Chapter 20 #2
The world was meaningless, but she would not accept her death.
She would not let the woman win.
Isabelle stared into the void, feeling the power in her bones, the absurd nature of reality clearer in this moment than ever before.
She was nothing more than a skeleton rotting away in the dirt, and this was her Sanctum, her eternal resting place. She was a sinner and a saint, everything and nothing all at once.
Light flashed in her vision, a series of memories passing by in an instant.
Isabelle understood what was happening, but not how it was happening.
Somehow, she was both Jean-Phillipe and Bellinor. She was le Voile and she was herself.
There was le Jardin, the strange sculptures and the rooms and the foxgloves.
Perpetual solitude, both a blessing and a curse, agonizing silence, seclusion, until it could be tolerated no longer.
There was Rul, and the servants, wisps of light entering le Voile, feeding it, satiating it for decades to come.
Jean-Phillipe was gone and only Bellinor remained.
She was in the red room, a deep sense of satisfaction winding its way through her bones as she delivered blow after blow to a devotee of Celeste, the follower crying out with pain and pleasure until fading away to nothing.
She was back in Marilet, seeing visions of herself from years before–at the temple, kneeling before the altar of Celeste, at the tavern, at the café, in her cottage after her father had passed.
She was watching herself have sex with Henri, the disinterest clear on her face as he writhed on top of her without rhythm. She was in the room with herself and Pierre, pushing his face away as he attempted to taste her.
Every moment of shame and humiliation she bore witness to, the way she pleasured herself while squeezing her cilice, the way her face twisted with wicked want as she felt the heat of the priestess’ flogger.
She saw herself lying on her bed, covered in Bellinor’s blood. The most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. Gratitude filled her, a sense of awe and humility that she would give the gift of her body in such a manner.
Then she was in the forest, her white dress billowing in the wind, her eyes meeting her own as she gazed into the darkness.
Darkness, eternal and damning, ever present no matter how much she tried to escape it.
It surrounded her, enveloped her, made her one with it, until all was gone except le Voile and her.
She closed her eyes, letting herself be consumed.
“Isabelle?” a voice said, and she blinked her eyes open to a dimly lit room.
She was on her back, two men hovering over her with concerned looks.
Bellinor and Rul.
She had seen his memories, his banishment and rise to power.
The way Celeste manipulated him into loving her, sacrificing himself for her, just as she did to all of her devotees.
The abyssal fires of le Voile twisting Jean-Phillipe until he became Bellinor.
The decades of isolation before opening le Jardin to Rul.
It was her and wasn’t her, a mirror and an antithesis. She felt the breadth of his loneliness in her own experience, felt his sympathy as she looked upon herself with his eyes.
As Bellinor, she saw the generosity of her submission. She understood his desire to give her what her soul so desperately craved–to belong, to serve someone who was real, who cherished her and served her in return, who accepted her as she was.
Tears burned in her eyes, the moon mother’s betrayal echoing Jean-Phillipe’s banishment.
“That’s why you have to go,” Bellinor said, his soft voice shocking her back to the room.
“Go where?” she asked, still in a daze from the memories, pushing herself up and glancing between the two.
“Back to Marilet. You were never meant to be here. I… I should not have brought you to this place.”
Tears were streaming down Rul’s face as Bellinor spoke, both men’s pale gazes glued to her.
“But what will happen to le Jardin?”
They eyed each other before Bellinor answered.
“Celeste will send a devotee.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then this place will be destroyed,” Rul said. “And so will she.”
Isabelle understood the true meaning, a pit opening in her stomach like the endless abyss of le Voile.
“And you both will be destroyed as well.”
Bellinor pressed a palm to her cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb.
“It was always going to happen. Le Voile consumes all in the end.”
“No.” Isabelle shook her head, trying to shirk his grasp. “You can’t. You can’t let her win.”
Rul shrugged, placing a hand on his trembling thigh as if he was trying to still it.
“She will always win. She is inevitable. You need to leave this place before it consumes you, too.”
“Please. Just give it some time. Maybe she’ll send someone,” she breathed, focusing her gaze on the canvas, trying to hold the tears at bay.
She didn’t care if that meant an innocent person would be destroyed, as long as it saved Bellinor and Rul.
“Isabelle…” Rul started, but she interrupted him with a shout, knowing they would only try to argue.
“Get out! Now!”
She was trembling, unsure they’d heed her order, unsure whether they’d drag her back to Marilet and let themselves be devoured.
“Please. Just give it a little more time. Give me more time,” she begged, hoping they would listen.
They exchanged glances, having a silent conversation, before Bellinor nodded toward the door.
“We will be in my study if you need us. But you will be returning to Marilet if Celeste doesn’t send someone soon,” he said.
His brows furrowed as he glanced over her, then heaved off the bed and headed for the door.
Rul gave her one last sad look before reluctantly following.