“It is the second month of spring, on the 4th day. Please state your name for the record, my lady.”

“My name is Genevieve de Montclair, illegitimate daughter of Armand de Montclair…and widow of Lucien de Montclair. And I murdered everyone at that damned estate.”

“Is that your honest confession?” 

“This is my honest confession.”

Because of a household that saw me as a sow, a neglectful maid, and my own husband’s indifference, my daughter died. 

I was only seventeen when I gave birth to my daughter, along with a single midwife. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. The thought of having a child being brought into such a cruel world—that if I just smothered her before she could experience the cruelties of such a world that would surely destroy her as it did me. I had these thoughts throughout my pregnancy until I saw her, exhausted and wondering if death would claim me.

She was tiny like the baby dolls I had seen my sister cling to as a child. I had felt a sense—no, need to protect this child. She had her father’s hair, but everything else about her was like mine. Her wide, dark eyes and sun-kissed skin. I kissed her little nose and held her as I rocked back and forth.

I had just seen her that morning. She always insisted on me dressing her up; she disliked the maids. I knew the maids didn’t like the child since she wasn’t an heir, and even switching them out didn’t work, so I watched her and took care of her. I raised her until she reached her third summer, mine my twentieth.

It was the first time I felt what love could be like.

It was early spring so it was still cold—however that child liked going out every morning, laughing amongst the blooming flowers was her favorite thing too, even when she was a crawling baby.

“We’re family, how could you?!” He said as he trembled, back into a corner.

I held the knife, pointing the blade at him before letting a disgusted, soured laugh.

“Family? We stopped being that when you sought to desire me.”

Me, his sister! Half-blood or not, he destroyed me!

“Ellie wuvs Mama da most!”

They killed my child! My Elise!

“Maman loves Elise the most too!”

She’s dead and it is all that damned family’s fault!

“You are the sick bastard who coveted his sister!” Watching his dumbfounded expression, I corrected myself with a giggle, “Oh, that's right. Because I'm a bastard, it doesn't count. What did Father say, ‘Even a child from that girl will have more rights to the Montclair name.’ When I had a miscarriage when I was thirteen years old, from you touching me, father and you lamented that it could've been a boy. That was the first time you stole life from me. The second time was when I was forced to marry you. Girls that age dream of crushes and their debuts, yet in that dark, creaking attic I could only think of if I’d live another day.”

My dark, cold eyes stared into his beady, pale-green ones, twisting the knife in further as his body squirmed. 

“Being your wife worried me to the point I was stick-thin, tiring me out with everything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep…then, after two or three years of difficulty, I had my Elise. You were never a father to such a sweet child. All because she’s a girl? Is being a girl such a terrible crime?”

“I-I—”

“SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH!”

As blood trickled from his lips, I felt my voice grow louder as I became unraveled. My entire life I had been scared of everyone in this goddamn family. 

“ELISE’S DEATH WAS THE THIRD TIME YOU TOOK LIFE AWAY FROM ME! YOU TOOK LOVE AWAY FROM ME! YOU TOOK HOPE AWAY FROM ME! AND YOU’VE NEVER BEEN APOLOGETIC IN YOUR DAMNED LIFE!”

I don’t know how many times I stabbed him; I think even after he stopped breathing, I didn’t stop until I was satisfied. I wanted him to look no longer human, as he had seen me for many years. 

My life was already over. Shackled to Lucien, I had only served as a vessel for my sister’s holy power and a broodmare for my brother.

Such an existence…perhaps death would be better.

It wasn’t long before someone had discovered what I’d done—and to my luck, it was Elise’s maid. I could get her desires to be more than a baron’s daughter—I could get her desire to be more than what she was. But at the expense of a child? My Elise? A child? A CHILD–!

“That’s enough, my lady.” The Duchess's voice is rough, almost her wool brushing against my ears. Though tired and anxious, my eyes drag to meet hers. Her ash-blonde hair was silver with age, her opal eyes glittered like jewels. In her hand,  she held a small recording orb–the only other time I’d seen one was in Father’s office.  It was only us, the flickering of the torch lining the prison’s walls and the soft crackle of their flame.

“I suppose you are here to kill me, Madame la Duchesse de Beaumont.”

The Duchess Beaumont looks at me somberly, as if I asked the worst thing of the aging matriarch—although she supposes that killing someone is a hard thing, even if they’re a murderer. She looks after me for what feels like agonizing seconds before she grabs her face.

“You’ve become so thin. You were quite chubby and cute when you were a child. What am I saying? You’re still a child.”

“Grand-Madame Montclair always told me men liked thin, bare-bones women,” I reply, while the older woman doesn't reply, nearly brandishing her sword, the one that used to fight in battle.

“As you are aware you were scheduled to be executed by guillotine. I asked for mercy and if I could do it instead. It will be painless, I promise you.” Clemency and tears, for me? The last time I saw the duke cry was at her husband’s funeral. Now she was crying for me…did I even deserve her tears? 

“Do not cry for me, Madame.” My shackles clank as I hold her face in my hands, “I do not regret this life because it led us together and I was able to have someone like Elise to give love to, even if I couldn’t protect her. Please proceed with my execution, Madame.”

I didn’t feel much pain from the blade–darkness consumed me. I thought of Duchess de Beaumont and Elise in my final thoughts. What followed me after was not death, but unexpectedly, a blinding light.