When she closes her eyes, that brief trip to Paris all those years ago appears as vivid as ever in Marianne's mind.
For six years, Marianne did not dare defy her father, and thus she entered the Ursuline convent as planned.
To be kind, to shun conflict—these are virtues of the faithful.
Suzanne: Thou hast the power to choose—to live a "new" kind of life.
Marianne: I can choose ...
Marianne: My, you've grown thick ...
Marianne murmurs softly to herself, the hefty book clutched in her hands.
It's a scrapbook carefully put together from clippings of fashion magazines, so thick now it's long since become too heavy to carry around.
Aunt Suzanne kept her promise. For six years, she mailed Marianne the magazines, disguised under gospel covers.
Marianne, taking the lead from her, glued church pamphlets over the cover. Her father never noticed the "rebellion."
Marianne: ... Grant me courage through hardship, and guide me by Your will.
Marianne: Amen.
For the first time, she leaves the book on the table for all to see and walks down her chosen path.
Immanuel: Absurd! Hast thou forgotten thy heritage?
Immanuel: Thou carriest the blood of the Gargoyles. There is naught but the word of God that may shield thee from utter corruption.
Immanuel: First, thou didst cast off the few gifts offered by our bloodline, and now, thou wouldst reject the teachings of the monastery?
Immanuel: Dost thou willfully drive thyself to demonhood?
His hair may have grayed at the temples, but his commanding presence has remained utterly unchanged.
Marianne clenches her fists, pushing past her fear to meet her father's rage-filled eyes head-on.
Marianne: True faith is the pure connection between oneself, God, and the Holy Spirit. To put too much reverence in the likes of churches and monasteries is to head directly into ruin.
Marianne: Thus, no matter where I am, so long as I keep the Lord's grace in my heart, I will not fall into depravity.
Marianne: Secular education will ink no stain on my bloodline, either, for reason is a far greater tool in discerning good from evil than our gift.
Immanuel: I shall not suffer thee to attend public school, no matter how thou dost argue.
Immanuel: This matter is finished.
The standoff is broken by the arrival of an elderly figure.
Madeleine: Hmph ... Scripture is not a sword to be wielded in a quarrel.
Marianne: Grandmother!
Immanuel: Mother, thou ought to be abed at this hour. For what art thou—
Madeleine: How could one sleep through such clamor?
Marianne: My apologies, Grandmother ...
She waves her hand dismissively.
Madeleine: Let Marie go.
Immanuel: What?
Madeleine: Church schools closeth their doors one after another. It is not an easy labor to find undefiled teachings these days.
Madeleine: Allow Marianne to see it for herself. Only then will she truly comprehend thy words.
Madeleine: She is young; she will come to understand thee in time. Why let such conflict shake our halls and taint thy spirit for so small a matter?
Her words ease the tension in the room.
Madeleine: The ever-stubborn Marie, hast thou made up thy mind? Where dost thou wish to study?
Marianne: Rouen Girls' School!
Madeleine: So shall it be.
Madeleine: Now, return to thy room and seek forgiveness of the Lord for thy behavior.
Marianne: Oh, thank you, Grandmother! Thank you dearly!
Immanuel: Mother, thou must not indulge her so!
Immanuel: Marianne hath already deigned to speak akin to the common folk; were she to place any more earthly wisdom above the true path, she shall never learn to discern vice from virtue ...
Marianne has already skipped happily along to her room.
She is blissfully unaware of her father's anguished complaints.
Having finished her prayer as instructed, Marianne makes the sign of the cross and gets up from the side of the bed.
She flings herself over to her desk, dips her pen in ink, and begins to write.
Marianne: I must tell Agnès the good news. It is certain to bring her joy.
Letter: Dear Agnès, word reaches me that you have gone to Saint-Lizier again to recover. Though I hear no complaints from you, and I know you continue to pray through your suffering, accepting it as another trial of a devout follower ... I yet sincerely pray that the Holy Mother may make your heart whole again. Do you recall when you spake to me of God's will? You said He had laid a path for each of us. I have now seen the truth behind those words, for I have come to feel His calling this day. Grandmother's enduring love and kindness have finally granted me permission to go where I truly belong— I shall be attending a public secondary school! I hope the joy of these words reaches you true and that they can, in some small way, ease your suffering, dear cousin. Perhaps Grandmother will even allow me to apprentice at a tailor's shop during my studies. Perhaps within a year, I shall be sewing a straight-cut dress (no corset) for you, modeled after Mr. Poiret's designs. My, what a boon that would be afore I finally go to Paris to become a fashion designer ...
Paris has taken over all thoughts in her mind.
She looks out the window. The sunlight does not only fall on Rouen, but on those Paris streets from her memory.
She closes her eyes, trying to recall the scorching heat as she walked down the Champs-Élysées all those years ago.
Marianne: Perhaps ... here. Yes, this is where I shall run my little atelier de couture.
Marianne: It is best to face the Seine, for the light may reflect off the water onto the dresses.
The dream is just that. A beautiful dream, filled with hope and peace. A future laid out before her.
Perhaps time will honor the pious prayer of a young girl, and she will reach this promised land.
Perhaps, in another life, she would have.
Marianne: Huh?!
