dawnfacing | canon | lest they leave

CHAPTER 1, SCENE 1

Finally on my way somewhere, she thought to herself, looking out the windows of the Marseille – Paris train that was taking her home for the first time in fifteen years, and not merely for the sizzling heat of summer or the snowy chill of Christmas, not merely to visit. No, to stay.

She was very excited.

They had just left Lyon, the stopover there long enough that the passengers travelling first class were allowed to step out on the platform for a spell, stretch their legs, buy some candy from the little boy with the tray full of the stuff. He served the people outside first, before walking along the row of compartments where the second- and third-class passengers hung out of the open windows, fingers pointing and arms reaching for the goodies. Children were crying and screaming. It was a right hustle and bustle.

First class was noticeably calmer, quieter, there were no disturbances aside from the ticket inspector, a fat but cheerful man checking for new arrivals every time the train had rolled out of another station. He’d asked her twice already, travelling alone, mademoiselle? To which she had answered each time, yes, thrilling, isn’t it? On the other side of the aisle from her sat a young guy, no more than a handful of years her senior, and after hearing this exchange, he was eyeing her constantly with an interest she wasn’t sure she understood or found quite the cat’s meow.

Her twin aunties, Marguerite and Marceline, whose house she had lived in since enrolling with the art academy in Marseille a couple of years ago had pointedly kept her away from all gatherings they deemed ‘bad for the character’ which included any and all jazz parties. As such, Sylvie hadn’t been able to socialise much with people her own age outside of school, and she had barely been allowed to have her hair cut in the bob that she currently sported, though on that right she had insisted. Hair doesn’t corrupt anyone, she’d argued.

Marguerite and Marceline weren’t convinced, the Bible said otherwise, after all, as Sylvie should know, but after a whole day’s pleading and begging, they’d given in, at last. They’d never once complimented Sylvie’s new hairstyle, but neither had they criticized it, which was a compliment on its own, she’d gathered and besides, it suited her, her blonde locks looking almost halo-like this way.

She had a feeling the young man across the aisle thought so, too. He stayed in his seat, but the next time she caught him looking, he was purposefully late to avoid Sylvie’s gaze, instead winking at her cheekily, which made her blush and turn away her eyes once more.

Nothing but fields outside the windows, France in April. She’d had to abort her spring semester halfway through, unable to determine when she would be able to return. My brother needs me, she had explained to the secretary who’d taken note, but otherwise shown Sylvie’s family matters little concern. As such, Sylvie left the administrative office, then the old halls without looking back.

On my way, she’d comforted herself, somewhere. Only two hours of travel separated her from Paris now. Paris and her older brother, Paris and her childhood home.

Just two more hours, after a whole lifetime of waiting.