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As odd as it was, that was how your relationship with the German began. It was a shy, timid sort of love at first. Ludwig would walk you home after your performances every night, and in the silent streets you would talk about your lives, your family, past, and things in general. However, it soon developed into much more than that. You couldn't stop yourself from falling into a love consumed by passion and fascination. Every time he so much as brushed your arm, or stroked your cheek with gloved fingers, you couldn't stop the intense feeling in your chest.
Sometimes he would come to your performances, bringing a bouquet of roses, and sometimes his brother, with him. Gilbert didn't come often, but when he did, he usually spent the time trying to flirt with you, or running away from Elizaveta and a curious frying pan she carried around.
On days such as this, when you didn't have a performance or practice, he would take the day off from work and you two would wander around the city, exploring the strange and mysterious back-roads and unwalked plazas that spotted the town. During such adventures, you would end up packing a lunch for the both of you and stopping in a park to eat.
The same scenario had occurred again today. The remains of your meal had been stashed in the wicker basket, and while staring at the clouds and passerbys, Ludwig had managed to fall asleep in the afternoon sun. His military jacket was draped over his shoulders, and his eyes were closed peacefully.
You smiled and gently poked his sleeping face. Ludwig didn't stir. He probably needed the sleep after staying up late many nights to walk you home. You searched with your hand for the vase of water you had brought, only for it to spill over the blanket you were sitting on.
"Oh, bother." you muttered. Ludwig mumbled something in his sleep. You smiled and gently kissed his forehead. "I'll be right back." You whispered, straightening your skirts, and setting off for the water fountain.
At the fountain, you turned the tap, and resulted in spraying a shower of water over your dress. You yelped with surprise and struggled to turn the tap off. From behind you came an amused chuckle.
"I was about to warn you of that, mon cher."
You glanced with annoyance at the man, focused instead on wringing out your skirt. "An earlier warning would have been more pleasant." You told him.
"Oh?" The Frenchman let out a laugh that sounded like a goose honking. "Pardon my frankness, mademoiselle, I did not mean to insult you."
You scoffed and fished in your pocket for your handkerchief, only to find that wet as well.
"Please, allow me." He told you, offering his handkerchief. You paused, finally looking over at him. He was tall, perhaps not as tall as Ludwig, but he still stood a good two or three inches above you. He had chin length blonde hair and a coy smile that made your cheeks feel warm.
You took the handkerchief gently and dabbed at your dress. "Thank you." You told him, trying to hide your tinted cheeks.
"You can thank me by telling me your name, mon cher."
Somewhere, in the back of your thoughts, a warning bell went off. You still mumbled a reply. "_______."
The Frenchman chuckled again. This time his laugh seemed less annoying. "And are you here alone today, miss _____?"
"No, she isn't." A hand landed gently on your shoulder.
"Ludwig!" You gasped, looking up at him.
Ludwig was focused on the man in front of you. He had a steely gaze and his jaw was tense. It was obvious he was angry.
"Oh?" The Frenchman smiled and stroked his stubble. "And who might you be?"
"Her escort." Ludwig replied curtly, offering his hand.
Francis took it, and grunted as Ludwig shook it as squeezed it hard enough to snap a bone. "Mon dieu, look at the time. I must be going. Keep the handkerchief, mon cher, those are in existence to give to lovely ladies such as yourself."
And with a wave of his hat and a sharp turn on his heel, he walked off.
You watched as his figure grew smaller in the distance. "He was nice, if not frank." You couldn't help but think to yourself. However, your thoughts fled when you remembered a certain soldier standing next to you.
"Oh! Sorry, the pitcher spilled, so I went to get more water. You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you, and..." Excuses continued to ramble off the top of your head. Ludwig listened to them patiently, his face annoyed and amused at the same time. "...So he offered me his handkerchief, and seeing as mine was wet, I-" Ludwig stopped your ramblings by resting a hand on your head.
"Schmetterling." Ludwig chuckled. "I didn't think any less of you for a moment."
You relaxed and looked up at him, at his smile and gentle eyes. Once again, your eyes locked. However, this time, instead of your heart racing, it seemed to skip a beat when you saw just for a moment, what seemed like regret in his eyes. Ludwig watched your face fall and looked away.
~ ~
That night, you lay awake in bed. The town had been engulfed in night-time darkness hours ago, but you had been unable to fall asleep. Every time you closed your eyes, the regret in Ludwig's eyes would haunt you.
Was loving him wrong? You thought to yourself. It was true you still had feelings for him, but at the moment you saw what seemed to be his true feelings, your heart seemed to settle into a pit deep in your stomach.
Maybe it was sinful. You were a dancer, a tavern worker of sorts. Decorated soldiers such as him ended up engaged to women in fancy corsets and powdered faces. You weren't nearly what he needed, probably not what he even wanted.
"I only I had never met him...if only I didn't notice him that night..." You whispered to yourself, hugging the blankets close and falling to sleep.
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France you jerk! You've ruined everything! WHY?!
Otherwise there would be no conflict, mon cher.
Me:
Otherwise there would be no conflict, mon cher.Me:
© 2012 - 2024 Zephyros22
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Hello, in the last chapters you wrote that the dancer wears a corset, and in ballet dancing, corsets are not used. A bodice is probably the closest thing that dancers wear to a corset, and corsets would be nigh impossible to dance in, due to restriction of the whole middle body and deprivation of breath. Also, a dancer performing a classical solo would not wear slippers, she'd be probably wearing pointe shoes. I'm sorry for being so picky, I just wanted to say those things! This is a good story! ^_^