Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Claire
Claire woke to the soft cooing of pigeons and the distant hum of Paris stirring to life beyond the cathedral walls. Morning light slipped through the narrow window, painting the room in gold.
A heavy arm draped across her chest, warm and protective, but not confining. She turned her head slowly to find Mirela fast asleep beside her. Her red hair fell in a tangled curtain over her face, hiding her features.
That wouldn’t do.
Claire brushed the strands away carefully, her fingers tracing the soft curve of her cheek. She wanted to see her. To memorize her face, every freckle, every scar. Later she’d tease her about cutting her hair short, just enough so she could always admire her without obstruction.
For now, she simply watched her breathing. It brought a comfort Claire hadn’t known she could feel. A peace that made the world outside fade into nothing.
Scars and all, Mirela was beautiful. It wasn’t just her face or her body, but the restrained, quiet strength, now unfurling. And Claire, to her surprise, found joy in being the one to help her discover it.
A faint melody from outside pulled her back. Her hand still rested gently on Mirela’s cheek, stroking softly until Mirela stirred and let out a small groan.
“Good morning,” Claire whispered, smiling as she leaned closer. “Did you sleep well? I didn’t take up too much space, did I?”
Mirela grinned, eyes half-open, before rolling onto her back and stretching her arms above her head.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Claire teased.
“Better than expected,” Mirela murmured. Her voice was rough with sleep as she cupped Claire’s jaw and pulled her in for a slow kiss. Then Mirela suddenly froze, eyes flying open. “The bells!” she gasped. “I have to toll the bells!”
Claire blinked, startled, as Mirela scrambled to find her clothes. She dressed quickly, tugging on her blouse in a rush before darting toward the stairs.
“I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing up the stone passage as she disappeared.
Claire sat there for a moment, smiling faintly, listening to Mirela’s footsteps fade into the distance until the sound of the first bell rang through the morning air.
The bells tolled again, loud and clear. Claire began to dress, gathering what little she had.
The sounds of Paris filtered in with music, laughter, voices overlapping.
Today, with The Festival of Fools taking place, the city felt more alive than ever.
She wanted to be out there among it. Her parents never allowed her freedom even close to going to festivals.
The door opened suddenly. Mirela slipped inside, closing it quickly behind her as though protecting something precious. Her smile lit up the small room, and, for a heartbeat, Claire forgot about everything else.
“Are you hungry?” Mirela asked, touching her waist and looking around her. “I don’t have much to offer,” Mirela said shyly. “Food, or anything really… I could—“
“Would you come out with me?” Claire interrupted, her voice bright with hope. “To the streets? The Festival of Fools is happening outside. We could get something to eat there.”
Mirela froze. Her gaze drifted toward the narrow window, where the sunlight poured in. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she drew a shaky breath. “I…”
“I’ll keep you safe,” Claire said quickly. “Yesterday you went out, and—“
“It was nighttime,” Mirela whispered. “There were people outside but not so many…”
“Yes! But you’ve already seen how it is.” Claire reached for her hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s try the day, Mirela. Please. I promise it’s not as frightening.”
Mirela took a deep breath and shook her head. “Ferron…He—“
“Ferron doesn’t get to decide what’s safe anymore.”
“But they’ll see me,” Mirela murmured, trying gently to pull away.
Claire didn’t let go. She held on, steady but tender, meeting her eyes. She didn’t rush her. She simply waited—knowing that if Mirela chose to stay, she would still try again tomorrow, and the next day, until fear no longer won.
Finally, Mirela exhaled, her shoulders softening. “Alright,” she said at last. “As long as it’s with you, I don’t think anything bad can happen.”
“Yes!” Claire squealed, her relief bubbling into laughter as she threw her arms around Mirela and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Would you feel better if you covered up a little? Would that make you feel safer?”
Mirela nodded, her smile small but certain. “Yes. A lot.”
“Alright, then!” Claire said, looking for her coat amongst the things she had brought from the convent.
Once she found it, she draped it over Mirela’s shoulders, adjusting it so the hood shaded most of her face.
The fabric was big on Claire; it always swallowed her frame, but on Mirela it was just right.
“There,” she said softly. “Now you look mysterious, no one will think twice.”
Mirela’s hands brushed over the edges of the coat, hesitant. “I look ridiculous,” she muttered, though a small smile ghosted across her lips.
Claire’s chest warmed. “Ridiculously beautiful,” she teased gently, tightening the clasp at the collar. “And safe. That’s all that matters.”
Mirela turned toward the window. She stared at it as though the light itself was dangerous. “What if it’s too much?” she whispered.
“Then we’ll come back,” Claire promised immediately. “The moment you say the word, we’ll turn around. I swear it.”
For a moment, Mirela just looked at her. Claire held her gaze, steady and open, hoping Mirela could see what she meant without her having to say it aloud: that there was no pity here, only the overwhelming need to have Mirela learn more about the world outside the cathedral.
Mirela nodded once. “Alright.”
Relief and pride swelled in Claire’s chest. She reached for Mirela’s hand, marveling again at how small her own looked inside that strong, scarred grasp. “Ready?”
Mirela’s breath trembled a little. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
They started down the spiral stairs. Claire led the way, glancing back every few steps to make sure Mirela was still close. With every turn, the sound of music, laughter, and the rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones grew louder.
At the grand doors of the cathedral, Mirela froze. Light spilled through the open doorway like a flood, touching her hood, her hands, the edges of her sleeves. Claire could almost feel the tension radiating off her mixed in with both curiosity and fear.
She squeezed her hand gently. “Breathe,” she whispered. “It’s only the sun saying hello.”
Mirela let out a shaky laugh. “It’s very loud.”
Claire smiled and brushed her shoulder against hers. “Then we’ll let it speak first.”
Together, they stepped outside.
The city of Paris unfolded before them. There were lanterns strung across windows, and ribbons fluttering in the wind.
There was the scent of warm bread and sweet fruit drifting from the marketplace.
Laughter rang out from a group of children chasing one another through the square.
The world was alive, just waiting to be experienced.
Claire watched as Mirela’s eyes darted from face to face. No one stared. No one whispered. A few smiled in passing, but most went about their day as if the two of them were just another part of the crowd.
Mirela’s grip on her hand tightened. “They don’t even look,” she whispered, voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “Ferron was wrong,” she said, her upper lip twitching in anger.
“I told you,” Claire murmured. “The world’s too busy living to notice what makes us different.”
Mirela tilted her face toward the sky, the sunlight sneaking beneath her hood to touch her cheek, highlighting her gorgeous teal eye. Claire watched as her expression softened, a smile blooming across her lips.
“See?” Claire said quietly. “Not so scary after all.”
Mirela exhaled slowly, still staring up at the light. “No,” she said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Then she exhaled and looked down at Claire, her smile never fading. “Not with you here.”
Claire’s heart fluttered. She squeezed Mirela’s hand, and together they stepped further into the streets of Paris.
***
Mirela
Mirela’s stomach was on the brink of turning inside out. The tension sat heavy in her chest, hot and restless, until she thought she might be sick. She hoped Claire didn’t notice how damp her palms were. If she did, she was gracious enough not to say anything, and Mirela was thankful for that.
The streets were alive around them. Laughter, music, the clatter of wheels and hooves.
The sun pressed down on her. The coat wasn’t helping at all since it trapped the heat against her skin.
Yet, she would rather sweat beneath it than face the world bare.
Later she would take it off… when she was feeling braver. For now, she would hide.
They passed rows of vendors, their stalls bursting with the colors of ripe fruit, clothes in every hue, and the smell of roasting meat that made her mouth water despite the nerves.
Ferron brought her meat occasionally, but it wasn’t much, at least not enough to satiate her hunger.
Bread and cheese usually did it for her.
But now that she was out, staring at the sizzling roasted meat before her, her stomach turned once more, not out of anxiousness, but hunger.
A vendor carved a piece straight off the spit, and before Mirela could protest, Claire had already paid for a portion.
Mirela’s instinct was to refuse. She had nothing to offer in return, but Claire pressed the food into her hands.
“Eat,” she said simply. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”