Étienne
The morning came far too quickly.
The light creeping over the horizon was soft and golden, but it felt cold against my skin. The château, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, had transformed overnight into something foreign. Every creak in the floorboards, every hushed whisper from behind closed doors reminded me that my time here was ending.
I dressed slowly, each layer of clothing feeling like a weight I had to carry. The uniform they'd sent was stiff, its fabric unfamiliar. I caught my reflection in the tall mirror by the window—clean-shaven, hair neatly combed, eyes dark with uncertainty. I hardly recognized myself.
Downstairs, the family had already gathered.
Father stood at the head of the room, his posture rigid, eyes sharp as always. Mother was beside him, her expression unreadable, but her hands trembled as she held her teacup. My siblings looked on in silence, unsure of what to say, if anything. It felt like a ceremony—silent, reverent, laced with sorrow.
"I'm ready," I said quietly.
Father nodded, his eyes meeting mine. "Then go with your head held high."
I searched their faces, looking for something to hold onto—comfort, pride, even fear. But they had all built their own walls. I wasn't sure if it was out of strength or denial. I forced a small smile, then turned to leave.
But I wasn't done.
There was still one more goodbye to say.
Victoire
The knock came just as I was finishing tying the ribbon in my hair.
I opened the door, and there he was, already in uniform. He looked taller somehow, though maybe it was just the way he carried himself—straight-backed, resolute. His eyes found mine immediately, and I felt something in my chest tighten.
"May I come in?" he asked softly.
I nodded, stepping aside. He walked in, taking in the room as though trying to remember every detail. I closed the door behind us. The silence between us was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just... final.
"I leave in an hour," he said.
I nodded, not trusting my voice just yet.
He walked to the window, looking out at the fields beyond. "Everything looks the same. But it doesn't feel the same, does it?"
"No," I whispered. "It doesn't."
I walked to stand beside him, and for a moment, we just stood there, side by side, the weight of our unspoken thoughts pressing in on us. Then he turned to face me, and I could see the emotion flickering in his gaze—fear, longing, hope.
"I wanted to see you one last time," he said. "Before I go."
"You didn't have to ask," I replied, voice barely steady. "I would've found you."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Will you write to me?"
"Yes."
"And you'll wait?"
I swallowed hard. "I already said I would."
He stepped closer, taking my hand in his. His fingers were cold, but the touch was gentle. "Then that's all I need."
Étienne
I wanted to kiss her.
I wanted to hold her and promise her that everything would be fine—that I'd return, that this would end quickly, and we'd laugh about it one day. But I couldn't lie. Not now. Not when everything was so uncertain.
So instead, I held her hand tighter.
"I'll think of you every day," I said.
She nodded, eyes shimmering. "And I'll pray for you every night."
The clock in the hall began to chime, and we both flinched. It was time. I didn't want to let go, but I knew I had to. She did too. So we lingered in the silence for one last moment before I gently released her hand.
"Goodbye, Victoire," I said.
"Goodbye, Étienne."
I turned and walked out the door before I could change my mind, before the tears that threatened to fall could betray the composure I clung to.
The road ahead was unknown.
But I carried her with me. Always.
Victoire
The door closed softly behind him, but the sound echoed in my ears like a thunderclap.
I stood there, frozen, staring at the space he had just occupied. The warmth of his presence was still in the air, and my fingers tingled where he had held them. The tears I had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over.
I walked to the window and watched as he mounted the carriage waiting at the end of the drive. His father stood beside it, offering one last set of instructions, but Étienne barely looked at him. His gaze was on the château—on me.
He saw me in the window.
And he smiled. Just slightly. Just for me.
Then the carriage rolled forward, and he disappeared from view.
I pressed my hand against the glass and whispered into the empty room, "Come back to me."
And with that, the silence returned.
But in my heart, a promise echoed. One I would not let go.
Étienne
The road to the barracks felt impossibly long.
Every mile seemed to stretch farther from the life I had known, from the people I loved. Each turn of the carriage wheels felt like a step into the unknown, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the world behind me was slipping away, irrevocably out of reach.
My father sat beside me, as unyielding as ever, his posture perfect, his gaze focused on the horizon. He had spoken little since we left the château, as though he was preparing for the same battle I was about to face. But I knew, deep down, that we were fighting different wars.
He had already made peace with his duty. I hadn't yet.
"I'll be fine, Father," I said, breaking the silence.
He turned his head slightly, offering me a look that held no warmth, but not quite the harshness I had expected. "I know you will. You're a soldier."
"Are you?"
His gaze darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might say something more, but he didn't. "I've done my duty. It's your turn now."
We sat in silence again, the only sound the clopping of the horses' hooves and the rustling of the wind.
I wanted to ask him about his experiences, to know what he had faced, but I knew better than to press. Our lives were defined by silence, not conversation. His path had been set long before I came into the world. And now, mine had been decided for me.
But even so, I couldn't silence the ache in my chest.
Victoire
I sat at the window for hours after he left, watching the spot where the carriage had disappeared.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees and sending shadows dancing across the garden. The house seemed empty without him, like a place that had lost its soul.
I had never realized how much I relied on him until now, until he was gone. And now that he was, the emptiness felt like a weight I couldn't bear.
But I would.
I would carry it. For him.
I rose from the chair and walked to the door, feeling the cold stone beneath my feet. The house was still, but I knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. There would be more whispers, more sadness, and more people coming and going. But none of them mattered. Not without Étienne.
I stopped in front of the door and closed my eyes, imagining him out there somewhere, riding to a war that felt too distant, too terrible. I prayed for his safety, for his return, but most of all, I prayed for the courage to keep going until he came back.
And I promised myself that I would be here, waiting.
Étienne
I couldn't shake the thought of her as we traveled further from home.
It seemed absurd, considering all that lay ahead—my future was uncertain, the battles looming over me, my own survival in question. Yet, no matter how far I moved away from the château, no matter how many miles stretched between me and her, she was always with me.
Her voice lingered in my ears, her hand still felt warm against mine, and in the silent hours, I could almost hear her soft laughter. It gave me strength, but also a hollow ache, like something I was not yet ready to face.
I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the thoughts of her, but it was impossible.
No matter how hard I tried to focus on the journey ahead, it felt like she was my anchor—her image grounding me even in this sea of uncertainty.
"I'll come back," I whispered to the wind, as if saying the words out loud would make it true.
And for the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to believe it.