Solitude & Storms

Screw this. Isabelle muttered curses as she dragged herself miserably up the long driveway to what appeared to be the gates of hell. She had vague memories of the place from her childhood but somehow couldn't connect the happy moments she recalled with a place so dark and gloomy. Thoughts of her childhood quickly halted, however, as the ache in her legs intensified. She groaned, coming to a stop and angrily turning to glare up at the sun with a sharp squint. That hideous ball of fire in the sky was her second enemy after this atrociously long driveway. Both deserved to be obliterated. Isabelle did not consider the utterly disastrous consequences obliterating the sun would have, that matter was hardly important right now. What was important was that she'd nearly perished on her way here! Two hours. She'd spent two hours on foot making it to this place! It was a miracle that her ankles were still attached to her legs! With a sigh, she wiped away the sweat on her forehead with the sleeve of her denim jacket, grabbing her suitcase to continue the arduous journey to the front door. She had nobody to blame but herself. After all, assuming that Gerald would've been able to bring her all this way was solely her error. He was over ten years old and made it obvious by sputtering and coughing whenever she turned the key in his ignition. Damn that car. To die and leave her stranded in a country she was returning to after fifteen years? Unforgivable. Spring in France was usually pretty, but she'd been too busy getting well-roasted by the sun to mind the birds and flowers. And for what, you ask? Isabelle sighed, staring desperately at the front steps of the house as they inched slowly closer with every painful step she took. All because of her Aunt, to whom she was more loyal than a king's eunuchs. For whom else would Isabelle trek hundreds of miles after a mere day of returning from the States? For whom else would Isabelle have accepted to become a temporary maid in the infamous Sauvage mansion? For whom else would she be here, throat parched and dry as a cracked riverbed as she inched towards her doom? For none other than Aunt Rosa. A shaky smile curved her dry lips and, with gratitude, she raised her right foot and brought it down victoriously on the first step of the front stairs. She'd made it! With a dry cackle of delirious relief, she dragged her suitcase up the seven steps and happily collapsed against the closed doors. Panting, she leaned her head back against the doors as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling, her heart pounding a weird beat within her chest. A tiny flame of rage lit up within her as she thought of her pointless attempts to call for help. She didn't have any family or close friends in France except Aunt Rosa. But her aunt was already off to Italy, which was the whole reason why Isabelle was at this house in the first place. Aunt Rosa had been the housekeeper at the Sauvage mansion for about thirty years now, and she'd recently had to return to Italy where one of her brothers, Isabelle's uncle, was ill. More loyal to her employers than a flame was to gasoline, she wouldn't hear of leaving the house in the care of a stranger. Unfortunately for Isabelle, she'd chosen an inconvenient time to make her grand return to France and had immediately been shackled with the duties of her Aunt's job. And that was why, with no one else to call, she'd dialed her new employer's number as soon as her car died. Just remembering the endless ringing she'd heard at the other end of the phone when she'd dialed was enough to rekindle her wrath. Isabelle wasn't a clueless tourist, France was her home and she knew enough about home to know that the master of this house had changed. Raphael was king of this castle and, therefore, the one who had ignored her calls for help. Her eyelids rose to reveal blue eyes of exhausted fury. He would pay. The doors behind her back vanished. Her calm expression of exhaustion and subtle rage spiked into one of wide-eyed horror, but it was too late. Isabelle crashed flat onto her back, arms stretched out as she got an unexpected introduction to the cold, marble floors. Her vision doubled and the annoying sound of happy spring birds seemed strangely far away. Slowly, her brain righted itself within her skull as she caught her breath and tried to focus her vision. What on earth just happened? The first thing she saw was legs. Long legs going for miles above her head. And then, above those legs flashed the white of a shirt followed by a face with the coldest, most unimpressed stare Isabelle had ever been unfortunate enough to receive. She blinked. He had the audacity to look at her that way? When he was the one in the wrong? She was exhausted. But never too exhausted for a fight. Who the heck was this? How dare he be so rude? He'd nearly cracked open the back of her skull! Gritting her teeth, she rolled herself over, struggling onto her knees so she could at least glare hotly at him while she stood. "Excuse me!" The man holding the doors blinked. "How dare you?" Isabelle demanded, grabbing onto the outer door handles so she could drag herself to her full height and restore her dignity. Huffing and puffing, she finally stood upright enough to cross her arms in indignation as she looked up at the man before her. "I could've died!" Her voice shook with exhaustion but she pressed on. The man was still silent, looking at her like he was witnessing an alien invasion. "Who are you?" she went on, looking up and down at him with poorly hidden fury. "Oh. Black pants, white shirt, perfectly combed hair. I know a butler when I see one. Lucas?" Were butlers this handsome nowadays? Not important, she needed to give him a piece of her mind! This butler was her future colleague, but Isabelle had no time to think about that right now. He'd chosen the wrong day to mess with her, she was running on caffeine and suppressed wrath, he was about to find out what happened when you provoked Isabelle Fourie. Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her chin in challenge. "Look here, you inexcusably uncouth..." She trailed off, unexpectedly derailed as her head spun, dizziness attacking her. Ah, yes. She'd just arrived from the depths of hell and had survived two hours on a long barren road without any food. How could she have forgotten? The strength drained out of her, and she visibly waned, groaning as she touched a hand to her head. "Just a moment, I..." Pushing past him, she stumbled into the house. "My bag. Bring it in. And inform your employer I'm here." Silent, her victim remained at the door, staring down at the green suitcase lying haphazardly on his doorstep. His face was still. Raphael Sauvage hardly ever showed expressions. Right now, however, his stillness could be attributed more to how bewildered he simply was. Slowly, he looked into the house staring at the direction in which the bizarre alien girl had disappeared. What on earth had just happened? His grey eyes were filled with an odd mixture of intrigue and puzzlement. A butler? Him? He slowly turned back around and, in a state of confusion, picked up her bag and took it into the house. Closing the door, he left the suitcase in the foyer and went in search of the mad girl. After a minute of searching, he finally found her in the kitchen where she stood gulping down a large bottle of water. Silently, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms, watching her. With a deep breath, she slammed the bottle onto the counter and wiped harshly at the droplets on her chin. "Oh, thank God," she panted. "I nearly died!" Desperately, she went back to the open fridge and scanned the contents with crazed eyes. Her hands reached in and came out with a big slice of banana bread which she quickly stuffed into her mouth. "Blood sugar," she murmured around the mouthful. "My blood sugar's dropped!" Raphael tilted his head at the mess before him. He'd asked Rosa to find a temporary housekeeper to fill in for her. He hadn't known she'd recruit someone from an asylum. With a gasp, she paused and looked at him. "Oi, butler," she whispered. "Where's Raphael? I mean... where's Mr Sauvage?" She had to make sure Raphael didn't witness this, it would make Rosa look bad. Isabelle desperately munched on the banana bread she knew was her aunt's recipe, desperately trying to fill her growling stomach while she waited for the expressionless man to respond. When he said nothing, she closed the fridge and turned away in disinterest. "I'll find him myself." Turning to the other kitchen entrance, she made her way to what appeared to be a dining area. As soon as the dining table came into view, however, Isabelle halted. There, behind the chair at the head of the table, high on the wall, was a portrait. One so regal and noble, it was unmistakable that the man in the portrait was the master of the house. Her face paled, her eyes widened. In the portrait, a commanding gaze bore down on her from a pair of calm, grey eyes. Swallowing the last bite of banana bread with great difficulty, she slowly turned from the portrait to look behind her. The same pair of eyes stared at her from this end, only they were narrowed with harsh disapproval. Isabelle's heart dropped. The butler... was not who she'd thought he was. With a pitiful expression of repentance, she gave him a shaky smile to make him forget the disaster he had just witnessed. "... Raphael?"