Page 26 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
“Uh…”
“Let’s back up—what do you like?”
“Hm.” Violet folded her arms, but it only took a moment for something to pop into her head. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about painting. When I was little, gram got me started with watercolors because she said they were made with more natural ingredients. I didn’t even understand what that meant back then. I just loved creating palettes and mixing colors, drawing everything and everyone around me in my sketchpad. I took a few classes in college for fun, and I would even volunteer at the local kindergarten once a month and do art masterpiece classes. That was a blast. But I could never pursue it seriously. Everyone knows artists don’t make money.”
“That’s not necessarily true. I consider myself a type of artist and I do alright. Have you ever researched ways to make your art profitable? With social media, things aren’t like they were before. There’s so much opportunity for exposure.”
Violet sighed, tracing her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “I haven’t. I’ve only ever looked at art as a silly hobby. I’ve been on autopilot, you know? Graduate high school, go to college, get a job, work the job… Work the job some more. But then what? What’s next? Get married and have kids? I don’t even know if I want that.”
“I think you’re definitely asking yourself the right questions. I’ve always loved baking—before I was old enough to properly use a stove, I was making snow cakes and mud pies in the backyard. Now, Iloveplaying with fruit and fresh, local ingredients. Getting creative, like improvisation. It’s my art. You just need to open your mind to the possibilities.”
“I do… you’re right.” Violet turned it over in her mind. What could she produce, given the freedom and opportunity to do so? She liked the feel of it: returning home and exploring her true desires in this place that she loved. Opening herself to possibility.
13
Now
1656–1820.
Ainsworth, DeRose and Zabelle. Three native clans traditionally occupied the Libellule province. Prior to 1789, the province fell beyond the geographical domain of Queen Francesca-Marie Au Clair Dupont. As such, the three clans held full authority over the land and were said to have existed harmoniously within their community, and with nature.
Libellule was diminished to a village following the Queen’s victory within the Holy Damascus War of 1787—a civil conflict which dramatically changed the country’s landscape and territories.
“DeRose and Zabelle,” Violet considered. “I’ve never met anyone in this town with those surnames…” She adjusted against the stiff wooden back of the chair. In the silence of the library, the thing creaked loudly, as if its screws were protesting their very purpose—they hated this job and they wanted out.
It was Saturday morning, but the library wasn’t busy at all. On the rare occasions Violet had dared to enter the local library when she lived in the city, the atmosphere was more akin to a zoo rather than a quiet place to read and study. Children ran around everywhere, mothers stood talking together with zero concern for said children running amok. The espresso machine within the café buzzed and whirred constantly. All manner of people came and went. It was a lavish and cutting-edge space, but for Violet, ineffective for accomplishing any actual reading.
Libellule Community Library was a different beast. If the library in the city was a giant dragon with bright, shiny iridescent scales and magnificent spikes, LCL was a soft furry thing. It was cute, and if you petted it (because it would definitely let you, on good days), it might roll over to reveal matted and dusty fur.
The librarian, Rochelle, just so happened to be the daughter of the former librarian, Mrs. Blanc. But that was the way of things in Libellule. Violet noticed that most families just stayed here, as if they were holding down some invisible fort. Generation after generation.
Stretching her arms up, Violet glanced around at the filmy windows, the squat rows of dark bookshelves and the old furniture that hadn’t been replaced since she was a child. The walls of the library were cornflower blue, which, to Violet, gave the space an oddly cheerful disposition. Crown molding lined the upper walls, creating an elegant transition to the stark white ceiling.
She looked back down at the history book, intrigued when a surname she recognized besides her own jumped out at her.
…1819 led by Xavier Charles Laurent. The terms of the Queen’s post-war treaty allowed for affluent Northern families to claim what was regarded as unoccupied land within certain boundaries. According to the royal records of 1788, Libellule was deemed as an area with “rich, undiscovered resources” and “prime for the establishment of modern civilization and cultivation.”
Xavier Charles Laurent and his caravan were immediately met with opposition upon arriving at the village. His key rival, Victoria Ainsworth, led the fight against the caravan and their ideals of purity in moral living. The contest waged on with fierce hostility until the spring of 1820. The native clans had held strong until then, and although the surrounding circumstances are undocumented, it has been said that a betrayal within the clan’s ranks led to the eventual capture and burning of Victoria Ainsworth.
The remaining natives conceded to Xavier Charles and his ideas for the commune’s prosperity and development. However, by 1821, very few of the original clans’ people (Ainsworth, DeRose and Zabelle) were documented within the town’s census record. The youngest son of Victoria, Noel Ainsworth, was
“They were witches.”
Violet gasped and jumped in her seat, making the chair’s screws truly hate their task of keeping her off the floor. She scowled. “Rochelle, don’t sneak up on people!”
“I didn’t sneak. I walked.” The waify woman pressed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, making the top of the rims hit the dark, heavy bangs stretched across her forehead. “Anyway, Ainsworth, DeRose and Zabelle? They were witches. It was a coven. One of the most powerful in Europe at that time.”
Violet adjusted in her seat. “Well, that’s certainly fascinating.”
“But the writer doesn’tsaythat. It irritates me. Even the half-baked academic accounts that glorify that snake Xavier Laurent acknowledge the natives as witches. I like this book because it’s one of the very few that even lists the indigenous people by name. The author went through all the trouble of digging up information, objectively trying to show their side, but then he ignores the elephant in the room. The witch in the room.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to vilify the natives like those other books do? He was trying to be politically correct.”
“They weren’t villains, but a spade is a spade.”
“Some people don’t believe in magic and that kind of stuff. Especially academics.”
Rochelle turned her nose up. “And that’s their deficiency. How can you really know anything about anything when your mind is so small? They claim to be these ‘knowledge seekers,’ but notrueknowledge can get into the tiny, narrow space of their own entitled, biased existence.”
