I.

Jodelle watches her child, her sweet Quintilla, mon Tilly dress up in a gown too big for her. Perhaps, it was wrong for her to think so because she was married off to Floxel at 17. What a fiery wedding that had been.

“Maman? Does this look good?”

“It does, Tilly.” Her eyes grow misty looking at her child, painfully resembling a growing woman.

Right before the wedding starts, she looks beseechingly at her husband Floxel, willing him to put his foot down and somehow try and object to the wedding. Let their baby girl be married off to someone else: anyone but Fulcran. Fulcran was a weak-willed, cruel man who knew how to cast an unforgettable impression. He always kept his cards close to his chest and managed to charm people exceptionally well, yet got under their skin when he needed to. When Fulcran had approached for Quintilla’s hand in marriage, she had outright refused, despite Floxel’s demands.

Floxel takes one good look at Quintilla’s aura of innocence, and careful composure in her wedding dress, turning to her and shrugging helplessly.

She seems happy enough. His blue eyes say.

Her fists clench convulsively, and she holds back a remark at the tip of her tongue. The wedding goes smoothly, but she notices a sense of primal lust in Fulcran's eyes. He looks at her child up and down, his gaze barely controlled. She wants to slap him, pull away Quintilla, and keep her safe, yet Jodelle feels a sense of helplessness cloud over her mind, and a brick of melancholy is placed in her heart.

"Elle, all good?" Floxel's cadence breaks her out of her thoughts. "All good."

"It's time to wave her goodbye, Elle. She has to go now."

She internally groaned. Already? The sudden urge to leave early and not watch her daughter walk away with that haggard man was strong but she couldn't bear missing such a vital moment.