kokiboki
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 14, 2020
- Messages
- 98
- Points
- 58
“Moira Beaumanoir! I hereby condemn you to death for the heinous crime of attempting to murder Inès Arceneaux! Your feeble facade of innocence persists until the bitter end, a true testament to your underlying hypocrisy.”
Moira stood in the crowded courtroom, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands trembled as she listened to the damning words being spoken against her.
How had things come to this? The accusation of attempting to kill Inès, The Saintess who has been chosen by the ancient powers to bring peace and prosperity to the land of Estellia, was unfathomable to Moira.
She had always devoted her existence to the vision of a harmonious Estellia that the Saintess represented.
But now, as she felt the icy grip of the executioner dragging her towards her demise, the guillotine’s bloody blade, freshly stained by others who met their doom, awaited her.
“In the face of your imminent demise, do you have any final words?” sneered the Emperor, the cruelty in his voice palpable.
Moira took a deep breath, her mind racing to find the right words to defend herself. She knew she had to stay composed, to convince the court of her innocence. But the weight of the accusations hung heavily on her shoulders, threatening to crush her spirit.
“To Your Majesty, esteemed court, and the citizenry of Estellia,” Moira began, her voice quivering but determined. “I stand before you today as I– curse all of you! For thou—” Before she could finish her words the blade swung down.
Moira Beaumanoir, a notorious traitor and heretic, was executed at the behest of the Holy Inquisition of Estellia for the crime of attempting to murder Inès Arceneaux, The Saintess of the land. Despite her fervent denials, Moira was found guilty and sentenced to death by beheading. Her corpse was left hanging from the gallows for all to see, a warning to those who would dare to defy the will of the divine.
*
She gasped, sitting up abruptly in bed, realizing it had all been just a terrible nightmare.
But the vividness of the dream made it feel more like a chilling reality. The relentless sound of rain pounding against the windows abruptly interrupted her peace, causing her to jolt from the sudden intrusion.
Desperate to shield herself from the deafening racket, she pulled the heavy duvet tightly over her head, seeking solace in its comforting embrace.
But the storm outside seemed relentless, with thunder crashing loudly overhead, amplifying her anxiety. Moira sat up, her back hunched over as she instinctively tried to shield her ears from the violent noise.
In an unexpected turn of events, the bedroom door swung open violently, its impact shattering the fragile wood.
Stepping into the room was Duke Cassius de Beaumanoir, a name that had been bestowed upon him by the Emperor himself, recognizing his outstanding contributions in the military.
From the moment his eyes fell upon the woman sitting before him, a deep sense of disdain washed over him.
With every exhale, the scent of alcohol filled the air, further intensifying his disgust.
Though she shared his last name, she lacked the pedigree and grace that he believed should accompany someone of his stature.
Enduring her presence within the estate had become unbearable; her constant whining and complaints seemed to seep into his thoughts, making every conversation revolve around her.
Selfishly monopolizing the attention, it was always about her.
Initially, he couldn't even recall what had initially attracted him to her, aside from her striking beauty.
When the emperor had offered him a choice of suitable women to marry, he had immediately selected her, enticed by her looks and relieved by the rumors of her preferring the solitude of the library over social gatherings.
It meant she wouldn't constantly host tea parties and invite strangers into their home.
She had seemed quiet and reserved, qualities that aligned with his preferences. However, after five years of marriage, her true colors had emerged - she had transformed into an entitled hussy, even going as far as to boss him around.
As an esteemed Duke of the empire, it was humiliating to find himself serving his own wife. He recalls tha one time they had encountered each other, she had violently hurled a vase at him.
Even worse, she had attempted to suffocate him with a decorative pillow while he slept. He promptly awakened, left the room, and sought solace in the study.
It had been hours since the incident, and amidst his thoughts and doubts, he now considered divorce as the best option.
However, he know that requesting this from the king wouldn’t be easy.
“Why are you here?” Moira questioned, her voice barely escaping her lips amidst the tangle of hair that clung to her damp cheeks and forehead.
She watched as Cassius climbed back into bed, seemingly unfazed by her presence, and the crumpled sheets offered no solace.
“Your grace, please leave,” she pleaded, striking him gently on the forehead. Her strike grew firmer with each attempt.
“Go back to the guest room where you belong,” Cassius coldly retorted, dismissing her usual attempts at dominance.
It was ironic how people believed women couldn’t be abusive. Moira silently obliged, stepping out of bed and wincing as her bare feet touched the cold marble floor.
Without uttering another word, she closed the door behind her.
Having lived her entire life in this world, Moira was well-versed in the intricacies of etiquette, drilled into her from a young age.
However, this reality was not what she had anticipated.
At the tender age of five, she had come to the realization that she was trapped within a romance novel, cast as Moira Beaumanoir, the antagonist who tormented the beloved saintess, Inès Arceneaux, while three amorous men vied for her affections.
Cassius, Raphael, and Aloysius—Duke, High Priest, and Marquess. Moira, bound to Cassius through an undesired marriage, could only play the role of the villain.
Yet, Moira resented her assigned role. She yearned for a quiet life devoid of disturbance and the impending doom that haunted her nightmares.
Her coping mechanism often involved seeking solace in liquor, leading to blackouts and fragmented memories of her actions.
Heading down to the cellar, Moira gracefully poured herself a glass of wine, savoring its rich aroma and smooth taste as she drank it with urgency, hoping to find solace in the burning sensation that traced its way down her throat.
However, despite being aware of the eventual effects the alcohol would have, she forced herself to continue indulging.
"Madame, I implore you to cease this habit. It is unbecoming, particularly for someone of your stature," a voice interrupted, causing Moira to startle and unintentionally spill a drop onto the floor.
Surprised, she turned to find the butler, who had quietly appeared by the door.
She had momentarily forgotten that he still maintained his post within the mansion, as she had never paid much attention to the servants' presence before.
"My apologies, Monsieur Delon. I was unaware of you of being here," Moira sighed, attempting to regain her composure.
Delon nodded respectfully, his tone gentle. "Please forgive me, Madame. I did not mean to intrude, but you seemed visibly distressed." Concern emanated from his voice, showcasing his genuine care.
"It is merely a plight of troublesome thoughts that occupy my mind," Moira evaded, not wanting to delve into the details.
The man appeared skeptical, yet he opted to show regard for her wishes. He carefully spoke, "Your father has sent a letter to you," extending an envelope embellished with the Charbonneau family's seal.
Moira accepted the envelope and carefully examined its contents. It is indeed addressed to her, but the handwriting is unfamiliar. It seemed as if someone had attempted to imitate her father's penmanship—perhaps her mother had written it on his behalf, though that would not make much sense either.
Curiosity piqued, the butler broke the silence, asking, "What does it say, Madame?" his curiosity evident.
She hesitated for a moment before responding, her gaze briefly darting toward the clock positioned across the cellar.
"It simply states that I should return to my family's home—there appears to be an urgent matter..." Her voice trailed off as realization struck her, recalling the social gathering she attended five weeks ago where Inès had been the target of her ‘bullying’.
The letter had been wrote by Aloysius, aiming to teach her a lesson. However, Moira couldn't recall any wrongdoing towards Inès that day.
Five weeks prior, in a lavishly adorned garden, a group of alluring noblewomen and esteemed members of the aristocracy and foreign dignitaries sat around a grand circular table, chatting merrily.
At the end of the table sat the hostess, beaming with pride as she brandished a stunning silver chalice. "Isn't it lovely? My husband brought it back from Rome!" she exclaimed.
Amid the revelry, all conversation ceased as a vision of loveliness entered the garden. It was the charming Inès Arceneaux, who glided gracefully towards them, emanating an air of prosperity and success. Her flowing blonde hair was carefully pinned back, framing her petite face.
As her emerald-green eyes scanned the crowd, they settled on Lady Marietta, the hostess.
Inès greeted her warmly with a wide grin, and the two women embraced cordially.
Moira, seated nearby, remained unresponsive to Inès' entrance, while the other noblewomen exchanged polite greetings with her, displaying friendly smiles and warm nods.
Yet a few members of the group continued their discussions, oblivious to her arrival.
"Pray, do take a seat, my dear," urged Marietta, offering an empty chair beside her. Inès hesitated, realizing with a sigh that the seating was less than comfortable.
The elegant ladies eased into their seats, while the servants bustled about, preparing the tea and delicacies for the evening.
Marietta cleared her throat, capturing everyone's attention. "Shall we proceed with the topic at hand?" she began with a regal air, and the rest nodded in agreement.
Without warning, a sly-looking woman with fiery-red locks beside Moira made a suggestion.
"Might I suggest an intriguing topic of discussion, my dear ladies? Why not delve into the latest scandal which has been making the rounds in our esteemed circles?"
Inès felt a stiffening in her body, sensing the trouble to come. This woman is none other than Anastasie, infamous for her haughtiness and rude behavior.
She is the reigning queen of the socialites, and everyone knew it.
Marietta, ever the gracious hostess, simply replied with smooth politeness, "Do share with us, dear Anastasie. I'm sure there's something exciting you'd like to discuss."
And with a wicked smile, Anastasie turned to Inès, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Inès' heart skipped a beat as she braced herself for what was to come. Anastasie's words were laced with malice as she said, "Tell us, dear Inès, how did you manage to secure such success and fortune overnight? It seems quite peculiar, don't you think?"
Moira stood in the crowded courtroom, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands trembled as she listened to the damning words being spoken against her.
How had things come to this? The accusation of attempting to kill Inès, The Saintess who has been chosen by the ancient powers to bring peace and prosperity to the land of Estellia, was unfathomable to Moira.
She had always devoted her existence to the vision of a harmonious Estellia that the Saintess represented.
But now, as she felt the icy grip of the executioner dragging her towards her demise, the guillotine’s bloody blade, freshly stained by others who met their doom, awaited her.
“In the face of your imminent demise, do you have any final words?” sneered the Emperor, the cruelty in his voice palpable.
Moira took a deep breath, her mind racing to find the right words to defend herself. She knew she had to stay composed, to convince the court of her innocence. But the weight of the accusations hung heavily on her shoulders, threatening to crush her spirit.
“To Your Majesty, esteemed court, and the citizenry of Estellia,” Moira began, her voice quivering but determined. “I stand before you today as I– curse all of you! For thou—” Before she could finish her words the blade swung down.
Moira Beaumanoir, a notorious traitor and heretic, was executed at the behest of the Holy Inquisition of Estellia for the crime of attempting to murder Inès Arceneaux, The Saintess of the land. Despite her fervent denials, Moira was found guilty and sentenced to death by beheading. Her corpse was left hanging from the gallows for all to see, a warning to those who would dare to defy the will of the divine.
*
She gasped, sitting up abruptly in bed, realizing it had all been just a terrible nightmare.
But the vividness of the dream made it feel more like a chilling reality. The relentless sound of rain pounding against the windows abruptly interrupted her peace, causing her to jolt from the sudden intrusion.
Desperate to shield herself from the deafening racket, she pulled the heavy duvet tightly over her head, seeking solace in its comforting embrace.
But the storm outside seemed relentless, with thunder crashing loudly overhead, amplifying her anxiety. Moira sat up, her back hunched over as she instinctively tried to shield her ears from the violent noise.
In an unexpected turn of events, the bedroom door swung open violently, its impact shattering the fragile wood.
Stepping into the room was Duke Cassius de Beaumanoir, a name that had been bestowed upon him by the Emperor himself, recognizing his outstanding contributions in the military.
From the moment his eyes fell upon the woman sitting before him, a deep sense of disdain washed over him.
With every exhale, the scent of alcohol filled the air, further intensifying his disgust.
Though she shared his last name, she lacked the pedigree and grace that he believed should accompany someone of his stature.
Enduring her presence within the estate had become unbearable; her constant whining and complaints seemed to seep into his thoughts, making every conversation revolve around her.
Selfishly monopolizing the attention, it was always about her.
Initially, he couldn't even recall what had initially attracted him to her, aside from her striking beauty.
When the emperor had offered him a choice of suitable women to marry, he had immediately selected her, enticed by her looks and relieved by the rumors of her preferring the solitude of the library over social gatherings.
It meant she wouldn't constantly host tea parties and invite strangers into their home.
She had seemed quiet and reserved, qualities that aligned with his preferences. However, after five years of marriage, her true colors had emerged - she had transformed into an entitled hussy, even going as far as to boss him around.
As an esteemed Duke of the empire, it was humiliating to find himself serving his own wife. He recalls tha one time they had encountered each other, she had violently hurled a vase at him.
Even worse, she had attempted to suffocate him with a decorative pillow while he slept. He promptly awakened, left the room, and sought solace in the study.
It had been hours since the incident, and amidst his thoughts and doubts, he now considered divorce as the best option.
However, he know that requesting this from the king wouldn’t be easy.
“Why are you here?” Moira questioned, her voice barely escaping her lips amidst the tangle of hair that clung to her damp cheeks and forehead.
She watched as Cassius climbed back into bed, seemingly unfazed by her presence, and the crumpled sheets offered no solace.
“Your grace, please leave,” she pleaded, striking him gently on the forehead. Her strike grew firmer with each attempt.
“Go back to the guest room where you belong,” Cassius coldly retorted, dismissing her usual attempts at dominance.
It was ironic how people believed women couldn’t be abusive. Moira silently obliged, stepping out of bed and wincing as her bare feet touched the cold marble floor.
Without uttering another word, she closed the door behind her.
Having lived her entire life in this world, Moira was well-versed in the intricacies of etiquette, drilled into her from a young age.
However, this reality was not what she had anticipated.
At the tender age of five, she had come to the realization that she was trapped within a romance novel, cast as Moira Beaumanoir, the antagonist who tormented the beloved saintess, Inès Arceneaux, while three amorous men vied for her affections.
Cassius, Raphael, and Aloysius—Duke, High Priest, and Marquess. Moira, bound to Cassius through an undesired marriage, could only play the role of the villain.
Yet, Moira resented her assigned role. She yearned for a quiet life devoid of disturbance and the impending doom that haunted her nightmares.
Her coping mechanism often involved seeking solace in liquor, leading to blackouts and fragmented memories of her actions.
Heading down to the cellar, Moira gracefully poured herself a glass of wine, savoring its rich aroma and smooth taste as she drank it with urgency, hoping to find solace in the burning sensation that traced its way down her throat.
However, despite being aware of the eventual effects the alcohol would have, she forced herself to continue indulging.
"Madame, I implore you to cease this habit. It is unbecoming, particularly for someone of your stature," a voice interrupted, causing Moira to startle and unintentionally spill a drop onto the floor.
Surprised, she turned to find the butler, who had quietly appeared by the door.
She had momentarily forgotten that he still maintained his post within the mansion, as she had never paid much attention to the servants' presence before.
"My apologies, Monsieur Delon. I was unaware of you of being here," Moira sighed, attempting to regain her composure.
Delon nodded respectfully, his tone gentle. "Please forgive me, Madame. I did not mean to intrude, but you seemed visibly distressed." Concern emanated from his voice, showcasing his genuine care.
"It is merely a plight of troublesome thoughts that occupy my mind," Moira evaded, not wanting to delve into the details.
The man appeared skeptical, yet he opted to show regard for her wishes. He carefully spoke, "Your father has sent a letter to you," extending an envelope embellished with the Charbonneau family's seal.
Moira accepted the envelope and carefully examined its contents. It is indeed addressed to her, but the handwriting is unfamiliar. It seemed as if someone had attempted to imitate her father's penmanship—perhaps her mother had written it on his behalf, though that would not make much sense either.
Curiosity piqued, the butler broke the silence, asking, "What does it say, Madame?" his curiosity evident.
She hesitated for a moment before responding, her gaze briefly darting toward the clock positioned across the cellar.
"It simply states that I should return to my family's home—there appears to be an urgent matter..." Her voice trailed off as realization struck her, recalling the social gathering she attended five weeks ago where Inès had been the target of her ‘bullying’.
The letter had been wrote by Aloysius, aiming to teach her a lesson. However, Moira couldn't recall any wrongdoing towards Inès that day.
Five weeks prior, in a lavishly adorned garden, a group of alluring noblewomen and esteemed members of the aristocracy and foreign dignitaries sat around a grand circular table, chatting merrily.
At the end of the table sat the hostess, beaming with pride as she brandished a stunning silver chalice. "Isn't it lovely? My husband brought it back from Rome!" she exclaimed.
Amid the revelry, all conversation ceased as a vision of loveliness entered the garden. It was the charming Inès Arceneaux, who glided gracefully towards them, emanating an air of prosperity and success. Her flowing blonde hair was carefully pinned back, framing her petite face.
As her emerald-green eyes scanned the crowd, they settled on Lady Marietta, the hostess.
Inès greeted her warmly with a wide grin, and the two women embraced cordially.
Moira, seated nearby, remained unresponsive to Inès' entrance, while the other noblewomen exchanged polite greetings with her, displaying friendly smiles and warm nods.
Yet a few members of the group continued their discussions, oblivious to her arrival.
"Pray, do take a seat, my dear," urged Marietta, offering an empty chair beside her. Inès hesitated, realizing with a sigh that the seating was less than comfortable.
The elegant ladies eased into their seats, while the servants bustled about, preparing the tea and delicacies for the evening.
Marietta cleared her throat, capturing everyone's attention. "Shall we proceed with the topic at hand?" she began with a regal air, and the rest nodded in agreement.
Without warning, a sly-looking woman with fiery-red locks beside Moira made a suggestion.
"Might I suggest an intriguing topic of discussion, my dear ladies? Why not delve into the latest scandal which has been making the rounds in our esteemed circles?"
Inès felt a stiffening in her body, sensing the trouble to come. This woman is none other than Anastasie, infamous for her haughtiness and rude behavior.
She is the reigning queen of the socialites, and everyone knew it.
Marietta, ever the gracious hostess, simply replied with smooth politeness, "Do share with us, dear Anastasie. I'm sure there's something exciting you'd like to discuss."
And with a wicked smile, Anastasie turned to Inès, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Inès' heart skipped a beat as she braced herself for what was to come. Anastasie's words were laced with malice as she said, "Tell us, dear Inès, how did you manage to secure such success and fortune overnight? It seems quite peculiar, don't you think?"
