|Rain's Prose Portfolio|
|Writing done by Rainbowfartz.|
Historical/Story Notes: This takes place in France in the 1700s. "Miss Lenna" is a fake name given to the female lead, Helene (pronounced AY-lenne). Miss Lenna was hired exclusively by Andre for stress relief. Anne-Christine is the deceased wife of Andre, the male lead, and was given the nickname "Anna". Andre and Anna's daughter is named Sophie, and is presumably sent away. Andre is 29 and Helene is 18 - 19.
"Anna." Andre awakens from his realistic dream on the day to the year of Anne-Christine's death. "Anna! Wake up." He gasped as another bare female body pressed against his. Was it really Anna? Was she back from the dead? "Anna!" He hears a chortle from behind him, Anna's laugh. He took her fingers and held them to his cheek as tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.” The laugh continues as she begins to speak, her voice deeper and huskier than his dear Anne-Christine’s sweet voice. “Oh, honey, I’m not Anna.” She turns him over and holds her face close to his, her hot breath on his face. “I’m Miss Lenna, here to enchant you every night.”
Andre’s tears went from happiness and love to anger and sorrow. He slapped her hard on her recently makeup-free face (she looked like Anna without makeup), and she tumbled into the dirtied and tangled sheets. She groaned as she rubbed her cheek, and stretched. “This was the deal, Master. I was to pleasure you and relieve your stress, and you were supposed to not abuse me.” She reached across his bare body to get a cigarette from the side table.
She gyrated her hips around his side as she took a drag. He was tempted to moan but knew that she couldn’t seduce him like his dear wife. A sudden feeling took over and he did anyways.
“Ah. Enjoying it again?” Miss Lenna moved from his and she propped her hands above her head
“I want you to stop.” Andre felt dirty cheating on his wife, even if she was dead. “I’m too tired.”
“It’s Anne-Christine, isn’t it?” Lenna crawled on top of him. “She’s just bones and dust now. I’m the real thing, aren’t I?”
Andre pushed Lenna out of the bed, and pushed her against the wall. “Don’t. Talk. About. Her!” He gripped her throat and she scrambled like a scared cat. “M-Monsieur. I c-cannot breathe.” He let go and Lenna fell flat on the ground, her head limp. There were times he felt sorry for her, but he had to remind himself that she was but a slave to him.
As he left her on the ground, he closed his eyes and walked. He saw Anne-Christine with Sophie in her arms, his young daughter’s eyes shining. Anna’s face was bright and beaming.
Andre turned around suddenly and helped Miss Lenna up. “Master, don’t scare me like that.” She might’ve smiled, a real smile, but it turned dirty and mischievous.
It was nighttime, but Miss Lenna had looked tired. She was usually all over him, his body, and her musk entering his lungs. Lenna did her job well, and fell onto the bed, Andre almost forgetting Anna for a second and focused on the fire that burst into his body. He plopped right next to her, and he smoothed her hair between his fingers.
Her brown hair looked like Anna’s, but he knew she wasn’t real when her hazel eyes met his violet ones, unlike Anna’s sky blue ones. She whispered something, barely audible, into his ears in her real voice. Not like her seductively husky voice. “I am not Lenna. I am Helene.”
Andre woke up, alone, without even Lenna next to him. He felt eerily empty without either of the women, and without his daughter, who he hadn’t seen since he couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Lenna?” Andre spoke loudly, hoping she’d respond. “Miss Lenna?” Then he remembered, and desperately, “Helene!” The house was quiet and alone, just like the day after his wife died. Not even a note, nor an echo of her was left in his home. She was gone.