tumultuous as ever , they would call her a queen and a rising star. annabella had, in retrospect, cared for christine, as if she herself had been flesh and blood. perhaps it was foolish of her. perhaps it was because whenever the woman’s gaze managed to hit that of the young starlet, she’d found herself seeing everything she’d wished she could’ve been once upon a time. it had been a proven fact, that annabella was hardly ever foolish. christine’s voice breaks the brevity of silence that had seemingly swept over them, if only to cause the slightest of smiles to grace her lips. cherry red, tonight they’d been painted like warpaint, much like many nights before. yet, there was something different within the streets of paris tonight, as if a darkness looming over slimed streets and effervescent residents. you have control. it resonates with her well, the thought of having paris’ underground rested gently against the palm of her hand. “ ––– they respect me.” her response comes quick, gaze scanning across the crowd. “ there’s a difference, christine. “ name escapes her with a delicate nature. for as rigid as she may be, annabella could hardly bring herself to scorn the girl in front of her. a beautiful example of tragedy, a woman who wore a facade and wore it well. a gentle hand reaches forward, running a smooth digit across her forehead as she places loosened strands behind the girls ear. a gesture, savoured if anything, for her two children. “ so, tell me mon amour, which is it for you ? “