Fleur de Lis

The crimson liquid gleamed from the light of the candelabra, accentuated by the twinkling glass decanter. The heavy smell of perfume permeated the air, sending the inhabitants of the room into a delirium. She lay above it all, her clothing the focal point in the room; red corset, black skirt and purple robe. A clear picture of power, she was reclining on a large divan.

"Another drink, Devoir." Her jeweled hand extended, holding the glass out, marked only by a blood red lipstick smudge.

"Yes, mistress." The man, Adonis in the flesh, bowed to the woman, the only person that was his greater in beauty, before kissing her hand and taking the glass. One corner of her full mouth turned up in something resembling a cynical smirk.

"Francois, bring in the next one." Her black eyes met the hazel ones of her other servant, Devoir's brother. Francois's chest muscles rippled as he bowed silently. No one could hold Fleur's black fire gaze for long. Her raw sexuality seeped from every pore on her body. A light breeze wafted in from the opening of the chamber's door and fluttered the red satin curtains that were pinned up on every flat surface of the place.

In walked a tan, tall, well built man. He was your average Joe, a farmer maybe, someone who worked the land with his hands. Perfect. She watched, her eyes cold as he took in the room. His eyes widened, immediately finding her supple form reclining on the bed. As he watched, she rose and dropped the robe, corset and skirt, leaving nothing but scraps of black fabric on her body. Her heavily made up eyes, enhanced the ebony blaze that was burning into him, intense enough to cause his eyes to drop to the floor.

"Your name?" the man didn't glance up at the sound of her dark chocolate, honeyed voice. It was smooth like molasses, and laced with the huskiness of lust. It made him shiver, just those two words.

"Marco." He paused, then added: "And yours?" His voice was shaky as he asked the question. He didn't expect an answer.

She laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. "You needn't know mine. Just call me Fleur de Lis." He glanced up at her, and she her stare was so alluring, it sent a fire running through his body. She smiled slightly, "Devoir, Francois, leave us."

Marco's heart dropped to his stomach, this was the moment he paid a month's wages for; to spend an hour with the queen of all prostitutes. The Fleur de Lis.

After Marco had left, the last one for today, she took a violet washcloth and dipped it in a bowl of scented water, before running it over her face; the face with a complexion that every girl dreamed of. He'd been just like the rest.

"Marietta." She called, the harshness of her voice betraying some of her hurt. Francois's wife walked in meekly, her eyes on the ground. Occasionally, Fleur would use the woman as a confidante, but the thought of marriage came to her as she watched the small woman. That God awful word caused her to silently fume, her recent anger being aimed at this poor woman, for no reason at all. She would torture who she could, wanting other's to feel the same pain.

"Yes mistress?" Marietta's voice was shaking. Nothing scared the servant's more than Fleur's silence.

"Send in your husband," Fleur spat the word, "and bring me grapes with honey."

Marietta's jaw clenched, and her eyes burned like fire, but she only curtsied and left. She walked slowly out the door, but gave herself away by slamming it. Fleur laughed, she enjoyed watching people in pain. Lifting herself off the bed, she walked over to her drawers, searching for her favorite piece of lingerie, and in the color that Francois loved. Blue, like his true love's eyes. Marietta walked in again with the tray, to find her mistress in the middle of changing.

"Thank you dearest, now fetch your husband for me, we have a… matter of business to discuss." Marietta placed the tray on a table near the bed. All of the servants, and the men especially were used to seeing their mistress in various stages of undress, even stark naked. She always knew how to complete a man's fantasy. Devoir was her frequent companion, his mastery of trade nearly matching Fleur's. Francois, used to partake before his marriage, but now only stayed on as a bodyguard, per say.

Marietta found him at his usual post by the door, and nearly broke down when she saw his eyes light up. He embraced her, whispering soft things in French. That's when she broke down. His arms instantly tightened around her,

"What is it?" his deep voice asked in a whisper.

"The mistress wants you." She snapped, her tone scathing.

"Alright, that's fine." His tone was soft, placating.

"For a business matter." She gave him a pointed look.

"That's not a big deal." He shrugged.

"The only business that goes on here Francois is sex, eating fine delicacies, murdering people and torturing the rest." Her voice was shrill, hysterical.

"Marietta, love, listen. You think I don't know that? I know what she wants. I shrug it off and move on because nothing can separate us. Mon Cherie, don't you even think about why Fleur turned into what she was?"

"No," the one word was bitter, stubborn.

"Inside, she's been hurt badly. The only pleasure she gets out of anything is that brief moment of physical pleasure. And you wonder why she's so cold and harsh. She's in pain, deep pain. I'll be back soon."

"Don't go Francois." Marietta's face had softened, but tears still streamed down her cheeks.

"I must." His face was stoic, determined.

"Says who?" her eyes burned into him, her pain cutting him deeply.

"Marietta, she'll get what she deserves in the end. I'm going to end this."

"What? But Devoir… and she'll… they'll kill you!" her tone was hysterical again, jumping up an octave.

"Trust in me."

"I do."

"Do you?" He turned and walked away.

The smell of roses and gardenia greeted Francois as well as a haze from the many candles. He heard the soft sounds of piano keys being played coming from off to the side of the room. He walked over to see if it was Fleur, and it was. Francois leaned against a Grecian pillar and watched, studying her in her scarlet robe.

"You probably didn't know I that I could play piano, did you? I took lessons when I was a little girl…" she trailed off, before abruptly slamming the piano lid down. Her back was to him, but he heard her take a deep breath before turning and smiling, acting like he'd caught her committing a crime. She pulled the robe tighter around herself, and he began to sense her insecurity.

"You summoned me?" he asked icily, gauging her reaction. Her baleful look confirmed his suspicions.

"You're just like the rest of them," she spat the last word as if it were ash in her mouth. "not caring anything about the person. Just the regular "let's just get the sex over with, I don't want to talk person." The use you, abuse you, and walk away type." Her voice had risen to a loud yell, and her eyes were flashing. Rage had manifested itself in each of her alluring features.

"Mistress, are you…" Francois's face had softened as he searched for a way to help this woman who had hurt for so long. The root of her bitterness was deep.

"Mistress, yes, that's all I am! A mistress! An affair! A whore, slut, skank, prostitute, I've heard it all. Fleur de Lis, the mother of all whores, of all prostitutes. Those aren't my names! My name is Madeline! Madeline Delacroix!"

"Madeline." Of course, a sweet and innocent name, nothing like the woman she'd become. He could see her as a child: a small tan girl, with curly hair and large dark eyes. He gazed at her, noting how she looked utterly forlorn and lost. Emotions were not what she was used to.

"You're the first person, since my mother, who's said my name. I knew I could tell you, I knew I could understand. Your brother, he's too into his trade. It's fun in the beginning, then it eats away at you…" she trailed off, sitting on the bed. Suddenly, as if the bed was possessed, a change came over Madeline and he watched as a battle played out on her face. Madeline vs. Fleur. But Madeline had been locked away inside for too long, starved and beaten, broken. She was weak. Fleur, the daily façade was stronger, more comfortable, and he watched it dominate. Her eyes looked up at him from under dark lashes, and she pouted prettily. "Forgive me, Francois, for all that nonsense. Come, join me."

She reached over and grabbed a grape, popping it in her mouth. He shook his head, choosing instead to sit on the piano bench.

"What happened to your mother?" he asked her. Fleur's seductive face flickered, flashing instantaneously to heartbreaking sadness, to anger, and back to alluring.

"I don't want to talk about her. Dead people are dead. There's no use dwelling on the past, it can't raise corpses. Now, come here." Her last two words were firm, the honey sweetened tone gaining an unusual edge.

"Madeline…" he watched her expression flash again; another burst of anger. That's when it clicked. The last time she was angry, that's when the wretched, hurt little girl that was hiding inside came out. The broken, betrayed soul that was too afraid to show its face. He didn't want to do it, but there really was no other way. "How did Madeline become a whore? A dirty, used prostitute?"

She leaped up, her ebony eyes scorching, the fuse lit. "Don't you dare use that name in the same sentence as those lies! You don't know what I've gone through, the years of pain. Watching my alcoholic mother drink herself dead, killing children that grew inside me, starving myself. The abuse I endured from my stepfather after my mother's death, being tortured abused, used at everyone's leisure. Being betrayed by your only love, becoming a cynic, having to wear a mask every day, pretending to be something you're not. Having everyone you ever loved ripped away, waking up every morning hating yourself, but feeling powerless. You don't know me at all! Everyone sees the harlot. That's not who I am!"

"Then why do you insist on playing the part?"

"I don't know what else to do…" her eyes began watering. "The pain is too much to bear."

She began crying, silent tears that had been locked away for years. Francois sat there still, watching her form crumple to the floor, like a rag doll, devoid of all emotion. The robe took in the all the tears, soaking them up into the scarlet.

"Madeline, beautiful little Madeline. What has the world done to you?" he got up impulsively, and sank to his knees in front of her, bringing her into his arms. He felt her tense, but relax, her depression seeping out.

"It's b-broken m-me."

He remained silent and just held her, showing her the love that she'd never received in all the years in this chamber.

After Francois left, Madeline sat there, the pathetic pieces of lace that proclaimed her trade hanging limply off her cold body. The floor was cold, the grapes were chilled, and she couldn't tell if her body was that dead and frozen feel of a corpse or not. She knew what she had to do, it was just a matter of letting go. She took a deep breath, watching the fabric flutter as she released the air. The small kitchen knife was freezing also, a perfect match, the silver sparkling in the moonlight from the open window. Francois was right about many things, but not this one. She could never go back to being Madeline. That little girl was dead, and it was time to stop clinging to her carcass. She was the Fleur de Lis, the person everyone came to see. Every man's dream…

"He's right," she whispered, "what have I become?"

She twirled the blade around, watching the mental glint, and breathed, enjoying the last few she would ever have. Then, raising the blade she held it above her heart. She'd lived a whore, she'd die a whore. Tears leaked out of her eyes, and her hand began to shake. Summoning up all of her pride, she plunged the knife into the skin. She smiled weakly as darkness closed in around her, and she forgot about the world. The blood ran into the scarlet robe, and she died, The Fleur de Lis.

FIN