Bittersweet

[Altamira]

This is merely chapter one of a story featuring my character Cadenza Madrigal. The title is still tentative as of now.

Bittersweet

My heart entertained the foolish idea of love for twelve glorious years. All the while, I was captivated by a single young man—fairly average, but with lofty dreams. I suppose that ambition, along with his caring selfless nature, was what I found most charming about him.

Paris Valentia (his surname meaning “valor” in the old Rubato language, a name quite fitting for him) lived a sheltered life in the royal city of Blancwood, Rubato. Blancwood was a magnificent city, with buildings made of resplendent white stone, and rimmed by majestic beech trees and poplars. The sun always smiled genially upon Blancwood, kind enough to provide warmth and light for the flourishing of plants, but never beating down too much, as to turn the city into an arid wasteland like the rest of the country. At sixteen years of age Paris enlisted in the military, resolving to defend his beloved nation. The boy only knew the beauty and peace of Blancwood, and thought by protecting the country he would be upholding these staples of his life—he never knew how the rest of the nation was exactly Blancwood’s converse, swarming with lowlifes, hatred, and crime.

My town of Santa Mariela was like all other Rubatoian cities of that day, a dried out and shriveled husk of a town, infested with pests and criminals, and overcome by a blight of poverty and famine. There was no secondary school in Santa Mariela—we were lucky to even have a primary school established—and so all of its promising young students were bused off to Blancwood for schooling with the rising of the merciless sun each day. It was in my third year of secondary school that I met Officer Paris, in my arithmetic class. Like the majority of Blancwood townspeople, he spoke in a short clipped tone, and so he found my Santa Mariela accent intriguing and attractive. He often would ask me to say his last name, as he loved the way it rolled off my tongue. He said my dialect reminded him of Latin and Italian, two languages he had studied before. Apparently he was unaware of the fact that the old Rubato language had been derived from those two, along with a bit of Portuguese. His last name itself was from the Portuguese language.

After my classes that day, I received a message from my eldest sister Vivace, informing me that my father had been arrested. She had yet to learn the charges against him, but she was told they were rather severe. It was certain that he would at the very least be sentenced to life in prison. I remember I had broken down in tears while awaiting my bus at the station. Paris saw me and came to comfort me.

“I know what it’s like to have a parent taken away from you, Cadenza…” he had said, taking my hand gently and stroking it to calm me down.

“H-how would you know? You have both your mother and father at home!” I had shouted back. At that time, I was still blind to the tragedy Paris bottled up inside.

He wasn’t angered by my insensitive outburst, although he had every right to be. Instead, he smiled and shared with me, “Actually… my mother was killed by police in an accident when I was very young… the woman I call mother now is my stepmother. My… my mother is the reason I refused to cut my hair for the military. Sounds silly I know but… she loved it long. I keep it this way… incase she’s ever looking down upon me from…”

I waited for him to say heaven, even though I was not of the same faith, but he did not. He simply smiled again and clasped the cross charm hanging from his necklace.

“But yes,” he continued, “I know what it is like to have a parent taken away… Don’t let your father go, Cadenza…”

I wiped away my tears and stood then. The bus was coming to take me back to Santa Mariela—the hell sweet Paris never knew.

“I won’t lose him, Paris,” I had whispered, and then climbed the stairs aboard.

My sister Vivace was waiting for me by the door when I reached home. She had terrible news.

“Father’s trial is in a few days, Cadenza. He’s being charged with murder.”

My jaw dropped. I didn’t know what I could say about that, or even think about that. I was about to go inside and throw myself into the numbing boredom of my schoolwork, but Vivace had more to tell.

“Sister, if we hope to get him out of this… we’re going to need your help,” she had said. That smirk of hers was discomforting and insidious. “You remember that bow father made you? Well, you’re going to need it...”

I furrowed my brow. I could only guess what would come next.

She turned away at that moment, and began pacing. It was like she was spouting off some sales pitch. "See, we all are going to be working to break father out of jail, whether by actions within or not within the constraints of the law. And since you’re the best shot out of all of us, you’ll be doing our…”

“Grunt work?” I had cut in, voice sour. I knew where this was going now.

“I wouldn’t put it that way… let’s just say you’ll be our little assassin and thief. Sound good, sister?”

“...What does Mom think of this?” I evaded.

“Oh, she’s all for it. And so are Algretta, Luminari, and Arietta. You’re the final piece, sister.”

I remained silent for a moment, sorting through all the thoughts swimming about in my head. This was for my father, that was certainly a plus, I loved my father and family and felt a strong loyalty towards them. As I had learned that day Paris’ mother had been slain by police, and so I felt as if I too now had a grudge against the authorities. That would provide me with motivation when doing my misdeeds. My schooling however, that might be interfered with. But when living in Rubato, my education wouldn’t have amounted to much. After much thinking, I chose to join in on the plan.

“I’m in, Vivace.”

“Good,” she had said to me, smiling mischievously. “I’ll have mother make the call to pull you out of that Blancwood school. We’re going to need you full time, sister.”

She walked back inside the house, leaving me alone to ponder over my decision. I wondered if I would ever see Paris again.

[Gracie]

*claps* amazing! Simply amazing!

Well written, considering you didn't proofread it. ^_~ Write more, please.

By the by, I love the way you introduced the plot.

[Altamira]

It is commonplace for humans—especially teenagers—to throw about the word “love.” We love a person for a moment, because they bought us something, did us a favor, or something else trivial of that sort. Many young girls mistake infatuation for love. But after two years spent traveling back and forth to Blancwood to see my Paris, I believed myself not to be one of those girls. My love was true.

Every day when I could spare a moment away from my sisters and their vile missions, I would take the public bus to the city’s outer limits, and meet Paris at some predetermined location. It grew increasingly harder for us to meet, as he was occupied with his honorable pursuits, and I with my petty thievery. At the time, I had yet to commit a murder, and was eternally grateful for that.

Paris often questioned where I went during the day, since I had dropped out of school, but I had become a quick thinker and a gifted liar, and was always able to muster up a satisfactory excuse. As the months passed I practically became immune to the guilt lying should have brought.

A year later, when we both had attained the age of nineteen, Paris and I encountered a young policeman on the streets of Blancwood, apparently on patrol. I immediately recognized the man as the officer that had spotted me during one of my earlier, sloppier heists, but by then there was no plausible way to veer out of his sight without looking odd. I cringed down beside Paris as the man passed us by. I remember hoping he was blind, or incredibly dimwitted, but I knew neither was so--he had given me the scar on my shoulder, grazed me with a tranquilizer dart at the Rubato National Bank. His senses were keen.

He tipped his hat in greeting to Paris. I prayed that was all the interaction that would occur. The policeman soon dashed my hopes, and began to speak to my boyfriend.

“Officer Valentia! Why it’s nice to see you, son!” he had said. He offered Paris a friendly handshake, which was promptly accepted.

“Mister Callahann! It has been ages! I didn’t know you had become a… police officer.” Paris choked on the words. His own politeness masked his contempt for the profession.

“And I only just heard you had become an officer in our military, boy!” he replied, smiling broadly. His eyes then wandered to me. There was a distinct change in his tone when he spoke again, but I believe Paris did not notice it. Perhaps it was all in my head. “I did not know you had a girlfriend though, Paris…”

Paris’ cheeks flushed. “Oh… C-Cadenza?” I felt him squeeze my hand gently as he smiled. “Yes… we have been dating for about three years now. She’s my gorgeous sunflower of Rubato,” he announced, sounding very proud.

“Is she from Blancwood?” Callahann asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked me over. I tried hard to contain a gulp—he obviously knew who I was.

“Oh no,” Paris had answered. “She’s from the city of Santa Mariela, about ten miles or so south of here.”

Paris didn’t realize it, but he was feeding the authorities information about a multiple time offender of the law. To him, it seemed he was only making conversation. I wanted to break out into a sprint at that very moment, but I was chained to that very spot, by Paris’ manners and Callahann’s “curiosity.”

“So is she nineteen, just like you are?” the policeman asked, eyes still locked upon me. His gaze could make a clergyman feel like a sinner.

“Yes, we’re both nineteen,” Paris replied, “We met back in secondary school. And while I now go to university and she does not, we still manage to spend time together.”

“…Good to hear,” Callahann had said. At that point he was making notes in a leather book-bound pad. “Looking at my schedule here… it looks like I’ve gotta be getting back to work now. Goodbye Officer Valentia and… Miss Cadenza. Have a nice day.”

“You too!” Paris called back. He turned to me and smiled. “That Callahann, what a nice guy, eh?”

“Yeah…” I had said, not even trying to feign enthusiasm.

That night when I returned home, I received my next assignment from my sister. I couldn’t believe my ears when she had told me my objective. The coincidence was too alarming.

“This policeman is trouble for you, and that means he’s trouble for all of us, Cadenza. He saw you during your heist at the Rubato National Bank, and now he’s learned more about you thanks to that boyfriend of yours.”

“Y-you saw that…? You were watching me…!”

“Of course, Cadenza, we have to keep an eye on you. Especially when you’re out of the city. You’re going to ruin everything.” She waved a scolding finger in my face.

I didn’t know whether to feel angry or guilty then. I just knew whatever emotion I was feeling was something I desperately wanted to fade fast. My stomach felt sick. But Vivace wouldn’t let up.

“Now prepare yourself and go back to Blancwood. It’s time for you to do away with Callahann, sister.”

By dawn of the next morning, I had committed my first unforgivable act. I knew then that I was tainted—marked for life.

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OoC: The chapters after this won't be posted so frequently. I was just feeling inspired today.

And thank you for all the positive feedback, Drewey!

[Altamira]

Three years after my first murder, I had shattered at least twenty lives, and all those entwined to them. Outside of my assignments, blood was a poison to me. I quivered at the very sight of it.

Despite all of the hellish deeds I had done, someone still saw it fit to reward me. At twenty one years of age, Paris Valentia proposed to me, and I accepted.

Our wedding was to be in fall, in a chapel amongst the trees, whose leaves blushed at the kiss of autumn. The scene looked like a painting to me, preserved on canvas by a masterful artist. Paris and I chose to coordinate our ceremony’s colors to the tones and shades of fall. But I would soon regret that decision.

I remember how I stood before my wine-red gown on the day of the wedding and felt utterly nauseated by it. The silk fabric flowed so fluidly through my fingers… the only thing that reassured me it was not some nightmarish dress of blood was the swishing noise the fabric sometimes made with the introduction of friction. Even so, I found myself frantically pulling on a pair of white gloves when the pianist struck up the wedding march.

As I walked in, I caught Paris’ quizzical look at my gloves. As I neared closer to him, I whispered that my finger was hurt, and I did not have the chance to look for a bandage. He frowned sympathetically for a second, and then took my hand gently and kissed it.

“You just made it better,” I whispered.

We both smiled and then turned to the priest. It was then that I began to feel strange about setting foot in a church. I was not of the religion the chapel was devoted to, but the uneasiness would not leave me. It was oppressive and potent, and every glance of a clergyman made it stronger. I quietly swallowed the lump of guilt forming in my throat as the priest began to recite the opening lines.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Paris Valentia, and Cadenza Madrigal…”

My attention gradually wandered over to Paris. His beautiful gray-blue eyes had been focused on the priest as he listened intently to his words. In contrast, I had tuned the priest out by that point--his words of faith and goodness would fall upon undeserving ears if I were to listen. I knew I was not even worthy of the love he spoke of, but... I longed to be Mrs. Valentia, and sweet Paris pined for it as well.

After some time, we came to the point in the vows where we were to say “I do.” We both spoke the words without hesitation, and I felt comforted by that fact. Paris then turned to me, and with his slender fingers removed the glove on my left hand to adorn me with my ring. His skin felt warm and soft to the touch, and my hands… my murderous hands felt odd making contact with ones so pure. Prickles had gone up and down my spine, and I could feel slight goosebumps overtake my arms.

“I’m cold,” I whispered in explanation, once I had caught Paris’ puzzled glance.

He finished slipping on my wedding band and placed my glove back on. “I’ll warm you up soon,” he had said, and smiled playfully.

I couldn’t help smiling back at him as I slid his golden ring onto his finger. Paris always had such a calming, cheerful presence.

The ceremony thereafter went smoothly, as did our marriage… for a time. Our union lasted for five blissful years before it became one of the many causalities of the Blancwood-Cernilia war.

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OoC: Short chapter here, since I wanted the war to have its own separate chapter.

[Gracie]

Chapter three is NOT crap. It was all great! I love your concept here. It's short and concise, yet I don't feel like things are being rushed. That's what I love to see!

[Altamira]

The nation of Cernilia was founded on a lust for power. Scores ago, an ambitious young dictator had usurped the throne of Rubato, and when the resistance and civil war fell upon him, seceded with his own sizeable tract of land in his iron-fisted grasp. The new country of Cernilia once was the most prosperous region of Rubato, and without it, the nation’s economy toppled. The Rubatoian loyalists were only capable of safeguarding one of the wealthy cities from the hand of the newly-established totalitarian government—Blancwood.

Cernilia amassed arms for numerous years, its dictator had sworn he would claim Blancwood before his death and was hell-bent on fulfilling his threat. The country made alliances with other neighboring nations, paying no mind to those countries' ideology or integrity. The newly christened royal city of Blancwood was in a constant state of danger, and yet the denizens of the city were left unaware. The kingdom chose to keep the hostility between Cernilia and Rubato as secret as possible. Their precious Blancwood was to be a peaceful city and nothing was to disrupt its day-to-day functions—Rubato’s economy depended on it.

My husband knew nothing of the boiling ill-will and hatred between his city and the neighbor to the north when he enlisted in the military. He didn’t realize that his storybook city of Blancwood was the only city in all of Rubato with an army of any sort. The battles that ensued in the massacre of a war brought a new meaning to the word “overkill.”

Dear Paris was in the infantry, serving as a soldier who wielded a simple rifle and a bayonet when needed. He was part of a 10,000 man ground-unit sent to the capital city of Città in Cernilia. Città was transformed into a bastion for the Cernilian army in a matter of weeks, and by then nothing short of mortar shells and bombs could penetrate the stone wall that spanned the entire perimeter of the once tranquil city.

In the battle later referred to--by the unfeeling and insensible historians--as the tamest of the war, my Paris was caught in the surprise counterstrike by the Cernilian artillery, which attacked in concert with their infantry. I remember before the battle, he had written me a letter, detailing a most morbid experience he had had… he had seen one of his own brothers-in-arms, a boy we had gone to school with, and grown up together with go down in a blaze of gunfire. The bullets had torn through his torso, drilled into his chest, and killed him in a maelstrom of agony and gore. When his body had fallen on the blood-stained earth, the enemy still would not cease their fire upon him. His suffering was only ended when a grenade was plummeted from an aircraft and laid waste to the entire battlefield. The images that letter had imprinted in my mind… they returned to me when I read the letter sent home to me from the Blancwood military at the end of the war.

Mrs. Valentia,
We regret to inform you that your husband, Paris Valentia, was killed by the enemy artillery in the Battle of Città. He died an honorable death, and should be remembered as a hero of our country. He will be awarded a medal of courage, and we would like it if you were to accept it on his behalf.

We send you our most heartfelt condolences in this most lamentable hour.

General Harving, Blancwood Army

I remember after reading the letter time and time again, I had cried through my disbelief and sorrow for hours on end that night, until my tear ducts were dehydrated by the salt of my seemingly relentless tears. My eyes stung and were dyed an unhealthy red tone by the irritation. My sisters left me alone for several months, allowing me to mourn.

I wore all black for the remainder of the year, and for all of the next. I refused to go on my sisters’ assignments and I refused to kill. Vivace would no longer leave me to my grief however, she knew this was a most formative and vulnerable point in my life, and decided she would make use of my weakness and impressionability. She would mold the new outlook on life that was inevitably going to result from my loss, manipulate me to embrace my position as an assassin and a thief. The values Paris had enlightened me with… they died as he had.

One might think I should have cared then. I should have resisted. But the world had stolen from me the one bit of innocence and virtue I had left. I felt I owed nothing more to anyone—only to my family who had given me life and as a result, the short time I had with my Paris. My only goals then became to aid my family, and to chase any semblance of happiness I could find whilst doing so.

On what would have been my twelfth anniversary with Paris, of both our marriage and the dating that preceded it, my sisters demanded I end my mourning period. As frail as I was then, I complied, I had become bitter and that sliver of sweet morality that once resided in me became dormant. I had become a Madrigal again—ruthless and deceiving. I had love once more… the love of my criminal family. That was now enough.

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OoC: Thankya for reading and commenting, buddy. This chapter's the last one, I intended for this to be a short story, and what with many years separating the events in the chapters, it was bound to be. Hope anyone would looks at this enjoys it. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

[Ranarath]

That was such a sweet and sad story. You've written it quite well. You should definitely pursue more writing here, if not in really life. Bravo. ^_^

[LadyElvenarcher]

I just finished reading this, and I really enjoyed it. I really liked the conciseness of it; you were able to effectively get your points across without a lot of overbearing, unnecessary, flowery language. And while that sort of language can be good at times, I feel that the way you handled this particular story was excellent. The overall structure really fits Cadenza's personality. Wonderful job. I look forward to seeing more from you in the near future. ^_^

[Altamira]

Thank you so very much for your comments, graceful_sheik and LEA. I'm glad no one found fault with the length of the story, and graceful_sheik it makes me happy that the piece conveyed both sadness and sweetness to you like I wanted it to.

[Gracie]

Oh my, Aiko. That was amazing. I ditto everything LEA said.

o.o

You have to write more Cadenza fics.