𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 - Valerie Belcourt is sent to a small town of southwestern France, where the air was gloomy and as dramatic as her. She finds herself in the high school Voltaire, a school allowing both female and male students to study alongside each oth...
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Valerie Belcourt didn't know what was worse. having to spend extra attention in class because of what most of what was being said was French or having to share every class with him. Joseph Descamps had a serious problem with staring, and Valerie wished she'd rip his own eyes out for him to stop. but in reality, she knew she couldn't.
Latin class with Mr.Douillard was seemingly the only good thing throughout the whole day. Valerie's knowledge of the dead language seemed to make up her lack of French—thank god for her mother, who insisted on the education of the language at home. and sure, her Latin was good but how would she prove her knowledge in this class when her teacher had some form of prejudice against the new female students?
"who can tell me what that means?" the professor questioned and Valerie's hand was the first and only to excitedly shoot in the air. she'd make sure to get ahead in this class, she'd be one of Mr.Douillards top students if he only gave her a chance. and he didn't, because he made point to completely ignore the American student's stretched arm.
"well? anyone?" the older man questioned his class, the question obviously directed to the majority of it —the male students.
"he obviously saw your hand!" Annick Sabiani pointed out in a whisper from Valerie's right. the Belcourt girl's hand remained up as she hoped no one would raise their hand. Joseph Descamp's hand raised lazily in the air, it wasn't that he completely knew the answer; never paying attention for something he wouldn't ever need later in life.
"yes?" the teacher questioned, and for a second Valerie believed he gave up and gave in to her answer. she opened her mouth but before the words left it she observed that Mr.Douillard's and everyone else's eyes were directed at the back of the classroom, where the boy in the glasses sat.
"I think she has raised her hand." Joseph pointed with a smirk, the class laughed lightly and the teacher's head turned to Valerie's direction.
Mr.Douillard's mouth twitched in unhappiness when he opened his mouth, "indeed. so?" the girl's jaw clenched in leashed rage and she stood up in a composed manner, "the Romans welcome Horatio with joy and congratulations and escort him to his house."
"the Romans cheer Horatio. can you conjugate the verb ovare?" the professor corrected with the slightest satisfaction in finding a flaw in the girl's pronunciation. and as Valerie Belcourt conjugated the verb with her nails digging into her palm in shame and embarrassment she swore to study Latin all over again until she was perfect and could no longer embarrass her family or herself in front of a largely male crowd.
if she couldn't be like them, she swore to be so much worse.
Valerie Belcourt may have had all the opportunities in life, she came from a rich family, of course. but yet even the slightest flaw would get her sent to unimaginable punishments—like getting sent to France. so now she had a new goal, she would become the best student Voltaire High had ever seen. she'd seize power and she would gather every bit of information that could be used against her rivals. she'd write until the ink from her pen was no more, until her fingers grew calloused and her hand tired. she'd read and study until her brain begged her to rest. she'd make her parents proud.
