Cyan
Legacy Name: Cyan

french countryside. 1694.

Witches are still burned at the stake here.

The last burning I attended was my mother's. She was dressed in white, and her face and hands were dirty. I wasn't allowed to speak to her. When they tied her to the post in the centre of the chosen field, she caught my eye. She smiled. She was terrified, and my entire being began to shake. I had never felt that ill before. My sister and I were the only ones in attendance dressed in black. Head to toe black. We hadn't eaten for three days prior. A secret ritual; one of many.

They lit the pyre and the acrid smell of smoke and wood and burning flesh filled my head. My mother screamed for what seemed like hours and I remember vomiting. Delfine's hands were on me and I was sobbing.

Delfine and I lay in her bed that night and held onto each other. Neither of us could sleep. We had stopped crying hours ago. We had no more tears left. All we had was each other.

I loved my sister. We loved each other. No one can ever tell me any differently.

She was all I had left after they killed our mother. After the burning, for years, we didn't leave each other's side. She was perfect. I gave her everything.

She was so sure of herself. She was confident, aggressive. She was jealous, bitter, lonely. Even with me around. We were obsessive about each other, too close. Even for sisters. Rumours abounded. She bought me things every time she hurt me. I think something was missing in her. She was never quite a whole person, and she knew it. But I loved her. And I could never escape her. She was everywhere. She was terrifying, and I was fascinated. So in love. She was wild and broken and beautiful and she chose me. Weak, pathetic me. We were opposites. But she brought out things in me. Things I have trouble thinking about, even now.

God help me, and God help my sister.

- codependent aristocratic siblings

- younger sister to delfine

- cyan adelaide rousseau

- obsessive compulsive, dead mother.

- aristocratic; parents are of noble blood, children are considered untitled nobles

- opulence, incest, cruelty, secrets, salt water, red lipstick, power, jealousy.

"Their bodies scream when they are parted. They are caught in a gilded cage of obsession and longing, wandering around their mansion dressed to the nines or barely at all. They sit too close and curl around each other like cats, speaking their own language and watching you with the arrogance of those who know they are beloved. They are playful in the mad, careless ways that lead to rumours and revolutions. They meddle in each other's love lives like jealous lovers and throw the kinds of parties of which Caligula would be proud. Their eyes, when they think you aren't looking, overflow with dark secrets and darker acts and the darkest lie: that rules apply to everyone, to anyone else, but not to them. They conspire at cruel, intoxicating games of power that only they know how to play, and the all the while you can't help watching, waiting, wanting, though you know they could never truly let you in. They have been raised like little gods, believing that nobody else on earth could possibly compare. Is it any wonder then, that they have eyes only for each other?"

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[photograph copyright laura j. powell]