A Forest On Fire

Ever-Falling Rain

The Dukes of Rousette are not elected, nor have they ever been. It is not a dictatorship, but, inevitably and like all other countries, Rousette and her people have had their fair share of corrupt leaders. The late Duke's brother was by no means a bad man; he was simply not fit to be in office, and everyone could see that. The Duke had one other living relative besides this unable brother, and that was his widowed wife. She would be only the second female leader that the country has had in the entirety of its long history.

Her name was Duchess Charlotte Rousseau, and never has there ever been a better-suited leader for the country; that much was ascertained when she was given the chance to show what she could do. Royalists rejoiced. She was believed to be a distant member of the founding family of Rousette, such is the legacy that her maiden name carries. Many people believed that the turning point of the war occurred when Duchess Rousseau came to power, and it certainly seems so.

The Duchess was an honest woman, contradictory to most politicians, and she had a kind-hearted nature, which brought about both triumphant victories and disappointing failures, but which also assured that she was loved amongst her people. Even a small group of people in Chalin favoured the Duchess, but it was just that: only a small group.

Charlotte- whom we will refer to as Duchess, Duchess Rousseau, or simply Charlotte- knew completely of Elliot Phorus and Lydia Blackwater, and also knew of Abraham Volleh, the most dominant noble in perhaps all of Rousette, who lived in Chlealiva, the province of roses. Duchess Rousseau knew all of this owing to her good friend Maribelle Volleh, who seems to be the linking point of communication between the Governor and the Duchess.

It was this communication which forced Elliot back into Rousette, as Duchess Rousseau wished to speak with her. Loretta refused to cross the border and had to be dropped off back at the hotel, alone with Doli and Vincent, and Elliot and Lydia were back where they had started.

The Duchess did not hold their meeting in the- for lack of a better word- mansion, where she lived, but in the courtyard of the house, which was painted vibrantly with lush green grass and a variety of roses, each bush a different colour, all imported from Chlealiva. You see, winter had passed, and spring had taken control of the weather, and, thus, it rained just as often as it had snowed; however, the Duchess figured they had a little time of dryness to take a stroll in the garden just described.

"I do hope you understand, Governor," the Duchess finished.

Elliot was stunned at how she thought that might have been a burden. "No- Well- I mean, of course, I do. Yes, thank you, in fact. That will be a tremendous help, Duchess."

"It is no problem, Governor. I quite understand what you're doing, and I especially appreciate that you're helping such a close friend of mine. However, Fluie needed a Governor in your absence, did it not? He will be temporary, of course. You may resume your position when you return."

"Of course it did. Thank you, Duchess," Elliot repeated.

"And Lydia," Charlotte serenely turned to the aforementioned person, who seemed oddly humble in this woman's presence. "I also appreciate your help with the case and your lifelong aid to the Governor." She smiled; this smile was the opposite of Lydia's. It was gentle and sweet and contrastingly showed her youth and experience.

"Duchess Rousseau?"

"Yes, Governor?" She turned back to Elliot.

"All of these roses are from Chlealiva, correct, Duchess?"

"That's right." She turned her back to face the abundant rose bushes and said whimsically, "They're lovely, aren't they?"

"Yes, yes, they are. What is the name of that particular rose?" Elliot stopped before a bush brimming with the blooms of apple-red roses, struck with a kind of awe.

"I believe those are called Rosa pinguis or, if you'd prefer the common name, Strawberry Roses. Why? Do you like them, Elliot?"

"Where exactly in Chlealiva did they come from?" She stood again. These roses were identical to the ones laid on Delilah's grave.

"Oh, well, let's see-" The Duchess thought for a moment. Her blonde hair shone even in the dull light of a rainy afternoon and delicately cupped her pale cheeks. "I believe it was Fortêu, Governor."

Distant thunder rumbled like the growling of a cat.

"Will you pardon us, Duchess?" Elliot lowered her head. "We have some business we must attend to."

Her beautifully green eyes were dulled with placidity. "Of course. Contact me should you need anything, Elliot."

"I will." Elliot bowed to the Duchess, and, for only the second time in her life, Lydia bowed, too.        

Merlin was waiting for them with Abraham and his wife, Maribelle, when they returned inside from the courtyard. Ruth was not there, and Maribelle explained her absence with the excuse that Ruth was watching all four of Maribelle's children and her two own, Matthew and Tara, Elliot's nephew and niece. The Governor asked if Ruth had told her why she didn't want to go back, and she answered, with a bit of hesitation, that Harry had been arrested on account of spousal abuse but hurriedly reassured Elliot that Ruth and her children were okay. Her mother, also, was fine and temporarily living with them. Elliot did not ask Abraham if he knew, for they had another problem.

However, these events occurred two days before. Now, she lay upon the muddy ground as the dagger-like raindrops hit her eyelids. She opened her eyes. The carriage was toppled over to her left; the horses' metallic exterior was dented and broken in some places, and they lay motionless. The trees loomed above her higher, higher, higher than the sky it seemed, casting shadows like the strings of fishing rods into the murky waters of the quivering forest.

The blood seeped from her side like molasses rolling down a stack of fluffy pancakes, and the sky began to spin faster than the needle of the compass her father always kept in his coat pocket. She blinked rapidly, and it stilled again. Her dark skin was covered in the sloppy mud that reminded her of the thin oatmeal her mother used to make for her and Ruth, and she smiled despite knowing how much it disgusted her. Elliot's smile fell. The foliage grew fuzzy, and she began to feel lightheaded. A strong panic suddenly seized her.

The Governor tried to roll over and stand up, but it seemed as if she was sinking, as if the mud was holding her there, as if all of her strength had been sapped by the filth of the road. She remembered how the carriage crashed, what had crashed it, but everything after that was a blur. She did not know where any of the others were or if they, too, were injured. Then, she heard something approach. A wet, hurried sloshing noise came toward her, and the tips of her fingers and her stomach prickled with unease after every quick step. She heard rapid breathing, and someone calling her, "Governor?"

Elliot recognized this voice. She had not been with them on the carriage, but this voice was unmistakably Loretta's. However, Loretta, to the extent of the Governor's memory, had never called Elliot by her proper honorific, and, being the young girl she was, in their short time together, had only ever called her "Elliot". She thought this a bit strange, but she attempted to call out, anyway. She only managed to elevate herself and roll on her side a little.

"Governor?" The voice said again.

 It was then she knew that this was not Loretta. Her panic intensified, and her breathing came out shallow and hitched. Elliot could not move, nor did she try to any longer. The steps came forward once, twice, then there was a click and a booming noise that rang in her ears even after it stopped. She flinched and shut her eyes. There was another, adjoined with a terrible screeching noise, and another, followed by a cracking, squelching noise. The footsteps and screeching began to fade as the creature ran away through the rain. Another click and a gunshot, but this was simply to keep it away and hit a tree.

Arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her up with difficulty on the perpetrator's part. They were not gentle or warm arms, but she knew they were friendly by the white lace of Maribelle's gloves. The wound on her side was re-agitated, and it seemed to lock up her joints with the burning, stinging of it. Maribelle, after seeing that the Governor was in an alright position, began to take staggering steps back the way she came, seeming to gain a sense of urgency with every step she took. The ever-falling rain kept on its course, sharply colliding with them without the slightest hint of the intent to stop.