DaughterOfErberus

"Why? Why are you leaving?" Arthur asked. It was the end of world war one and now, at a moment that was victory stained by blood, his wife [c/n] had just announced the rupture of their empire. "I don't want to leave. It was my government's decision, not mine." You quipped. "But it was also not your decision to enter this marriage. Is it truly them that want this separation?" He questioned again, voice angry, words harsh. To your credit, you did not flinch. "Does it matter? We can only guide our governments, we cannot make their decisions in a way that will suit us." She replied. "Do you want them? One of them? All of them? Any in particular?"

He raced through the mob of his angry country men, desperately searching for a flash of [h/c] or a wiff of [f/s] that seemed to linger after her. Ever since he had witnessed Joan burn at the stake held back by Angleterre's group of idiots, he had tried not to become personally involved with any of his people if he could help it. France could not stand the thought of falling and hurting like he had that time. But then, cruising the outskirts of Paris one night he had seen her. She had [h/l] [h/c] tresses and [e/c] eyes. Even grimy from head to toe after a harsh day of work, she was still possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She

The waters of the Seine drifted by lazily as the blond frenchman watched the sun rise. He wore a black vest, tie and dress pants ensemble, along with a snowy dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His longish hair was tied up in a tiny pony tail by a small black ribbon, a black fedora toping his head. The city lights had dimmed as the skies turned a pearly color. Busy parisians and early bird tourists began roaming, the sweet smells of pain au chocolat and baguettes swirled in the breeze as Boulangeries and Patisseries opened their doors. It was a peaceful sight to one Francis Bonnefoy, watching his month off begin. No boring m