Kapitel 5: Chapter 4 - A Broken Home
Raindrops fell from the sky.
Elise Rochelle watched as the dainty drops bombarded the earth. Furiously. Carelessly. Free. The streams of water fell like nuggets of iron, hammering at the broken wreckage of House Rochelle. They trickled in corners, seeping between cracks and bursting in tiny explosions on the broken wooden veneers. They seemed so uncaring, blazing through the skies however they wished. What would that be like?
Elise sat quietly in her room -- a once lavish room built on the second floor of the now-wrecked Rochelle manor. From within it, she was once able to observe the lush scenery outside, but now all that remained was an image of ruin. Not that she looked out her window much in the first place.
Elise hated solitude. With it, her skills were useless. Piano, violin, painting, drawing, singing, writing, they were all turned redundant in the face of solitude. After all, she was for show. Her Father's words. Reiterated over and over and over again, then reinforced by doing what he'd promised he would -- by discarding her when she was no longer needed, no, tolerated.
The rain continued to fall. Sometimes, before her Father had left for Lumiose City and the rain had settled in, she would imagine herself as a white dove, or a dandelion, or a bouquet of roses. A thing without thought, capable of simply being, not thinking, daring, or resisting. Then she could be... perfect.
She heard a fluttering sound a short distance away amidst the crash of rain, and then a tiny Fletchling burst through the wall of water and collapsed atop her half-broken desk.
Elise glanced at the bird, taking note of its presence but ultimately ignoring it. Feathers soaked and out of breath, it was a miracle that it had managed to even fly in this deadly storm. It looked well-fed and groomed, taken care of with obvious care, but its owner would be long gone, seeing that the nearest settlement was over five kilometers away.
The storm was deadly, ripping berry bushes from their roots and taking chunks out of the manor itself. Eventually, it had led to half of the manor totally collapsing, sparingly ending around the midway section of Elise's room. The Head of the family was evacuated to a nearby bunker soon after the storm had rolled in, followed by the many maids and servants. It was laughable to think that not even a single spot could be spared for Elise Rochelle.
She hated them. She hoped they died, drowning under a river of rushing water. But not Father, she needed him to keep her company. Elise let her head slump down on the desk, mindlessly rocking the uneven desk, oblivious to the Fletchling's staring.
She stared into her mirror, which she had received from Father himself, and another woman stared back. Uncouth, inelegant, unpresentable. That was how Father would describe Elise in her disorderly white gown, disheveled long black hair, and tired gray eyes. Her lips were cracked with drought, and her eyes carried deep sunken bags.
"A Rochelle must remain presentable." Her Father would say to her in these trying times, brows furrowed and nose slightly upturned, as his eyes scanned her from head to toe, as though she was an object to be dusted and fitted according to his desires. She would listen, of course, and the next moment that dastardly little hairpin would be locked in her drawer, never to be seen again.
"Fle-fle!" The Fletchling chirped, having finally recovered enough. Elise turned to it, lips unsticking as she spoke. "Hey. Lost your owner?" The bird, shivering and chattering, replied with another chirp. It elicited a tiny smile from her.
"You hungry?" Elise asked.
The Fletchling nodded with a chirp. "Wait here. I'll retrieve some." She made her way downstairs, down the broken stairwells and crumbling corridors, until she had located the kitchen. Inside lay arrays and assortments of various cookery. She grabbed a few loaves of bread, and a glass of water, then returned to her room.
Carefully tearing tiny pieces from the bread, Elise placed them and the glass of water before the Fletchling. Her cracked lips broke into a crooked smile. "Enjoy." It's okay. She thought. They'll come back for me.
Watching the Fletchling enjoy its food, she felt full and content. Elise clenched her eyes, finding them hot and itchy. But when she opened her eyes, she found that they'd been containing tears, and to her surprise, fear. She sobbed and sobbed.
---
Some time had passed since the Fletchling first arrived, and the first glimmers of sunlight had begun to peek over the horizon. The storm had passed over, reduced to a slight drizzle that would no longer hurt like hail when walked under. The wrecked Rochelle manor stood on the top of a hill, its slopes leading to an extensive forest that stretched beyond the eye could see. It was green upon green, save for a patch of charred black that seemed to glare back at Elise. It looked like a drop of tar on a green canvas. A splash of ink blended into the horizon.
A road led down the hill, stemming from the manor and extending deep into the forest. There wasn't a single trace of travel on its wet, unblemished dirt. As though it hadn't been used in years, to travel both to and from the manor.
Elise bit her lip as she stared intensely at the snaking road, hoping, willing a carriage into existence. It never came, of course. With a deflated sigh, she slumped back into her chair. The Fletchling, perhaps noticing her distress, chirped and nudged a glass of water towards her-- the glass of water she'd given it.
"You want me to drink?" Elise asked eyes blankly tracing the Fletchling's feathers.
The Fletchling chirped, sounding more aggressive this time. With a running start, it pushed against the glass, nearly sending it toppling down the desk. "What are you doing?" Elise yelped, snapping to attention. The Fletchling rushed the glass again, ignoring the girl's question, and the glass flew off the desk.
Fumbling with her hands, Elise barely managed to catch the glass before it shattered on the ground. That, however, didn't manage to save her dress. She wasn't drenched per se but was now definitely dressed in uncomfortably wet clothing. A tiny slosh of water remained in the glass.
Normally, she'd feel angry, infuriated, at the fact that a mere Fletchling had wet her clothes. But now, at this time, the present. She just felt... she didn't know how she felt, actually. Sad? Angry? Happy? What emotions should she be experiencing at that moment? What would be the right emotions to feel. What would be the right emotions to show. All these questions, but no answers.
"Fletchling!" The bird chimed, eyes glinting.
"Drink?" Elise muttered. Now that she thought about it, her lips did feel oddly dry. She twirled the glass, and the water within swirled alongside her, a tiny vortex that drilled towards the bottom. Elise brought the glass to her cracked lips and finally, took a sip.
It felt odd. Not what she was used to. The taste was refreshing yes, like she hadn't drunk in days. But it felt more, extra. It was like tasting morning's dew, something special, yet not. The trickle of water caressed her lips, moistening them, enriching them, relieving them. A few short sips, each sooner and more ravenous than the last, and it was over. The dew had expired.
Elise took a breath, then a second. She let her arms fall aimlessly beside her, glass gripped on her right. Eyes clenched shut, tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, moving slowly and deliberately, as though reminiscing on its taste.
It was inexplicable why she felt this way, why her heart was thumping at over 200 a minute at a mere glass of water. But it felt right. Tears rolled down her cheeks like nuggets of rain, splashing onto the wooden veneers like tiny fireworks. Her grip on the glass loosened, and it smashed into the ground, shattering into a million pieces. But Elise didn't notice.
She had never searched for self-respect or self-preservation in her life. She was merely a tool for her Father's extravagant parties, to raise his popularity and standing, to wow his noblemen friends. She had accepted that fact. That she would be nothing more than another instrument or brush or tool.
Elise looked down at her hands, small and delicate, but slashed with scars of varying sizes. This hand, those fingers, had spent years crafting every skill, every talent she could muster up with her human body. Quickly and efficiently, with no time to waste. How many years had she truly spent, slaving away at the hands of her father? How could she not have realized this sooner? Had she been she blinded by her Father... or perhaps by her own desires. She didn't know anymore. She didn't know anything anymore.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein