s death, she always went hunting and ended up at his favourite tavern. There, she’d be left alone simply because the owner of the tavern had liked Leo Duval, so he ensured no-one bothered his daughter when she came there to privately toast his memory. 

The sad days would always end the same way; at home, quietly resting next to the fire, her arms around Jacques. It was one of the only times Marian wouldn’t tease her for treating the hunting dog like a pampered pet, not that it’d ever bothered her any other day. 

For now, Marie didn’t move. It was as though something was pressing against her chest, too tight for her to properly catch her breath. It was the same way she’d felt the moment she realised what she’d lost. 

Some days, like today, Marie knew it’d happen. She knew she’d feel crippled by the grief and she’d let herself sink into it with the knowledge she’d pick herself up later and move on. It was what her parents would want. 

Days like this were the easier days, even with the knowledge it’d hurt. 

It was the little moments that hurt the most, the careless reminders that felt like when she’d accidentally cut herself with the shears. Not life-threatening, never quite so bad as that, but the small nicks that felt like fire for a few moments. 

Those, she couldn’t prepare for, and they made her feel like she was falling and she couldn’t catch herself. 

Those only reminded her that her parents would no longer be there to catch her. 

No, she much preferred to grieve like this. By actions, by seeking out the better memories and wrapping herself in the happier moments as though they were cloaks she and her mother had made. 

It was easier to sit here and remember the time they’d brought flowers for no other reason than they felt like it, and her mother braided them into her hair, telling her of how her mother had done the same for her on her wedding day. 

Marie might not always particularly be fond of the idea of marriage, of risking everything on so flimsy an ideal of love ( an ideal that she’d only ever seen work perfectly once, in her own parents), but she did regret that her mother would never braid flowers into her hair on her wedding day. 

The memory still brought a smile to her face, a soft, gentle smile that shone through the tears that still clung to her eyelashes and she slowly started unpacking her lunch. 

It was a simple one, just a fresh loaf of bread and some cheese she’d bought at the markets, but she enjoyed it all the same. 

When she finished, she just leaned against the tree, quietly humming to herself. She’d never been a good singer, unlike her mother, but she’d grown up hearing her mother sung as she did her work. Marie had picked up the habit, but not the skill. She didn’t care. 

When the sky started to go dark, Marie stood up, dusting herself off. She wore the last dress her mother had ever made for her, but covered it with a far newer cloak. Sentimentality only went so far, and Marie knew to keep herself look neat and fashionable at all times to showcase her work. She made short work of tidying up what she’d brought with her, packing the basket back together before taking the short walk home. 

Marian had beaten her home, and she left her annoyance with him over their last fight behind as she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. Tonight, she had no desire to fight. She’d forgive him entirely, right until he argued with her again, whether that was tomorrow or next month. 

Marie knew Maman would approve of forgiveness, so even if it weren’t her strong suit, she’d try. Even if the peace didn’t last between the two of them, Marie would take solace in her brother’s company, for who else knew her pain better than him tonight.