#vincent dubois

[elmartillosinmetre]

Mi crítica del concierto de Johannes Skudlik esta noche en la iglesia de los Venerables.

[sckh-visualarchive]

art work "`Hermes" by Vojtěch Kovařík photo by Vincent Desailly

[chris-prank]

Absolutely love Dr.Seraph, he's such a pathetic man in the best of ways, gotta love it <3

But ngl, I'm also kinda curious about Fatalité, he's been mentioned here and there but we haven't seen much of him ....?

Could you tell us some stuff about him, if you don't mind ? Like how he feels about a hero reader/vigilante reader, or how he would feel if he discovered Dr.Seraph's feelings about the reader, for example

I'm so glad that my little mad scientist is to your liking! 😆 I decided to had some personal info about Fatalité on top of answering your questions!

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

About Fatalité:

💣 Fatalité’s real name is Jules Dubois, he is born in Belgium.

💣 He is in his mid forties.

💣 He can speak French, English and a little bit of Spanish.

💣 He doesn’t have superpowers, that’s what Dr. Seraph is for! The only things that could be considered his “quirk” are his metal gauntlets that gives him inhuman strength. He can easily destroy a wall in one punch!

💣 His real weapon is money. Jules can pay, blackmail and bribe his way into fulfilling his goals. He still is on the field most of the time, since he doesn’t believe his henchman can do the job properly without him. Additionally, he finds sick pleasure in watching his enemies fail, so he wants to witness it first hand.

💣 His evil deeds vary between typical robbery of precious jewels or works of art and trying to take over parts of the city.

💣 Fatalité is a real narcissist, with psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies. Remorse is a feeling foreign to him seeing that he felt it rarely in his life.

What is he like on the romance side of things:

💣 Fatalité is biromantic and asexual, which I subtly hinted at in one of my previous posts. Sorry guys, but that means no spicy time with him.

💣 He is obviously a yandere too, since he is an evil supervillain, obsessing over things is ingrained in him. If he likes someone he doesn’t care what it takes, he will have them. Fatality is inevitable after all.

💣 He would be less mean to his partner than with other people, but taking in consideration his narcissism, his desires are still more important to him. So he might not be the best boyfriend in the world.

💣 You don’t want to cuddle? Too bad he wants it and he’ll trap you in his arms. You're so cute when you’re struggling to get away, you’re just like an aggressive stray cat. He does enjoy seeing you frustrated a little bit too much.

💣 His prominent love language are words of affirmation. He needs to hear you say how much you adore and worship him! Don’t expect any words of affirmation from him, he is too proud to admit his feelings out loud.

💣 On the other hand, he expresses his love for you by giving expensive gifts and physical touch.

His view on hero/vigilante reader and if he discovers Dr. Seraph as real feelings for them:

💣 About the hero reader, in simple words, Fatalité hates them. They take away or prevent him from getting the things HE wants.

💣 His views on vigilante reader will change depending on how much they are on the good side. If they are serving justice but with no moral ground, he will hate them as much as the typical hero. But if they are more flexible with their activities, Fatalité might try to work with them if it can serve his interests.

💣 If Jules founds out that Dr. Seraph is in love with the reader; he will be shocked and feel a bit betrayed. With all the people in the world he chose his arch nemesis!? Vincent should just spit in his face while he's at it.

💣 As long as his sidekick don’t plan on betraying him literally, he doesn’t mind this obsession of his. Actually, it could even turn into something positive, for exemple if Dr. Seraph decides to kidnap the reader for himself. That way Jules wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I hope this satisfied your curiosity about Fatalité!

[womanofwords]

The Poisoned Prodigy (Chapter 2)

The awards ceremony was glittering. The theme for the decorations was stars and constellations. It suddenly made a lot of sense why Patton was wearing this custom-made suit, but it also made me feel even plainer.

"Your tickets," the bouncer droned, giving us a dead-eyed stare.

"Here," Patton said, handing over our tickets. "I was told that I would be allowed to bring a plus one."

"Yep, looks good. In you go," the bouncer grunted, opening the gate for us. We walked into a room decorated to look like the Milky Way galaxy. Planets were projected onto the ceiling. I recognised the planets, but the constellations escaped me. So did Patton.

He was surrounded by other people who all looked better than me. "Patton, you look incredible! Who are you wearing?" someone giggled.

"This is a little something that I made a while ago," Patton giggled, as he played with a button of his. The compliments stampeded over each other like a crowd running in one direction. Patton was incredible. A child genius overlooked and later abandoned by his biological parents, later adopted by his aunt and uncle who took care of him and allowed his intelligence to thrive in a place where it was encouraged.

And here I was, someone who had to study relentlessly just to get a C, the dumbest person in this room by a country mile.

"And this is my best friend, Vincent!" Patton said. "Vincent, come here!"

Everyone was looking at me. I walked over, trying to look presentable. I probably didn't. "Hi," I said, waving at them. "I've . . . never gone to one of these before."

"It's usually more for connecting than anything," said a guy with a forest green suit and a bowl cut parted in the middle. "We're all waiting for the awards, personally."

"Patton truly deserves the award for best invention," another dude said. "He's been working so hard."

The group fell into a cacophonous sound of praise. Everyone loved Patton here. He said he was friends with a few people, but I should have known he was playing it down.

Patton steered me to a table and sat us down just before the main speaker, a woman in a gold dress, began to talk. "Welcome, everyone, wonderful turnout this year," she said, smiling widely at us all. "It's great to see you all. This year, the competition has been stiff, and it has been so difficult to choose who the winners of each category should be."

"Does this part take long?" I whispered to Patton.

"Usually," he whispered back.

"For the first category, we have the arts program. Nominated for the award of best artwork . . ."

"Let me know when your part comes up," I muttered, leaning against Patton's shoulder.

:-)

I must have fallen asleep, because Patton was shaking me awake and wiping drool off my face. "It's my one, Vince! Wake up!" he hissed.

"And now for the category of scientific advancement, we start with nominees," the announcer said. "Addison Raymond, Sally Kinley, and Ernest DuBois."

There was a smattering of polite applause, along with some muttering. Patton rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Ernest will not be taking this well," Patton muttered.

"Why?" I asked him.

"He . . . has some very high standards for himself. And he doesn't like being upstaged by anybody or anything." Patton lowered his voice even more. "He and I have never gotten along. In fact, we clashed a few days before this. He didn't think my prosthetic leg submission was very impressive."

This made me sit up a bit. Drama in a place like Sandalwood? Finally, something interesting. "So he's on some sort of warpath or something?"

"He has a grudge against me. I just hope he doesn't do anything crazy."

"And the winner for the category for scientific advancement is Patton Reynolds!" the speaker announced, to wild cheers. Patton downed his drink and got up to accept his award, stumbling from the number of people slapping him on the back with appreciation.

"Well, Patton, is there anything you'd like to say?" the announcer asked, handing the microphone over to my best friend.

"Only how grateful I am to everyone that's helped me get this far," Patton said. "My aunt and uncle, who couldn't make it, my teachers, who were so patient with me and assured me that I belonged here just as much as anybody else. The friends I -." Patton was interrupted by a coughing fit.

"Some water, Patton?" the announcer offered, shoving a bottle of water into Patton's face.

"Thank you," Patton said, downing half of the bottle and continuing on with his speech once it was put onto the podium. "Anywhere, where was I? Ah, yes, thanking people. I would like to give a special thank you to the friends I made that welcomed me into this fine institute and showed me the ropes." He paused again and clutched his head. "Goodness, my head hurts."

And then Patton fell to the floor.

People gasped and screamed as Patton Reynolds collapsed to the floor with a thud, the microphone screeching into our ears with feedback when it hit the floor.

"Someone call an ambulance!" the announcer said, as people screamed. Some ran away as I rushed to Patton's side. I might not be as smart as everyone else in this room, but I did know that Patton needed to be sat upright so he didn't potentially choke on his own vomit. From there, I did the Heimlich manoeuvre, and chunks of brown puke spluttered out of him like a clogged pipe. No prizes for guessing that it came from the chocolate cake he'd left half-finished when he went up to receive the award.

"I'll keep him upright so he doesn't choke to death on his own puke," I said, propping Patton up. Patton grabbed at me with one arm while drawing laboured, ragged breath into his lungs.

"Ernest DuBois did it," Patton groaned, just before he passed out and just as the terrified announcer had the microphone near his mouth. Gasps and whispers rippled through the audience like a Mexican wave.

"I did not do it to you, you lying little freak!" Ernest yelled, standing up to project his voice. He was rather short, with a tuft of thin blond hair that stuck in the air like old-timey TV antennae. "I don't need to listen to this slander!" He got up and attempted to leave, only to be tackled to the floor by a girl in a dark purple pantsuit.

"That's for poisoning Patton, you jealous little psychopath!" she yelled, as the blond struggled underneath her. More people grabbed at Ernest to hold him for the police, while I waited for the ambulance to arrive for Patton.

"You're doing great," I told Patton, my eyes stinging with tears as I looked at him twitching in my arms and calls were made to poison control. "You're really doing great, Patton."

If you want to read the other chapters, see Masterlist.

[chaifootsteps]

The Odd one is here hhhhh

This will be more of a post about ideas and concepts I have on Hazbin characters and what I wanted to name them in my version of HH! I made these back in 2020 so sorry if they seem outdated and such.

Husk/Roger Alscher (German)

Nifty/Geneva Uchida (Japanese)

Baxter/Baxter Horvat (Croatian)

Crymini/Aimee Taylor (British)

Cherri Bomb/Cheryl De La Rosa (Dominican)

Vaggie or Polilla/Geraldine Vasquez (Salvadoran)

Dolly or Mimzy(by Alastor)/ Vita Ariti (Greek)

Alastor/Alexander Dubois (Creole)

Vox's/ Kenneth Cyril. (Caucasian-American)

Valentino/ Vincent Valentino (Mixed Mexican and Italian)

Velvet/ Shirley Fahlett (African-American)

(In my version it isn't in hell, it takes place in the 1920s mainly because Viv's hell functions like earth, earth itself has a lot of hellish periods and struggles, I wanna tackle on serious topics in an environment stock-filled with em, and I feel that certain restrictions and obstacles would make more sense in a setting like this! Thoughts?

Sounds promising, and I like the names you went with!

[edoro]

been playing more Disco Elysium because no matter how bad i feel about work, i could not be as much of a fuckup as Harrier Dubois if i tried, so it really offers some much-needed perspective

anyway just got to the second day finally (yes it takes me 100 years to play video games, shhh lmao) and today i am thinking and talking with friends (hiii Vincent) about Evrart Clair

in spite of myself, i am quite fond of him, tbh. he’s a lot of fun.

and i think he’s really interesting because, well... and i mean granted i am only two days in, so, you know, this is a very uninformed opinion, but from what i’ve seen so far... he’s a slimy little skeeze who loves to line his own pockets, but he does also seem to have some pretty firm ideological convictions re: all the union stuff, and most importantly i think is that he puts his money where his mouth is, so to speak.

and like, is he necessarily a good leader, or someone i’d want to work with personally? no, lmao. the man is corrupt as hell. he’s slimy as a hagfish. but he gets shit done.

and i think honestly that Martinaise, in the position it’s in right now, needs someone like Evrart. like, Martinaise is a shithole. Martinaise looks like the revolution was six months ago, not multiple fucking decades. no one’s even fixed the bullet holes! the place is rotting. it’s been left to die, an orphan district that nobody wants to deal with.

whether or not the RCM as an institution is effective at solving problems, helping citizens, and keeping them safe - and whether or not the nature of policing is that it will inherently result in an order-keeping arm of the most conservative version of the government in power that will be used to keep the status quo through intimidation and violence and the use of the apparatus of the state carceral system against the populace, or if it truly CAN be about restorative justice and community maintenance - aside, they don’t even try with Martinaise. nobody wants to go there! everybody is too busy trying not to get stuck with the trash assignment to actually give a shit about the place.

so you end up with a lawless wasteland of poverty and ruin where people still live, and therefore there needs to be some degree of management of their community and resources. the RCM won’t step in, so the union fills that vacuum.

and clearly, like i said, Evrart is in this to line his own pockets and see to his own comfort. he’s corrupt. his union has a solid core of militant thugs who seem to want to fuck shit up and get away with it, and it’s a matter of whether or not he can hold their leashes and direct them one way or the other.

but like... he’s doing that. the union is the one actually doing the work here. Evrart is the one making the decisions and getting things done. and in a situation with a place like Martinaise, well, there’s really no way to run things without getting your hands dirty. the whole district is knee deep in the mud, so anyone who actually wants to be an effective leader has to be willing to flop down and wrestle in it, and Evrart is.

and frankly, i don’t think that martyrs make good leaders. someone willing to die and sacrifice anything for their ideological cause is going to feed themselves and everyone following them into a woodchipper. but the average person on the street doesn’t want to be fed into a woodchipper for the glory of The Cause, they just want to live their goddamn lives.

Evrart is not a man who is going to step into the woodchipper. he has a vested interest in keeping the area safe (for a certain definition of safety) and prosperous (for a certain definition of prosperity) because he’s tied his own comfort and wellbeing to it. the thing about a man who lines his pockets because he’s in charge is that there’s nothing to line them with if everything goes completely to shit.

so he’s the one actually in there doing the work. he’s the one actually making an effort. which i don’t think means he shouldn’t be critiqued at all, lmao, There Are Many Problems With His Character Actions Behaviors And Approach, but i have to respect it, because nobody else is there doing it, and even his slimy, corrupt, bribe-laden, back alley dealing way of doing it is better than nobody doing anything at all other than sitting around jacking off over a copy of Das Kapital because no possible action is morally or ideologically pure enough to take.

[nitrateglow]

@mygreatadventurehasbegun​ was posting about how Tim Curry played Mozart in the stage version of Amadeus, and it got me wondering what stage performances I’d love to go back in time to see. That’s the sad thing about theater-- it’s ephemeral.

So if I could nab a time machine and just go see past productions, I’d want to watch:

Hamlet at the Globe with Richard Burbage in the title role. The main attraction to this production would just be experiencing Shakespeare’s work as it was presented in his own lifetime. I’m sure the acting style and staging alone would be quite the culture shock.

The Mercury Theater production of Caesar during the 1937-1938 season. More Shakespeare, but this time in contemporary dress. Orson Welles’ take on the original was packed with anti-fascist themes and apparently caused a great stir. The original production also had Vincent Price in it so that’s a massive bonus.

The original production of Isle of Dogs in 1597. This was a play written by Thomas Nashe and Ben Jonson. It was performed at least once and immediately suppressed for its allegedly seditious material against either Queen Elizabeth or another member of the nobility. The play is now lost and I’m just curious what it was about.

My Fair Lady with Julie Andrews as Eliza. I mean, this is a no-brainer. The recordings of her singing the music from the show are just divine. I would also love to see how she and Rex Harrison played off one another as Eliza and Higgins.

And then let’s throw in the original production of Pygmalion too. I actually prefer the original Shaw play to the musical, so this would be cool to see. Also, it’s interesting to think that this show-- which we tend to see as a period piece now-- was once a contemporary comedy of manners. It would be so cool to see it with its original audience.

The original Broadway production of Wait Until Dark with Lee Remick. Well, this is another obvious pick from me. People old enough to remember seeing this show say Remick was just phenomenal in the lead and they tend to be a bit miffed she didn’t get to reprise her role for the film. Now obviously, I would not trade Audrey Hepburn’s performance for anything, but I would love to have seen how Remick approached the part.

Going for another stage version of a favorite movie: the original Broadway production of A Streetcar Named Desire with Jessica Tandy. In the commentary for the film version, Karl Malden gushes about Tandy as Blanche Dubois. I once heard a snippet of her in the role for a radio abridgement and wasn’t impressed, but I expect that’s only the tiniest fraction of the impact she had on-stage. I also have to wonder what effect Marlon Brando must have had in the role that made him a star. He’s already so electric on film-- imagine him live in the same part!

Anyone else have any productions they would want to nab a DeLorean to see?

[fischerfrey]

fankids appreciation, bonus day: co-parent appreciation

a little shoutout to my talented fankid collaborators!

(i wanted to pick a kid whose custody i don't share from everyone but emile told me to pick him or else💀)

yvonne dubois, daughter of isabelle dubois and penny haywood @endlessly-cursed

emile belrose, son of colette belrose and gael romero @gcldensnitch

reva rovere-parsons, daughter of angelo della rovere and georgie parsons @unfortunate-arrow

oaklan enfield, son of kit enfield and odessa avery @potionboy3

philip somerset, son of vincent somerset and margaret taylor @camillejeaneshphm

and a big thank you for @endlessly-cursed for hosting this event!

[lireensilence]

New!

Antoine Marius Dubois - 24

Despite being perfectly capable in his training, the elder sits quietly to the side, studying and bettering himself through knowledge.

Thoma Dubois - 11

The youngest, eager to train and follow in his brother's footsteps-- He hopes to bring something new to the family

Piera D'Angelo - 13

A little cold, a little curious... Suppose they'll learn more about this shameful 'cousin' soon enough

George Miller - 43

A loyal guard and servant to the Dubois family... To Vincent.

'Domnule Profesor' / real name unknown - 38

Etiquette teacher - His reputation precedes him as someone strict and cold, but wildly effective. As unruly as a student may be, he refuses to give up on them.

Michel Jonas Baker - 25

The first of his cousins.

[lets-talk-spirituality]

💕✨ Counterpart Playlist ✨💕

It’s the month of loooovvvveeee! And this month I’ll be focusing my long posts on love based topics. To begin, here’s a playlist of songs that make me feel counterpart vibes. I like to listen this to feel closer to my own counterpart and to also put myself in the vibration of love.

As I Lay Me Down— Sophie B Hawkins

I Hope You Understand— Del Water Gap

Over the Creek— George Ezra

How Long Will I Love You— Ellie Goulding

No Matter What— Badfinger

Haven’t Met You Yet— Michael Buble

Waiting For You— The Aces

The Whole of the Moon— the Waterboys

I Couldn’t Be More in Love— the 1975

Dreams on Fire— AR Rahman, Suzanne

Don’t Go to Strangers— JJ Cale

New Balance— Jhene Aiko

Nothings Gonna Hurt You Baby— Cigarettes After Sex

Never Tear Us Apart— INXS

A Thousand Years— Christina Perri

If— Bread

I Like To Be With Me When I’m With You—Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors

Sunflower— Post Malone, Swae Lee

Always— Panic at the Disco

You & Me Song— the Wannadies

I’ll Take Care of You— the Chicks

Avalanche— Walk the Moon

Somebody Loved— the Weepies

Next to You— John Vincent III

Always See Your Face— LOVE

All Night— Beyonce

I Knew I Loved You— Savage Garden

Ordinary Day— Vanessa Carlton

Never, My Love— the Association

Friends— Sure Sure

Hurting— SG Lewis & AlunaGeorge

Can You Tell— Ra Ra Riot

… Said Sadly— Smashing Pumpkins

These Dreams— Heart

You’re So— milk.

Always in my Head— Coldplay

Starving— Hailee Steinfeld, Grey, Zedd

Desire— Devan Dubois

Ships in the Night— Matt Kearney

Only Love Can Hurt Like This— Paloma Faith

Music Sounds Better With You— Big Time Rush

What are some songs you love that make you feel counterpart vibes??? Which song above did you love??

[fckdaveed]

(—) ★ spotted!! daveed dubois on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the 38 # year old looks like charles michael davis, but i don’t really see it. while the singer/music producer is known for being savvy my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be restless i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song bad habits by usher  {he/him / cismale} - penned by oops laice did it again

BASICS

FULL NAME: daveed vincent dubois NICKNAME: davey, dav, dubois, dd AGE: thirty-eight GENDER: cismale PRONOUNS: he/him HAIR COLOR: dark brown EYE COLOR: brown SEXUAL AND ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heterosexual OCCUPATION: singer/music producer CAREER CLAIM: usher CHARACTER INFLUENCES: steven hyde ( that 70′s show ), jess mariano ( gilmore girls ), hook ( once upon a time ), caleb rivers (pretty little liars ), lip gallagher ( shameless ), jesse pinkman ( breaking bad ), james cook ( skins ), shawn hunter ( boy meets world )  TATTOOS:  none PIERCINGS: none  FAVORITE SEASON: summer FAVORITE COLOR: blue FAVORITE MUSIC: r&b FAVORITE ANIMAL: tiger. FEARS: ocean. HOBBIES: songwriting, video games, hiking, fitness

BIOGRAPHY 

daveed dubois was born to marie hastings and charles cunningham, two people who had no business ever having children together. his father was in and out of jail constantly and his mother was a drug addict with bad taste in men. his whole childhood was spent trying to be as unnoticed as possible. the only interaction he ever really had with his mother was when she was passed out in the mornings and he put a blanket over her in case she was cold, and the only interaction he had with his father was when he wrote from jail asking for money. and when his dad wasn’t in prison, it was even worse. any anger he felt would be constantly taken out on daveed who hadn’t known what he had done wrong or why it was happening. all he knew was that he must be very very hard to love. daveed learned very, very young how important it was to fend for yourself and never rely on anyone else. he’d learned to lie, steal, cheat and beg. he got odd jobs from anyone who wasn’t above hiring a six year old to get some money in but most importantly, he learned how to hide just how awful his home life was. 

when he was twelve years old, his life was flipped upside down. his mother ran off. one day she just never came back. daveed waited for her for a solid month, hoping she’d come back, ducking from questions from anyone about her, not wanting to be put into the system. but eventually a concerned friend of his gave up his situation to their parents who then gave him up to the authorities. he wasn’t sure where he was going to end up, with his mom nowhere to be found and his dad in prison, things looked abysmal for young daveed. but then he got a call he wasn’t expecting. it turned out charles cunnigham wasn’t his father at all, but instead a man name vincent dubois was. the latter having had no knowledge of daveed’s existence up until now. 

vincent dubois was a world famous music producer, having scouted and spotted many, many talents over the years. he had money beyond daveed’s wildest dreams. and he was kind. he wasn’t able to be around all the time, but he doted on daveed, showed him what it was like to truly be loved and cared for. he now lived beyond his means, his room was bigger than his old house, everything was so glamorous. but for him, the only thing he cared about was hanging out with his dad. when he was with his dad, he was happy. he tapped into daveed’s musical talent, a talent he hadn’t even known he had. instead of being told to shut up and go away, he was told to find his voice and sing as loud as he could. and when he turned eighteen years old, together they released his first album my way. 

[lasoldier]

Act III ~ Marcelina

December 30

In the quiet early hours of the morning, Constantino Reynaldo, the Deputy Chief of Mission to the Spanish Ambassador, Marco Rey Santo, convened with Andrea Gedeon, the Executive Assistant to the Ambassador and his late wife, and her brother Vicente, the Head of Security, in addition to representatives from the Paris police department. Sitting back in his chair, Constantino unbuttoned the jacket to the formal three-piece black suit he wore. His brown curly shaggy hair reached his neck accenting his well-kempt beard.

“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for taking the time to join me this morning to discuss the details of this afternoon’s service for Mrs. Rey Santo. I reassured the Ambassador and his daughter, Marcelina Rey Santo, that everything was in order. This service is more than just a funeral, It is a testament to the legacy and impact Angelina Rey Santo has made not only in Paris or Spain but around the world.” Constantino said, hoping he conveyed the significance of this moment.

Andrea stood up from her chair and passed out a dossier that provided a detailed briefing for the service.

“Thank you, Tino. As discussed, the service will be broadcast live, necessitating coordination with major media outlets. The press release went out following the confirmation of the service date and reservation of the church in addition to the approval of our draft brief by the Deputy Chief. The media schedule for Mr. Rey Santo and Marcelina has been confirmed to follow the New Year to give the Ambassador and his daughter time to grieve their loss. Vinny, can you confirm security’s efforts to manage and secure the press area to ensure privacy protocols are adhered to?” Andrea asked tearfully. She never imagined her work would encompass such a task. “Designated zones have been set up for the media and public attendees on the church site. We have coordinated with police for the planned route for the procession and barricades have been erected to deter the public from venturing on the thoroughfare and disrupting the caravan. We’ve also planned for additional personnel to manage crowd control and assist with any security concerns that might arise. I don’t anticipate any incidents, everyone loved Angelina so much.” Vincent reported. “Thank you, Vinny, we still expect significant public attendance and will need to manage traffic effectively,” Constantino replied.

Captain Dubois stood up from his chair and presented a rolled-up map which he unrolled across the center of the conference room table and pointed to the planned route.

“Thank you, Chief. The route from the Spanish Embassy to Saint-Bernard de la Chapelle will pass several key intersections utilizing Rue La Fayette. We will temporarily close Rue Saint-Mathieu and Saint-Bruno around the church with a secured route down Rue Affe allowing the caravan to park in front of the church.” he indicated, tracing the parallel streets that ran west and east of the Church of Saint-Bernard de la Chapelle with his finger. “We have officers at each junction to redirect traffic and assist in crowd management. Additionally, we have coordinated Régie Autonome des Transports Parisiens Parisian Autonomous Transport Administration to reroute buses and trams as needed.” the captain explained. He gave Constantino an appreciative nod as he took his seat once more. "Let's confirm with the arrival and reception of guests. We need a smooth process, especially given the high-profile nature of the attendees.” Constantino said looking to Andrea who turned to another page of the briefing. "We will have dignitaries from the US, Germany, and Spain in attendance including the Parisian Prime Minister Jean Castex and Mayor Anne Hidalgo. We have them scheduled to be the first to arrive. Ushers will guide them and their staff directly to their reserved seats. We have a team that will be on hand to greet the remaining guests while you, myself, and Vinny accompany the Ambassador and Marcelina.” Andrea explained as she flipped to another page filled with names and photographs, “Most, if not all, the guests have confirmed including, Irene and Kenneth Esper, Dr. Amy Clearwater, Mr. Clearwater, and their daughter, River, are confirmed to attend. Miles Luisante is confirmed to attend including his wife, Rhian Luisante, who will provide the Entrance Hymn, and their daughter Dawn Luisante who will perform an original song she has written specifically for Mrs. Rey Santo. Cynthia Claystone, CEO of Infinity Corporation, and her CGRO with Infinity Affairs, Sienna Brandwick, are slated to attend as well.” She explained before flipping to the next page, “While the guests await the arrival of the Ambassador and his daughter from the procession, the Paris Philharmonic will perform a selection of classical pieces such as ‘And the Waltz Goes On’, ‘Richter: On the Nature of Daylight’, ‘Love Story’ arranged by Richard Hayman, and ‘La petite fille de la mar’ all of which were favorites of Mrs. Rey Santo.” Andrea said turning to another page in the briefing, “Upon arrival of the procession, Maria Santo will be on hand to greet her son and granddaughter while we work with the church staff to prepare for the start of the ceremony. Father Guillermo will bless the casket before it is brought into the church and Mrs. Luisante will perform ‘Hymne à l'amour’ for the Entrance Hymn. Father Guillermo will lead us with opening prayer before transitioning into the Liturgy of the Word. The first reading will be read by Marcelina and the second by Dr. Clearwater. Mr. Rey Santo will give his eulogy and Aurora d'Amour will perform a song dedication afterward before we transition into the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Lastly, will be the commendation and farewell before we depart to Père Lachaise Cemetery for the burial rite.” Andrea said summing up the briefing. “Thank you, Andrea. We are adjourned. I will go and check on Marcelina. Andrea, Vicente, I leave the rest to you to prepare for our departure.” He spoke. Andre and Vicente nodded affirmatively.

Everyone rose out of their chairs and left the conference room alone or in pairs to have small discussions to help them prepare for a solemn day not just for them but for all of Paris. Constantino watched as they disappeared down the hall before going down another hall himself.

“Today, Paris gathers to bid farewell to Angelina Rey Santo, the esteemed wife of the Spanish Ambassador, Marco Santo. Mrs. Rey Santo sadly passed away on December 23rd after suffering from a brain aneurysm just days prior. Her funeral will be held this afternoon at Saint-Bernard de la Chapelle. Mrs. Rey Santo was a devoted wife and mother, known for her tireless charitable work and cultural diplomacy, Angelina was a beloved figure both in Spain and Paris. She dedicated her life to improving the lives of children through numerous philanthropic efforts and promoting Spanish culture around the world. Her service is expected to be attended by diplomatic dignitaries, celebrities, family, and close friends honoring her remarkable life and contributions. Our correspondent is live at Saint-Bernard de la Chapelle, where the funeral service is about to begin. We will be bringing you live updates throughout the day. Our thoughts and deepest condolences are with the ambassador and his family during this difficult time. On behalf of myself and France 24, we extend our heartfelt sympathies to the Santo family. I'm Annette Young, thank you for joining us." Annette Young announced.

Marcelina stared at her hazy reflection in the blank screen of the flat screen TV that was mounted on the wall facing the desk of the Cultural Attaché where Marcelina was sitting. The Cultural Attaché Office was her mother’s station at the Spanish Embassy. Breathing softly, Marcelina felt her chest heaving in rhythm with her slow, controlled breathing. She wore a long-sleeved white midi dress. Her dark hair brown cascaded in deep waves along her shoulders and down her back. A white, lace mantilla was pinned to her hair falling from her hairline along the back of her head like a half-veil.

Her dark brown eyes were cast downward looking to the antique rug that her mother insisted on bringing all the way from Madrid when they moved to Paris.

‘La alfombra de la casa teje la calidez del hogar, Marcelina. The house rug weaves the warmth of the home, Marcelina.’

Marcelina remembered her mother saying to her after she asked why she insisted on bringing the rug with them to Paris for her new office in the embassy. She could have had any rug she wanted, Marcelina thought.

‘Mija. My Bisabuela and my Tia Abuelas hand-knotted this rug in 1945. It was right around the time my mother was born. When my mother was pregnant with me, Bisabuela gave her the rug and what did she say?’ Angelina asked her daughter as she unrolled the large rug onto the bare floor of the office. ‘La alfombra de la casa teje la calidez del hogar.’ Marcelina and Angelina said in unison laughing together.

Angelina stood up. Marcelina marveled at her mother wearing a white ruffle Baptist sleeve dress and her long flowing brown hair catching the sunlight from the office window, her bare feet padding the bare floor as she walked about the room observing the rug before standing next to her daughter. Angelina wrapped her arm around Marcelina resting her cheek atop her daughter’s head and rubbing her shoulder lovingly.

“Your Abuela gave me the rug when I was pregnant with you.” Angelina said kissing Marcelina’s head and resting her cheek comfortably atop her head again, “And she said the same thing to me.” She said gently with a smile looking at the rug again. “This rug represents our family. Everywhere we have gone from Madrid, Buenos Aires, Berlin, and Washington D.C. This rug was the one thing I wanted with us wherever we were.” Angelina said warmly. Marcelina wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist as they stared at the rug in the empty office.

Marcelina’s eyes traced the hand-knotted wool that wove beiges with turquoise, green, and dusty pink into patterns depicting an oatmeal field adorned with delicate, even slightly faded, carefully drawn botanical motifs, and birds enclosed around with a decorative border. Her eyes stopped at the pointed toes of her white Anouk Jimmy Choo heels. Tears dropped onto the supple white leather of her heels. Marcelina sniffed looking up from her feet. She turned from where she was leaning against her mother’s desk and reached for the nearby Kleenex box grabbing a tissue. She dabbed under her eyelids gently to keep from smudging her mascara. She sniffed once more and looked at the desk noticing the silver frame that her mother kept. Picking it up Marcelina’s teary eyes glistened as she gently smiled at the picture of her parents touching the picture lovingly.

A knock on the door startled her.

“Blanca?” Constantino’s voice rang out from the opposite side of the closed door.

Marcelina set the picture down, smoothed her dress, and adjusted the mantilla both of which mantilla belonged to her mother. The door opened and Constantino entered his dark eyes met with Marcelina’s. Marcelina sighed in relief that he was the one to come and get her.

“Tino, no me llames así. No con papá cerca. Tino don’t call me that. Not with Papa around.” She said protesting his use of calling her by the name of her favorite flower. She watched as he closed the door and approached her with a gentle smile taking her in his arms. “Eres mi flor blanca, Blanca. You are my white flower, Blanca.” He replied looking down at her. A stern look crossed Marcelina’s face and she pressed a finger into his chest hard. “You’re Papa’s Deputy Chief of Mission, Constantino Armonioso Reynaldo!” She scolded him making him back away from her. Her stern gaze softened as he feigned being hurt by her finger pressing into his chest. He gave her a playful smile which faded at the sight of Marcelina’s forlorn face. “Papa needs you now more than ever.” She said sadly, “Without…Mama...” she couldn’t finish and was overcome covering her face as she broke into tears.

Constantino reacted quickly and took Marcelina in his arms shushing her gently and comfortingly.

“Shh, Lina. Está bien. Estoy aquí. Shhh, Lina. It’s okay. I’m here.” He whispered. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” Marcelina said sorrowfully stepping away from Constantino. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes again, “How is Papa?” she asked. Marcelina had barely seen her father who stayed at the Embassy late to work and came home late smelling of Brandy de Jerez when Marcelina found him sleeping on the couch hugging a framed photo of their family. Sometimes he didn’t even go home and stayed at the Embassy overnight. Constantino looked at Marcelina solemnly. “He’s been working a lot since…” his voice trailed off not wanting to upset Marcelina any more than she already was. Marcelina nodded understanding what Constantino was saying. “Where is he now?” she asked reluctantly. “In his office,” Constantino answered watching Marcelina glance at her Piaget gold watch, “It’s almost time, isn’t it?” Marcelina asked. “Yes. Andrea and Vicente are making final preparations for the caravan.” Constantino responded. “I’ll get Papa. We’ll meet you in the lobby.” Marcelina said turning to leave the office. Constantino grasped Marcelina’s hand in his, the two of them locking eyes again. “Did you want me to get him for you?” he asked her. Marcelina thought for a moment and shook her head, “I can handle it.” She responded going to leave only for Constantino to hold her hand firmly preventing her from leaving. “I’m here for you…Lina.” He said caressing her hand. Marcelina smiled gently, “Thank you Tino…” she said as she left the office her hand trailing slowly out of Constantino’s until she disappeared from the office her heels clicking on the marble floor growing fainter with each step as she made her way to her father’s office.

The clink of melting the ice resounded throughout Marco’s office. The cubes in the half-drunken glass of Brandy de Jerez slipped around and away from each other as they perspired with a cool film of water while swimming in the brown liquor. Marco’s hand idly grasped the glass while the other was occupied with a silver picture frame that held a picture of him and his late wife Angelina on their wedding day.

His thumb caressed the glass running along the length of Angelina’s. A weary, forlorn look had taken hold of his face replacing the calm, suave, professional one that he wore throughout his hectic day at the Embassy.

He remembered when he and Angelina were being interviewed during the beginning of his political career.

‘Monsieur Rey Santo, tell us what married life is like for you and Madame Rey Santo met.’ the interviewer asked.

The photographer snapped a timely photo of the couple looking at each other admirably, and lovingly. Marco beamed with pride and smiled to his wife who returned his smile with equal fervor. Marco turned to the interviewer his arm draped around Angelina's shoulders.

"From the moment I first saw Angelina, I knew she was the love of my life, and I vowed to hold onto her forever," he said with a grin. “Remember that tiny little bistro in Madrid?” He asked looking at Angelina. “The one with the red leather booths.” She asked smiling placing a hand on his chest, “You were wearing that beautiful white dress, it was..." he paused, "Summer." He finished. "It was a hot day in Madrid, so we had vanilla ice cream," Marco said with hearty laughing. Angelina smiled and laughed as she remembered what happened that day. "We were so busy talking, the ice cream melted!" she said looking at her husband. Angelina sighed happily resting her hand on Marco’s leg and staring into his eyes as if it were just the two of them alone. A sentimental look crossed her face, her eyes tearing up. “And then?” Marco asked. “Oh! The owners!” Angelina exclaimed wiping her eyes. Marco laughed. “The owners were a married couple, and they were watching us the entire time!” Marco explained smiling. “They came over and took a picture of us. They said we would remember that date for the rest of our lives.” Angelina said. “They weren’t wrong,” Marco said lovingly as he reached into his pocket pulling out the Polaroid. Angelina took the picture in her hand and laughed pressing her hand to her chest in disbelief. “Marco, no puedo creer que lo hayas guardado todo este tiempo! Marco, I can't believe you kept it all this time!” she said laughing happily.

Angelina's laughter echoed in Marco’s mind seemingly filling the silence that had taken up residence in his office. Marco raised his glass and sipped the amber liquid resentfully.

“Why did you leave me here alone, Angel?” he whispered to the silence.

He set the glass down and sniffed, rubbing at his damp eyes. He tossed the frame into a nearby draw closing it with frustration! He grasped the glass again finishing the brandy in one hungry gulp hoping the liquid would fill the void he felt in his! He knew it didn’t matter how many drinks he had it was in vain and a temporary fix to his pain, but he reached for the decanter, ready to add another drink to the several he had already. That was until he heard a knock on the door. Marco stopped before the liquid could pour into the glass and looked at the door watching it open through the drunken haze that had blurred his vision. When Marcelina entered the room, Marco sat back in astonishment.

“Ay, dios mío…Oh my god…” he murmured covering his mouth. Marcelina stood there confused not realizing that to her father in his drunken state, she looked like her mother wearing her favorite white dress! “Angel…” he said tearfully. For just a moment he thought Angelina had returned to him. “Papa?” Marcelina asked.

Marcelina’s voice had a sobering effect on Marco. A perplexed look crossed his face as he lowered his hand. His vision blurred to the point where he couldn’t see Angelina anymore just a white blur. Marco blinked again and his vision cleared, and he realized he had mistaken his daughter for his dead wife. He was amazed by how much Marcelina looked like her mother and it broke his heart.

“Marcelina…” Marco said dejectedly, noticing she was wearing Angelina’s mantilla and dress. Angelina is gone, he thought to himself and cleared his throat wishing he could pour another glass of brandy, “What is it?” he asked brusquely sinking further into his chair.

His tone caught Marcelina off guard. He never talked to her that way. Then, she caught a whiff of the brandy. A weary sigh escaped Marcelina as she walked up to her father’s desk picking up his phone and watching him sit in his chair despondently. She hated to see her father in such a state. Raising the phone to her ear, Marcelina dialed the kitchen.

“Buenas tardes Luisa. ¿Podría traerle al Embajador un espresso triple, por favor? Sí. Gracias. Good afternoon, Luisa. Could you bring the Ambassador a triple espresso, please? Yes. Thank you.” Marcelina said gracefully and hung up the phone.

Marcelina’s hand remained on the phone looking at the empty glass with melting ice. She looked up from the glass to her father who began to doze in his chair. She observed the half-empty decanter of Brandy de Jerez on the desk. How much did he drink? She wondered. Her grief gripped her heart again causing it to ache not just for the loss of her mother but for the state her father was in after her passing. Marcelina’s hand slipped away from the phone, and she circled the desk standing in front of her father who began to snore gently. Marcelina stroked his cheek lovingly seeing how peaceful he was.

“Ay papá… ¿qué puedo hacer para ayudarte? Oh papa…what can I do to help you?” she asked in a hush voice.

Marcelina combed her hands through his disheveled dark hair to style it and make it more appropriate. She noticed he had a few more gray strands of hair which comingled with the rest of his dark hair. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but he seemed thinner to her as well. She knelt before him looking at him sleep peacefully noticing his unbuttoned collar and loose tie to the formal black suit that he was wearing to the funeral. While her father slept, Marcelina buttoned up his collar. She straightened and tightened his black tie patting it gently over his pressed, white dress shirt. A knock on the door woke Marco up abruptly.

Bewildered, Marco looked around the office and looked down at his daughter kneeling before her. He remembered her doing the same thing as a little girl when he fell asleep at his desk in the past. He smiled weakly at her.

“Hola, mi querida hija...Hello, my darling daughter...” he said wearily. Marcelina smiled at her father with teary eyes. “Hola, papa.” She said happily, glad that he was back to his normal self. She cleared her throat and stood up, “Pasa, Luisa. Come in, Luisa.” She spoke. Luisa entered the room carrying a small tray with an espresso cup resting on a saucer. “Buenas tardes, Embajador. Señorita Marcelina. Good afternoon, Ambassador. Miss Marcelina.” Luisa said setting the cup on the desk. “Garcias, Luisa.” Marcelina said to Luisa. Luisa nodded with a polite smile and left the room. Marcelina turned to her father. “It’s time, papa.” She said softly smoothing the lapel of his jacket. “I know mija…” Marco said sadly and sighed before getting up from his office chair buttoning his suit jacket. Marcelina picked up the espresso cup handing it to her father. Marco sipped the coffee watching Marcelina adjust his tie within his jacket and smoothed his lapels. Marcelina locked eyes with her father. “Are you feeling better?” she asked hoping the coffee would help wake him. Marco took another swig of his coffee. “Sí, mucho mejor, mi querida hija. Yes, much better, my darling daughter.” He replied setting the empty cup down, clearing his throat. He adjusted his jacket and stood tall, “How do I look?” he asked anxiously looking to Marcelina who smiled at him lovingly as she stroked his hair. “You look amazing, Papa. Mama would be proud.” She said softly.

Marco’s face broke as he wept grasping Marcelina in a desperate hug. Marcelina hugged her father tightly and cried with him, her hands rubbing his back comfortingly.

“Está bien, Papá. Está bien. It’s okay, Papa. It’s okay.” She said softly. Marco stood up straight and she wiped away his tears as he looked at her woefully. Resting her hands on her father’s chest she looked at him comfortingly. “It’s time to say goodbye.” She said looking at him with a look of reassurance. Marco nodded apprehensively. “I’m ready, mija…” he said. Marcelina took her father’s hand in hers. “Everyone is waiting.” She said leading her father out of his office.

Her arms linked with her father’s; Marcelina entered the lobby of the Embassy. Waiting in the rotunda stood the embassy staff. Marco looked at the teary and sad faces of his team who were all mourning and sharing his loss. Marco swallowed unsure of what to do next. Sensing his trepidation, Marcelina looked to the staff and offered a warm smile which gave them a sense of comfort in their grief.

“Dejanos rezar. Let us pray.” She said in a calm voice.

The staff responded gratefully by bowing their heads and clasping their hands together. Marcelina glanced at her father who had closed his eyes as well. Marcelina closed her eyes she felt as if she were at a loss for words but as if springing from her heart, she spoke.

“Querido Dios, Hoy recordamos con profundo amor a nuestra querida madre y esposa, un verdadero ángel en nuestras vidas. Ella, quien incansablemente y de manera desinteresada, se entregó a la comunidad, iluminando nuestros días con su bondad y generosidad. Aunque ya no está físicamente con nosotros, sentimos su presencia en cada acto de amor y en cada rayo de esperanza que nos envuelve. Ella vive en nuestros corazones, vigilándonos y protegiéndonos desde el cielo, encarnando el verdadero significado de su nombre, un ángel eterno. Te pedimos, Señor, que nos des la fortaleza para seguir su ejemplo de amor y servicio, y que su espíritu continúe guiándonos y bendiciéndonos en cada paso de nuestro camino. Amén. Dear God, today we remember with deep love our beloved mother and wife, a true angel in our lives. She, who tirelessly and selflessly, gave herself to the community, illuminating our days with her kindness and generosity. Although she is no longer physically with us, we feel her presence in every act of love and in every ray of hope that surrounds us. She lives in our hearts, watching over us and protecting us from heaven, embodying the true meaning of her name, an eternal angel. We ask you, Lord, to give us the strength to follow her example of love and service, and that her spirit continues to guide and bless us every step of our way. Amen.” Marcelina prayed. “Amen.” Everyone responded in unison.

Marcelina opened her eyes to see teary faces smiling at her, even her father.

“Eso fue…maravilloso…mi hija. That was…wonderful…my daughter.” Marco managed between tears. Marcelina wiped his tears and gently raised his chin, so his eyes met hers, “Estoy contigo en cada paso del camino. I’m with you every step of the way.” She spoke. Marco took a deep breath, taking strength in her words, and nodded firmly. Vicente approached the the Ambassador and his daughter. “The caravan is ready. Andrea and the Deputy Chief will accompany you in the car that will follow the hearse. I will accompany the security team in the rear SUV.” He explained as he escorted them outside the embassy to a black Volvo XC90, “Hector, will be your driver.” he said as he opened the passenger door for the Ambassador to sit up front. He opened the rear door for Marcelina, Andrea, and Constantino to sit in the back. “Gracias, Vinny,” Constantino said gratefully while Marco nodded in silent approval.

Marcelina looked out the dark-tinted windows of the SUV to see the dark SUVs in front and back, the blue and red lights indicating where the police detail was located as part of the caravan before her eyes fell on the hearse before them. Her heart sank knowing her mother was lying in the white coffin that could be seen through the white-curtained window.

The cars’ engines idled as security got into their respective vehicles and the motorcycle engines of the police rumbled as they waited to depart. Onlookers had gathered on the street and held picture signs with various messages.

Marcelina rolled down her window and waved tearfully to the crowds acknowledging their love and grief. The crowd cheered gratefully.

‘We love you, Marcelina! We support you, Ambassador!’ they cried out as Marcelina rolled the window back up taking a breath in awe of the impact her mother’s life made on the people of Paris.

The caravan slowly departed from the Embassy taking Avenue Marceau towards the River Seine. Onlookers lined the thoroughfares, showing their support and respect with flowers, pictures, and signs. Marcelina thought back on all the work her mother did as Cultural Attaché as part of the Spanish Embassy in Paris, she became known for her compassionate efforts around the world. She was an ambassador for UNICEF, Save the Children, and SOS Children's Villages and supported child organizations such as Fundación ANAR, Les Enfants de l'Arc-en-Ciel, and the Children's National Hospital. Angelina was likened to the Princess Diana of the 21st Century.

‘Recuerda, Marcelina. La inocencia de los niños es un regalo puro que nos recuerda la belleza de la vida. Remember, Marcelina. The innocence of children is a pure gift that reminds us of the beauty of life.‘ Marcelina recalled her mother telling her when they were supporting a children’s event.

The procession continued and passed through Place de la Concorde, one of the major public squares in Paris heading towards Rue de Rivoli. Many onlookers and mourners had gathered showing their support and grief for Angelina as the caravan passed.

Turning onto Rue de Rivoli, the procession passed by the Louvre Museum where more people were gathered. Marco looked about seemingly overwhelmed by the amount of people that showed up for them. Marcelina reached from her seat and touched her father’s shoulder lovingly.

“Estoy aquí, papa. I’m here, Papa.” She said comfortingly. Marco nodded again and swallowed as he took his daughter’s hand, kissing it softly. “Gracias, mi querida hija. Gracias. Thank you, my darling daughter. Thank you.” He breathed holding her hand to his cheek. Marcelina’s heart ached for her father.

Rue La Fayette gave them a much-needed reprieve as they traveled its length through several districts of Paris. Small groups were gathered and scattered here and there throughout the districts they passed. The sorrow, love, and support for Angelina was heartfelt from the various hanging signs, pictures, and swathes of flower bunches that decorated the barricades.

The hearse and the accompanying caravan soon arrived at the Church of Saint-Bernard de la Chapelle. Crowds of people filled the barricaded streets of Rue Saint-Mathieu and Saint-Bruno all them of holding signs, pictures, and flowers to honor Angelina’s memory. Saint Bernard Square across from the church hosted more mourners watching as the procession arrived. Hector and Vicente quickly exited their vehicles to let out Marco, Marcelina, Andrea, and Constantino.

Marcelina linked in her father’s once more as they stood in silence listening to the cries of the onlookers in the distance. Some were too grief-stricken to speak while others cried out Angelina’s name while reaching for the hearse desperately. Media reporters stood with their camera crews as they reported the arrival of the Rey Santos. Photographers snapped pictures, their bulbs bright even in the daylight as the Ambassador, his daughter, and their entourage made their way towards the church entrance.

At the entrance stood an older woman waiting for them patiently. Her face was creased with wrinkles, but they did not make her any less beautiful. Her smile was familiar, warm, and comforting. She wore a dark dress accented with a white mosaic print along the shoulders and sleeves. The same mosaic print ran the length of her long, dark skirt. White enamel earrings dangled from her dainty ears partially hidden beneath her short, silvery hair.

Marco and Marcelina approached the woman who had her hands clasped in front of her, her smile not fading as tears welled in her eyes. The woman gave Constantino, Vicente, and Andrea a warm hug as they entered church leaving her with Marco and Marcelina. The woman looked lovingly at Marcelina, her smile full of affection and pride for the young woman who stood before her.

“¿Has sido fuerte por tu Papá? Have you been strong for your Papa?” she asked reaching and touching the underside of Marcelina’s chin who couldn’t but smile at the woman as tears streamed down her face. The woman wiped away Marcelina’s tears. “Si, Abuela María. Yes, Grandma Maria.” Marcelina responded watching Maria adjust the mantilla Marcelina was wearing feeling its lace between her soft fingertips. “Te ves hermosa con esta mantilla. Tan hermosa como tu madre cuando la usaba. You look beautiful in this mantilla. As beautiful as your mother when she wore it.” Maria said gasping as she fought to hold back tears. Maria turned to look at her son. “Mi corazón. Mi único hijo. My heart. My only son.” She said lovingly looking deep into his dark eyes that were blood-shot and so very weary. “Mijo, Llevas una carga pesada. You carry a heavy burden.” she said wisely.

Maria watched her son search her eyes for sanctuary, for comfort. He struggled to find the words. Maria raised a finger and shushed him resting her hands gently on the sides of his head.

“Cuando tu Papá se fue al Cielo ¿Qué te dije? When your Papa went to Heaven, what did I tell you?” she said softly. Marco closed his eyes his hands grasping his mother’s wrists as she held his head in her gentle grasp. “The only way out is through….” he whispered somberly.

Maria swallowed her cries, but the tears flowed down her face remembering Marco’s father Martin, the love of her life, and how he left this world suddenly leaving her to face her remaining days without him. She knew her son’s pain all too well.

“Feel the sadness, mijo…and the pain. Let it all in…. then let it all go." She said with a shaky voice raising his face to look at her.

Her eyes searched her son’s eyes imploringly she did not want him to bear this burden alone as she did. Marco looked sorrowfully into his mother’s seeing the same pain he felt. Marco felt his fists release and the wave of grief wash over him as he finally accepted that Angelina was gone as much as he couldn’t bear to be without her, she was no longer with him.

“Marco…” Maria said calmly taking his hands in her hands in hers and hugging them to her chest.

Marco could feel the beating of his mother’s heart. Marco fell to his knees defeatedly in front of his mother his hands falling from hers and gripping her dress like he did when he was just a boy.

“Mi ángel se ha ido...Mama… My angel is gone…Mama…” he said in anguish.

Marco hid his face in the folds of his mother’s dress as he wept. Marcelina fell to her knees wrapping her arms around her father.

“Papa!” she said sadly burying her face in his arm and crying with him. “Mi amores…My loves…” Maria wept taking them both in her arms and hugging them close to her waist.

Maria watched sorrowfully as the pallbearers marched past her from the entrance to the hearse where Angelina’s coffin waited for them. They opened the back of the hearse which elicited painful, melancholic cries from the watching crowd as the pallbearers revealed a white casket accented in gold. A wreath of Casablanca Lilies, Marcelina and her mother’s favorite flower, rested upon the top of the casket as the pallbearer’s life the casket and escorted it to the entrance.

“Come, mis amores.” Maria said bringing Marco and Marcelina to stand with her.

The trio held onto each other watching Father Guillermo walk out the doors of the church as the pallbearers approached. Taking a small vial of holy water, the Priest sprinkled the water across the top of the casket and flowers. The voices of the choir echoed from inside the church singing the first lines of ‘Danos un Corazón’ (Give us a Heart).

‘Danos un corazón, grande para amar, danos un corazón, fuerte para luchar. Give us a heart, big enough to love, give us a heart, strong enough to fight.’ “Thank you, Father,” Maria said softly.

Father Guillermo approached them, allowing the pallbearers to guide the coffin into the church. Guillermo took Maria’s hands in his and looked at Marco and Marcelina.

“We share in your loss. You all have helped us so much. I am humbled that you allow us to honor, Angelina’s life and legacy here. This church and the community have benefited greatly from her service.” He stated with a gentle smile patting Maria’s hand comfortingly, “Come…it is time.” He said gesturing to them inside the church.

Maria linked arms with her son and Marcelina did the same on the opposite side and followed Father Guillermo inside. Upon entering the sanctuary, the family was greeted by a multitude of friends, family, celebrities, and dignitaries who stood from their chairs on both sides of the aisle as they walked down the aisle. Marcelina eyed Constantino, Vicente, and Andrea up front waiting for them much to her relief.

The guests watched on respectfully as pallbearers escorted the casket down the nave aisle. The Paris Philharmonic began to play a beautiful melody as Rhian Luisante entered from the side aisle of the church standing to the right of the transept. Rhian wore a black sparkling gown with a plunging neckline, her long dirty blonde hair pulled back into a stylish bun. In her hands, she held a mic as the music played. She looked at the large print of Angelina and read the plaque below.

In Loving Memory…

Angelina Rey Espiridión Santo

August 1, 1968 - December 23, 2020

Turning to the audience with tears filling her eyes, Rhian raised the mic to her lips.

“The song I’m about to sing is very special.” She said softly doing her best to maintain her composure, “I sang this song for Marco and Angelina at their vow renewal celebration.” She said proudly smiling at Marco and gesturing to him, “The love you two shared inspired all of us and I know Angelina would want us to remember that love like that, is eternal and everlasting…always.” She said in a hush, emotional voice as she brought her free hand to her chest in hopes of calming her heart that ached for the loss of her dear friend. Rhian breathed and closed her eyes as she sang.

Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer

Et la Terre peut bien s'écrouler

Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes

Je me fous du monde entier

The blue sky can tumble down upon us

And the earth can also collapse

It doesn't matter, if you love me

I don't care about the entire world

Rhian’s voice rang out the far reaches of the church accompanied by the melodies played by the Philharmonic. Tears fell down Rhian’s face knowing how much the song she sang meant to Angelina and how it embodied the testament to her love for Marco.

Tant qu'l'amour innondera mes matins

Tant qu'mon corps frémira sous tes mains

Peu m'importe les problèmes

Mon amour, puisque tu m'aimes

As long as love floods my mornings

As long as my body trembles beneath your hand

These problems don't matter

My love, since you love me

Miles watched his wife sing, astounded by the sheer magnitude of Rhian’s voice and the emotions she felt singing it. Tears welled in his eyes. He felt a mixture of love and sadness for the loss of a friend. He couldn’t imagine what Marco was dealing with nor could he imagine his life with Rhian or his daughter.

J'irais jusqu'au bout du monde

Je me ferais teindre en blonde

Si tu me le demandais

J'irais décrocher la Lune

J'irais voler la fortune

Si tu me le demandais

Je renierais ma patrie

Je renierais mes amis

Si tu me le demandais

On peut bien rire de moi

Je ferais n'importe quoi

Si tu me le demandais

I would go to the end of the earth

I would dye my hair blonde

I would go take down the moon

I would go steal a fortune

If you asked it of me

I would disown my country

I would disown my friends

If you asked it of me

People can have a good laugh at me

I would do anything

If you asked it of me

Feeling a gentle warmth wash over her, the ache in her heart subsided, Rhian gestured to her daughter as she sang. Dawn watched her mother in awe and inspiration hoping one day to be like her mother vocally.

Si un jour, la vie t'arrache à moi

Si tu meurs, que tu sois loin de moi

Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes

Car moi je mourrais aussi

If one day life tears you from me

If you die that you be far from me

It doesn't matter, if you love me

Because, me, I will die also

Tears fell from Marco’s face as Rhian sang, he remembered Angelina singing this verse to him as they danced after renewing their vows. She asked Rhian to sing the song one more time so they could dance longer and he remembered her singing the lyrics to him. The lyrics had new meaning to Marco now and he felt as if a part of him was dying that day watching the pallbearers rest the coffin in front of the altar before marching single file down the side aisles of the church.

Nous aurons pour nous l'éternité

Dans le bleu de toute l'immensité

Dans le ciel, plus de problème

Mon amour, crois-tu qu'on s'aime?

Dieu réunit ceux qui s'aiment

We will have eternity for ourselves

In the great blue immensity

In the sky, no more problems

My love, do you believe we love each other

God reunites those who love each other

Marcelina found comfort in the final lyrics as Rhian brought the song to a close. She knew that her mother was heaven and that one day they would be together again. She sat down with her father and grandmother, the three of them holding hands as the congregation applauded Rhian’s performance. Rhian passed the mic to one of the attendants and immediately sat with her husband who took her in her arms. Rhian sorrowfully collapsed in Miles’ arms crying silently against his chest. Dawn rested her head on her father’s arm tears welling in her eyes. She took her mother’s hand in hers feeling her squeeze it tightly.

Father Guillermo approached his lectern looking out to the congregation peacefully as the applause subsided. Soft crying and sniffing could be heard about the church.

“My children…Today, we gather in the House of the Lord to honor and remember our beloved Angelina Rey Espiridon Santo. In this moment of profound grief and sadness, we seek comfort and hope in the faith we share. We know that even as our tears fall and our hearts feel heavy, God offers us His love and His peace. Angelina was a shining light in our lives, a woman whose kindness, compassion, and dedication touched everyone who knew her. Her love for her family, her devotion to her work, and her unwavering faith in God are a testament to a life lived fully and with purpose. The Lord tells us in the Gospel of John, ‘Yo soy la resurrección y la vida. El que cree en mí, aunque muera, vivirá. I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he dies, yet shall he live.’ We trust in this divine promise, knowing that Angelina now rests in the loving arms of our Heavenly Father. Her spirit lives on in the eternal presence of God, free from pain and suffering. In this time of mourning, let us remember the words of Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters." May these words bring us comfort and strength. Angelina, in her life and now in her eternal rest, is guided by the love and mercy of God. To Angelina's family, especially her husband Marco and her daughter Marcelina, we offer our prayers and our support. May you find solace in the precious memories you shared and in the certainty that Angelina is at peace with our Lord. Let us pray together, asking God to grant us peace in our hearts and the strength to carry on, knowing that one day we will be reunited with our loved ones in eternal glory. Que el Señor bendiga y guarde a cada uno de ustedes en este tiempo de tristeza. May the Lord bless and keep each of you in this time of sadness. May Angelina's love continue to inspire us all to live with love and compassion. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.” he said. “Amen.” The crowd responded. “And now, Angelina’s daughter, Marcelina Rey Santo, will provide the First Reading as part of the Liturgy of the Word.” Father Guillermo said.

Andrea reached into her bag and gave Marcelina her childhood bible that her grandmother gave her. Marcelina smiled gratefully at Andrea and took her father’s hand in hers giving it a soft squeeze for comfort before she got up from her chair.

Setting the bible on the lectern, Marcelina looked out the congregation nervously. She opened the bible to the pages bookmarked by the red faded ribbon, she could still smell her grandmother’s perfume on the worn pages. Marcelina looked at the highlighted passage she planned to read. Her brown eyes looked out the crowd and she cleared her throat.

“My beloved friends, family, and loved ones. I’d like to thank you on behalf of myself and my father for coming to honor my mother’s life. I know she is smiling down on us today. For the first reading I would like to read the first letter of Saint Paul to the Corinthians in First Corinthians, Chapter 13 verses 4 through 7. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Siempre protege, siempre confía, siempre espera, siempre persevera. Always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. Pero la mayor de ellas es el amor. But the greatest of them is love. In these words, we see a reflection of my mother. Her love was always patient and kind, siempre generosa y llena de compasión, always generous and full of compassion. She embodied the spirit of love that Saint Paul speaks of. A love that never fails…” she said her bottom lip trembling as tears filled her eyes and she took a breath, “As we remember her today, let us carry forward her legacy of love and charity. Let us be inspired by her example to love others as she loved us, con todo nuestro corazón, with all our hearts.” She finished.

The air was filled with a palpable sense of reverence, enhancing the solemn atmosphere of the funeral service.

The cantor stepped forward, his voice clear and resonant as he introduced the Psalm,

"The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want." His voice carried through the church, inviting the congregation to find solace in these familiar and comforting words.

As he sang the response, the congregation joined in, their voices unified in a gentle chorus that filled the vaulted space with a wave of communal prayer. The cantor then proceeded with the verses of the Psalm, each line emphasizing God’s guidance and the promise of peace.

"The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.” The congregation repeated after each refrain.

Father Guillermo stood at the lectern after the final refrain allowing the congregation to settle in a moment of quiet reflection before addressing the congregation once more.

"As we reflect on the assurance provided by the Psalm, let us continue to seek comfort in the words of Scripture. Dr. Amy Clearwater, a close friend and confidant of our beloved Mrs. Rey Santo, will now share the second reading." He spoke.

Dr. Clearwater, dressed in a dark, well-tailored pinstripe suit with perfectly hemmed pants, got up from her seat carrying her bible with her to the lectern. Setting the bible down she reached into her pocket pulling out her reading glasses while she opened the bible to the passage she intended to read. She looked over her glasses to the congregation before clearing her throat and tucking a tuft of her short blonde hair behind her ear. Dr. Clearwater paused, gathering her thoughts before looking out to the congregation her expression solemn yet deeply compassionate.

“My dear friends, we gather here today to remember and celebrate the life of a beloved friend, mother, and wife. I stand here today, not just as a doctor, or a wife, or a mother but as someone who was profoundly privileged to know Angelina not just as a patient, or a like-minded colleague, but a dear, dear friend. These past few days, I have grappled with the sudden loss that took her from us. I've reflected deeply on what it means to try with all one’s might to avert the seemingly unjustified fate of a loved one. To stand still while fate takes its inevitable course when you have done all you can to save what is dearest to you. In her final days, Angelina faced her fate with courage, strength, and love not only for herself but for those who loved her. I invoke the same courage, strength, and love she embodied that day she left us. For it was her courage, strength, and love in her final days that were a testament to the incredible person she was. Today, I want to share a passage that speaks to the heart of what she taught us all—about the resilience of the spirit and the unseen eternal things such as unconditional love that is so precious.” She said looking at her husband and daughter fondly, “Let us cherish our loved ones as Angelina did. While we mourn her passing, let us also hold onto the profound truths that her life exemplified.” She spoke.

Dr. Clearwater looked to Angelina’s memorial picture off to the side of the lectern before turning her attention to her bible.

“I shall read from John, Chapter 14 verses 1 through 3. This scripture has brought me great comfort, and I hope that it does the same for you.” She explained as she traced the page to the verses she intended to read. She cleared her throat once more, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me so that you also may be where I am.” she said with a steady but emotional voice, “Thank you.” She said softly leaving the lectern to go back to her seat.

After the reflective pause that followed the second reading, the congregation stood in unison as the Gospel Acclamation began. The cantor's voice filled the church, signaling a moment of reverence and preparation for the Gospel reading.

"Alleluia, speak, Lord, for your servant is listening," the cantor sang…

Father Guillermo read a passage from the Gospel that echoed themes of love and eternal life and spoke of Jesus' promise of eternal life to those who believe in Him. As the Gospel concluded, the congregation sat, and a solemn silence fell over the church. Marco took a deep breath before he rose from his seat and took his place at the lectern before the congregation.

"Today, we gather to remember not just the remarkable public persona of my dear wife, but the incredible private warmth and compassion she shared with each of us personally. Mi amor, mi vida, my love, my life, you have left a void that cannot be filled. Your laughter, your unending passion for life, and your unwavering support for all who were privileged to cross your path remain etched in our hearts." Marco paused, collecting himself before continuing, "Ella era mi roca, mi consuelo en tiempos de angustia. She was my rock, my comfort in times of trouble. Her strength was unparalleled, guiding our family with both grace and courage, even in her final days. She taught us the true meaning of resilience and the profound depth of selfless, unconditional love." He breathed fighting back his tears and his grief, "Her dedication to charity, her relentless advocacy for the underprivileged—these were the tenets by which she lived her life. Su corazón siempre tenía espacio para los demás. Their heart always had room for others." He said with a gentle smile, "I remember how she could light up a room with just her presence, cómo su risa llenaba nuestra casa con alegría, how her laughter filled our house with joy. Those moments, those precious, fleeting moments, are treasures that I will carry with me always." He said gratefully.

Marco felt as if Angelina were standing with him, comforting him as he looked out across the congregation, his gaze lingering on the familiar faces that looked back at him with love and support.

"As we bid farewell, let us not dwell on our loss but celebrate the incredible life she led and the countless lives she touched. Vamos a recordarla con alegría, con amor, y con gratitude. Let us remember her with joy, with love, and with gratitude. May her soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace." Marco concluded.

Tears fell down his face as he left the lectern. Mario stood up and held her arms open to receive her son who hugged her tightly as he wept.

“Lo hice, mamá. I did it, Mama.” He whispered to her. “Angelina y tu papá estarían muy orgullosos, hijo mío. Angelina and your papa would be very proud, my son.” She said tearfully burying her face in her son’s arms as she cried.

Maria and Marco took their seating hugging each other and Angelina as Father Guillermo stood once more at the lectern.

“Marco, you have truly captured the essence of Angelina’s heart and soul. Your love for her knows no bounds. God truly saw that fate brought you together. It is a true blessing to find the truest, purest, and most profound love.” He spoke. Marco nodded to the priest in thanks, “And now, we ask Aurora d’Amour to join us, who will perform a song dedication in honor of Angelina’s love, life, and legacy.” He announced stepping away from the lectern as Dawn arose from her seat standing to the side of the altar.

Dawn wore a black, sheer organza blouse and a long dark dress that came to her ankles exposing her black stiletto pumps. One of the attendants handed her a mic.

“My mother always spoke highly of Angelina, they were truly the best of friends. Her absence may be heartfelt but so was her life and her accomplishments. She led an inspiring life and I hope this song encompasses her legacy for she was an Ave Maria to those who had no love or hope to believe in.” Dawn said the pianist and guitarist began playing a soft melody.

Marcelina watched intently feeling a sense of familiarity as Dawn raised the mic to her lips.

Avant même que l'on n'soit vie

On est pris

Dans un nid de chair et de tendresse

Une étreinte infinie

Qui nous lie

Nous délivre une sagesse

Tout déjà est acquis mais pour qui dès ce cri

Trahissons-nous le geste d'amour qui unit

Désunit

et nourrit les regrets?

Even before one is alive, one is taken

In a nest of flesh and tenderness

An infinite embrace that binds us

We deliver a wisdom

Everything is already taken

But for whom since this cry

do we betray the gesture of love that unites

Disunites and feeds regrets

dont l'enfant ne serait pas

Une statuette, une prière sans foi

Mais une lettre offerte

À ceux qui n'écrivent pas

Pour que les mots résonnent enfin

Comme un Ave Maria…

An Ave Maria whose child won't be

A statuette, a prayer without faith

But a letter offered

To those who do not write

So that words finally resonate

As an Ave Maria…

The violins accompanied the music giving it further depth and serenity that truly moved Marcelina. She looked at the picture of her mother before looking back to Aurora d’Amour as she sang.

À vous, à nous, à ceux qui

Trouveront une paix, une terre, une harmonie

Une infinie raison, sans raison d'être, sans être honni

Et ceux qui mal y pense, qu'ils le pensent

À bientôt, mais dans une autre vie

Dans celle-ci, qu'on se donne

Une chance de tout recommencer

To you, to us, to those who

Find a peace, a (home)land, a harmony

An infinite reason, without reason to be, without being hated

And those who "think badly of it", let them think

See you soon, but in another life

In this one we give ourselves

A chance to start all over again

Un Ave Maria dont l'enfant ne serait pas

Une statuette, une prière sans foi

Mais une lettre offerte

À ceux qui n'écrivent pas

Pour que les mots résonnent enfin

Comme un Ave Maria

Un Ave Maria

An Ave Maria whose child won't be

A statuette, a prayer without faith

But a letter offered

To those who do not write

So that words finally resonate

As an Ave Maria

Rhian watched her daughter in awe not just how proud she was of her but how beautifully and effortlessly she sang it was as if she were another person.

Pour ceux qui ne prient pas

Pour que la musique soit à nouveau la voix

D'un aveu impudique pour ceux qui ne croient pas

Pour tous ceux qui l'méritent enfin

Un Ave Maria

Ave Maria

An Ave Maria

For those who do not pray

So that the music be the voice again

A shameless confession for those who do not believe

For those who finally deserve

An Ave Maria

Marcelina couldn’t help but feel close to Dawn although their encounters had been scant at best. And if just for a fleeting moment, it looked as if Dawn were glowing with golden light that basked the congregation in a warmth that eased their sadness. Marcelina blinked and the light was gone. She looked about as the song concluded wondering if anyone else had seen it…

The funeral continued, with the Liturgy of the Eucharist performed, followed by prayers, incense for honor and purification, the final blessing, and the recessional hymn that encompassed the Commendation and Farewell portion of the service. From there, everyone proceeded from the church to Cimetière du Père-Lachaise where Angelina Rey Espiridon Santo was finally laid to rest.

Long after the funeral ended, Marcelina returned to Saint Bernard’s. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like she needed to be there. The sun set in the distance casting an orange hue in its wake. Marcelina watched the sunset, she remembered her grandmother telling her the setting sun could be seen as a metaphor for the culmination of a life’s journey that it was a time for reflection and a time of transition into the spiritual realms. She didn’t normally subscribe to such things but found comfort in her grandmother’s wisdom that day.

Entering the church, Marcelina made her way to the side chapel. There in the intimate chamber stood the statue of Mary surrounded by the soft glow of the votive candles that were lit before her. The statue of Mary was a symbol of faith, comfort, and hope and her presence offered a connection to the divine and was a source of solace for experiencing loss. Marcelina was overcome by the sight of the statue, feeling the comfort Mary symbolized. Taking an unlit votive from the nearby shelf, Marcelina approached the blessed mother and picked up one of the lit votive candles from the table in front of the statue. Using the light from the candle, Marcelina lit her votive candle before placing the borrowed candle back. Marcelina held her newly lit votive candle in her hands, the soft glow of the fire illuminating her face. Setting the candle down, Marclina closed her eyes.

"Mama, Te extraño. I miss you. I light this candle as a symbol of my eternal love and remembrance for you. May its light guide me through the darkness and always remind me of your warmth and love. From heaven, please give me the strength to carry on. Help me find my way and make decisions that would make you proud. Ayúdame a encontrar el camino. Help me find the path and to take steps that honor your legacy. With all my love and all my heart, te recuerdo y te celebro. I remember and celebrate you, now and forever. Amen." Marcelina prayed.

Suddenly the door opened, and two sisters of the church entered the chamber startling Marcelina.

“¡Disculpe, señorita Marcelina! Excuse me, Miss Marcelina! I didn’t know you were here.” One of the sisters said softly. Marcelina smiled, “No, no. I’m sorry. Sister Deina. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to say a prayer to my mother.” she explained. “You don’t have to be sorry. Sister Mieda and I were just making sure there were votive candles available.” Sister Deina responded. “We’re sorry for your loss. Señora Angelina was an amazing woman.” Sister Mieda said. Marcelina nodded looking to the status of Mary. “She really was. I miss her so much.” Marcelina said tearfully with a smile. Sister Deina and Mieda watched Marcelina intently taken not only by Marcelina’s beauty but by her grace and elegance as well. “Forgive me, you look so much the Blessed Mother in your mantilla. I almost mistook you for her when we came in.” Sister Deina confessed. Marcelina blushed, “Thank you, sister.” She said looking at the glowing candles mesmerized by the flames.

The flame of the candle flickered about drawing Marcelina into a trance, her dark eyes reflecting the candle’s light. There, in the light, Marcelina saw a young woman with her back turned to her. She didn’t know who the woman she felt like the woman was someone she cherished deeply. Marcelina noted the woman’s long, flowing blonde hair and beautiful white gown embellished in gold. The woman began to turn towards her, reaching out to Marcelina.

“MARS!” the woman cried out.

Marcelina let out a gasp and turned to see Sister Deina grasping her shoulder shaking it as if she were trying to wake her.

“Señorita Marcelina, are you alright?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Sister Deina and Marcelina’s eyes met, and Marcelina nodded reassuring the sister she was okay. Marcelina looked back at the candles, but she didn’t see the young woman anymore.

“Is there anything we can do?” Sister Deina asked. Marcelina shook her head, “It’s been a long day. I must be going.” She responded walking towards the chamber doors. “Señorita.” Sister Mieda called after Marcelina who turned to look at the two sisters. She never noticed how much the two women looked alike, like twins almost.

Sister Deina approached Marcelina reaching into the pocket of her dress and taking out a small object. She took Marcelina’s hands in hers and placed the object from her pocket in Marcelina’s hands closing her hands around it.

“When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.” Sister Deina said. “We support you, Señorita.” Sister Mieda added.

The two women smiled comfortingly at Marcelina and left the chamber. Marcelina opened her hand revealing a red and golden wand. The light of the votive candles glowed on the Mars symbol that embellished the golden sphere surrounded by a golden elliptical ring…

[womanofwords]

The Poisoned Prodigy (Characters)

As a preview of the characters from my story before I drop the first chapter onto you.

Vincent Song

Our narrator and teenage detective

Struggling with a lot of insecurity and confidence issues

Best friends with Patton Reynolds (met him while skateboarding)

Fun fact: Vincent was supposed to be a girl named Vanessa because the sonogram was read wrong. His older brother, James, delights in showing people the photos of him (Vincent) as a baby wearing a dress because there were no boy clothes for him during his early years. Vincent, naturally, finds this incredibly embarrassing.

Patton Reynolds

Vincent's best friend and victim of poisoning

Man of many talents (has 'inspirational' written all over him)

Disabled character (is an amputee and mostly uses a below-the-knee prosthetic leg)

Fun fact: Patton's birth name is not Patton. He had it legally changed when he was 10 with permission from his aunt and uncle. He does not like to talk about his previous name.

Ernest DuBois

Patton's enemy and academic rival

"They say there is a line between genius and crazy. Ernest DuBois uses this line as a skipping rope for fun."

Just before being taken away by EMTs, Patton accused Ernest of having poisoned him because of an argument that took place between then days before the award ceremony

Fun fact: Ernest Dubois's family comes from money as a result of his great-grandfather having tripped, fallen, and landed on an oil geyser. Literally.

Sally Kinley

Friend of Patton Reynolds from school (and possible crush)

Suspect in Patton's poisoning

Helps Vincent investigate Patton's poisoning

Patton's aunt and uncle

Patton's legal guardians

Saved his life (Rescued Patton from foster care and nursed him to health after being diagnosed with cancer)

Noticed that Patton was gifted and took him to be tested, which was when he ended up going to Sandalwood Institute

[miaqc1]

QPR 🏳️‍🌈 Dead Plate Short Fic.

My name is Marieanne Vacher and I'm very happy to see Annette DuBois again.

I'll try to write one for Rody ~ Vincent. 🙂 I really wish AO3 have QPR and VS Categories for works.