Serenierre
Established Nation
The Fortress of Villesen
Private Apartments of the Premier
ELISABETH MARTINIQUE had always known that her son was a sensitive boy. Quite unlike herself, he had gone entirely on his father's side: her first husband. Though, at times, she had to admit it had been difficult to understand him, to appreciate his sensibilities, or to even see eye to eye on some things. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt in her mind, she loved him deeply. He was, and always had been, her one weakness. She could take all sorts of critique directed towards herself. But her dear sweet boy, her Marcel, no, not even a scratch could she tolerate on him.
So, that evening, as she returned from the office, with her mind racing at the recent breakdown in ties with the entire communist world. She was stopped dead in her tracks by the sentence uttered by her son.
"Maman," he said abruptly, on the verge of tears, "I think you should know." He stifled a sob. "I... I... tried to kill myself."
Her world froze in that instant. Elisabeth just stared plainly at her son. For a moment, she did not believe he had said that. She simply stared. Unable to say anything. Unable to even think of anything. It was a shocking thing to hear.
When it registered what he had said, she quickly walked up to her boy. Her six foot giant. Her youngest. Her baby. She rubbed his back and urged him to sit on the sofa. “What are you saying?” she eventually squeaked. “This better not be some cruel idea of a joke.”
"It's not a joke," he said, his speech seemed to be slurred, "I took..." he fainted on her lap.
Elisabeth screamed. "Marcel!" She was frantic. Her eyes suddenly clouded with tears and her heart racing, she screamed out for her security detail, "Henri! Henri! Help! Help! Come in here quick!" Her throat was raw, she screamed as loud as she possibly could. Her boy lay limp in her lap. One of the bodyguards rushed inside. "Call an ambulance!" she screamed at him. She looked down at her son and cried.
Private Apartments of the Premier
ELISABETH MARTINIQUE had always known that her son was a sensitive boy. Quite unlike herself, he had gone entirely on his father's side: her first husband. Though, at times, she had to admit it had been difficult to understand him, to appreciate his sensibilities, or to even see eye to eye on some things. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt in her mind, she loved him deeply. He was, and always had been, her one weakness. She could take all sorts of critique directed towards herself. But her dear sweet boy, her Marcel, no, not even a scratch could she tolerate on him.
So, that evening, as she returned from the office, with her mind racing at the recent breakdown in ties with the entire communist world. She was stopped dead in her tracks by the sentence uttered by her son.
"Maman," he said abruptly, on the verge of tears, "I think you should know." He stifled a sob. "I... I... tried to kill myself."
Her world froze in that instant. Elisabeth just stared plainly at her son. For a moment, she did not believe he had said that. She simply stared. Unable to say anything. Unable to even think of anything. It was a shocking thing to hear.
When it registered what he had said, she quickly walked up to her boy. Her six foot giant. Her youngest. Her baby. She rubbed his back and urged him to sit on the sofa. “What are you saying?” she eventually squeaked. “This better not be some cruel idea of a joke.”
"It's not a joke," he said, his speech seemed to be slurred, "I took..." he fainted on her lap.
Elisabeth screamed. "Marcel!" She was frantic. Her eyes suddenly clouded with tears and her heart racing, she screamed out for her security detail, "Henri! Henri! Help! Help! Come in here quick!" Her throat was raw, she screamed as loud as she possibly could. Her boy lay limp in her lap. One of the bodyguards rushed inside. "Call an ambulance!" she screamed at him. She looked down at her son and cried.