Henriette

Marianne's squeals mixed with Michele's laughter and threats mixed with the stamping of two sets of childish feet along the dignified hallways of the old Grimani residence. Chasing each other. Around the graceful ornaments. Down some stairs and up some. Laughter, genuine, real.

Henriette's lips curled up. That was what children were supposed to do. Run. Play. Laugh. Of course, learn too. But not the way she had.

Starving. Helpless. Angry. In need.
Jaded.

And not nearly as stiff as her husband would have them be. Of course they would learn what was proper. Of course they'd learn to do it. But now, now wasn't the time for that. And she knew that better than most.

In at least one thing, she had succeeded. Her children were safe. Protected. They had their chance to be innocent, something that she'd never had. Something that he'd never had, either.

For all the ill things that their father could be... her children had a chance to be, one day, happy.

The one bright hope of her life.

It was there, between the half-biting words that could be shared with nobody else, looking at the way those blue eyes would react, laughter and a bit of pain and surprise lighting them up and it seemed right in a world that was completely wrong, and had been as long as she could remember.

It was there in the motions of a single dance, all alone in the empty street, to the sounds of stolen music, his face half in shadow but his hands, and his lips, speaking truths that only made sense to the two of them.

It was there when her breath caught, the night not able to hide the infinite happiness on his face as he slipped that ring on her finger, and her whisper of gratitude preceded a kiss that seemed a promise of lifetime of it.

It was there as she woke up in the morning, knowing that she'd see him in moments almost, as soon as she was dressed and ready, and that next week, next week she would be his wife, and their fates sealed together for eternity.

And then it was just gone.

For something unexpected, unsought, uninvited, its absence was shattering, breaking her to pieces of who she once had been. Before she knew it.

And that was not nearly as terrible as what was happening to him.

Look at her, she's smiling, but is she happy? She's smiling, so it doesn't matter. Let me tell you something. Things aren't always as they seem. -Mona Lisa Smile

( Borrowed time )

You Are A Martini

You are the kind of drinker who appreciates a nice hard drink. And for you, only quality alcohol. You don't waste your time on the cheap stuff. Obviously, you're usually found with a martini in your hand. But sometimes you mix it up with a gin and tonic. And you'd never, ever consider one of those flavored martinis. They're hardly a drink!

( It had been months... )

OOC: I think I've got a decent grasp on the 'modern' personality for this muse, and these are some facts that I've come up with, for her. She'll be fleshed out as I keep on writing.
Again, I am not stopping to write Henriette as per canon. For the comms she's been accepted, the prompts will be either written for her alone, or joint - with Henriette's part covering the word count / participation requirements.

( Cutting for length - and a bit of language. )

Blackbird fly blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

He can always fit in wherever he goes, if he puts his mind to it. He will always stand out, wherever he goes, too. Sometimes he can stick around places, while he means to - and then he'll lose interest in being like the others, in just melting in with the rest of us. And he'll stop trying, and he'll stick out too much.

And people will hate him, and bring him down, and banish him.

It's not the women, you know. Well, with one exception. But generally, it's envy. Unless it's pure luck, of course, with all the gaming - if that is luck turning against him. And not people deciding to bring him down - because of envy again.

After all, he looks like the rest of the men - wears the same fashions... well, almost. Or sets the fashions. Has two eyes, two hands, two feet, voice like the rest of the men...

And yet there's something about him that makes him stand out. Like the blackbird - unimpressive visually; isn't huge, or brightly coloured like exotic birds. But that little bird's voice makes you listen. When Giacomo Casanova has been staying somewhere for a while, people start hearing of him. Noticing him. He doesn't fall in the pool and leave no traces - he raises a splash, and the waves from it touch so many. Even if you haven't met him, you'll hear of him. You'll hear stories about him. In only a short period of time - much shorter than usual for anyone who isn't a duke or a prince, really - you'll be asking about him, what happened with the latest adventure you'd heard about him - and then, like everybody else, you'll want to meet him.

And then somebody will throw a stone and chase him away. For attracting too much attention to himself, for being too good to fit. And I'll read - or hear - about it. And close my eyes, and wish him easy travelling.

Fly, blackbird. Fly.

You bring light in the deep, black night.

Muse: Henriette
Fandom: Casanova 2005 (BBC)
Word count: 346

You Are 40% Sociopath

From time to time, you may be a bit troubled and a bit too charming for your own good. It's likely that you're not a sociopath... just quite smart and a bit out of the mainstream!