Étienne
The weeks in the barracks had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Each day blurred into the next—a relentless grind of training, exhaustion, and isolation. The soldiers around me had long since accepted their fate, their faces hardened by years of service. I had initially believed that joining the army would be a way to make a difference, to find my place in a world teetering on the brink of conflict. But now, it felt like I had only traded one set of chains for another.
At night, the shadows of the barracks pressed down on me, and I could almost hear the whisper of the life I had left behind, the echoes of laughter, the warmth of the château, and the soft, loving voice of Victoire.
"Your training has been satisfactory so far, but I expect more from you," Captain Lambert's voice cut through my thoughts like a blade.
His piercing gaze locked onto mine, a silent command to focus. I straightened my posture and nodded, although my mind was elsewhere.
"You're capable of more than what you've shown, Étienne. I see potential in you, but potential alone won't win wars."
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay in the moment. In the heat of combat, there was no room for hesitation, no place for thoughts of the past. Yet, the words felt hollow, a reminder that my potential was being used for something I didn't truly believe in.
I had been raised on the ideals of honor and duty, but here, in this cold and unforgiving place, those ideals seemed to have lost their meaning.
I nodded, but I didn't respond. What could I say? That I no longer believed in the cause? That I longed to return to a life of peace?
"Push harder tomorrow," Captain Lambert ordered before turning away.
I stood still, my mind racing. Was this my future now? To live and die by the will of others, to fight battles I didn't understand?
After the grueling session, I retreated to my quarters, but sleep was a stranger. My thoughts kept returning to Victoire.
I had written to her once, pouring all my emotions into a letter, confessing my regrets, my longing to return to her side. But I had never sent it. There was no point. She deserved more than someone like me. She deserved a life untouched by war, untouched by the bloodshed that now consumed me.
I had left her behind, and there was no going back. But why did that thought gnaw at my soul? Was it because I wanted to return to her? Or was it simply the remnants of a life I had once known, now slipping through my fingers like sand?
Victoire
The silence in the château was suffocating. I wandered through the halls aimlessly, my feet taking me to places I had once visited with Étienne. The garden, where we would sit beneath the trees, talking about the future, about dreams of travel, of building a life together. Those dreams felt like a distant memory now, faded and out of reach.
The house was too quiet without him. The servants whispered among themselves, but they didn't understand. They couldn't. They didn't know the depth of the connection Étienne and I shared.
I tried to keep busy, to occupy my mind with work, with social calls, but everything felt hollow. The emptiness that had settled in my chest could not be filled.
It wasn't until one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, that I found myself at the river again. The water flowed swiftly, its current carrying the fading light of day.
I stared out over the water, my thoughts a tangled mess.
I wondered if Étienne was out there somewhere, still fighting, still trying to make a place for himself in a world that was not his own.
The thought of him in danger sent a pang through my heart, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't reach him.
"Victoire."
I turned to see my father standing on the bank, his silhouette outlined against the setting sun.
His eyes were cold, distant, as always, but there was something more in them now. A hardness that wasn't there before.
"Father, I was just thinking..." My voice trailed off as he approached, his expression unreadable.
"You've been thinking about him too much," he said flatly.
I blinked, surprised by his bluntness. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you've been consumed by him. He's not here, and it's time you accepted that."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping me. "You're my daughter, Victoire. You have responsibilities—duties. You can't keep living in a fantasy. Life goes on, even when you don't want it to."
His words felt like a slap to my face.
"You'll marry soon. It's time to start considering your future, your obligations to this family."
I recoiled, the weight of his words hitting me like a thunderclap.
Marriage. To someone else. To a future that wasn't mine.
I swallowed hard, trying to push back the rising panic. "I'm not ready. I don't want this."
"You don't have a choice," he said coldly, his gaze hardening. "You are a woman now, and your future is already set. Don't waste your time mourning someone who may never return."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died in my throat.
How could I explain that I wasn't mourning him? How could I explain that I was still waiting, still holding onto the hope that Étienne would return to me?
But that hope felt like a fragile thread, fraying more with each passing day.
"I don't want to marry someone else, Father," I whispered. "I want to wait for him. I want to live my life for myself, not for some future I never asked for."
His expression softened for a brief moment, but it quickly hardened again. "You will do what is expected of you. And if you refuse, there will be consequences."
The finality in his words left me speechless. There was no room for negotiation, no room for what I wanted. Only what he demanded.
I stood there, unable to speak, unable to do anything except accept the cold reality of what lay ahead.
Étienne
The nights had become unbearable. Alone in my quarters, I lay on my cot, staring up at the ceiling, haunted by the thoughts of Victoire.
The sound of soldiers moving through the camp was a constant hum in the background, but I heard none of it. I only heard her voice, calling to me across the distance.
I had tried to silence the thoughts, to focus on the task at hand. But they refused to leave.
"What are you fighting for, Étienne?" I whispered to the darkness. "What's left for you?"
The question had no answer.
But the longing remained.
I had become someone I didn't recognize. A soldier who fought without question, without hesitation. But somewhere deep inside, there was still the boy who had loved her, the boy who had dreamed of a future they could share.
And now, that future seemed impossible.
The letter I had written to Victoire still sat in my drawer, untouched. I couldn't bring myself to send it. What good would it do?
She was moving on. And perhaps it was time I did the same.
But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing a part of myself in the process.
I didn't know who I was anymore.
I didn't know if I ever would again.
Victoire
I spent the following days locked in my room, unable to face the world outside. The walls of the château felt suffocating, as though they were closing in on me, holding me captive in a life I never wanted.
I refused to entertain the suitors my father had lined up for me. I couldn't bring myself to even look at them.
I didn't want a future without Étienne.
But the longer I waited, the more I realized that waiting for him could be the same as waiting for nothing.
"Victoire," my mother's soft voice came from the doorway. "You need to stop punishing yourself."
I didn't answer.
"You're still young," she said, stepping closer. "There's time for everything. Don't let your father's expectations trap you."
I looked up at her, my heart heavy with the weight of the decision I knew I had to make.
"I don't know if I can let go of him," I whispered.
"You don't have to let go," she replied gently. "But you have to live your life, Victoire. For yourself."
Her words hit me like a breath of fresh air.
But the ache in my chest still remained.
Étienne
The days dragged on, each one feeling heavier than the last. I had learned to silence the pain, to bury my doubts beneath layers of duty and discipline. But that didn't make the longing go away.
The war would come soon.
And I had to be ready.
For everything else, I had to let go.