By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
Copyright © Friday, October 08, 2004/Monday, December 20, 2004
L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
All Rights Reserved c/s
2004/2005. Currently it does not have a home with any publisher.
Rated: NC-17, not intended, or suitable for children.
Violence: Only a consensual initiation.
Sexual Content: Explicit hetrosexual scenes.
Sexual Violence: None in this chapter.
Vampire Violence: Minor.
All feedback welcomed at: CrystalMichallet@yahoo.com
To Read my blog: http://www.livejournal.com/users/crystal_romero/
middle of the group. Although his tall, slender form would have been enough to distinguish him as leader this was not the
reason that he was given such responsibility. It might even have been the way he spoke, his ever gentle voice not only
commanded, but could also coax the most strident of laggers into working and his honey covered words were able to
appease the most stubborn of city politicians. When he listened to the complaints of his circus family he not only heard their
concerns, but his blue eyes gazed upon them with empathy. To all who looked at him, he was an ordinary man. But to Le
Cirque des Ténèbres, the Circus of Darkness, he was not only their Chief, he was their Ming, their Gypsy father and
undisputed leader.
As the sounds of voices rose around him, Guillaume Laroche pulled on the thick cord of rope that would bring the big top
open. At twenty-nine, Guillaume utilized his physical strength to his best advantage. Once the pole of the tent stood vertically
and the lines were tied down, he took a step back. With the back of his hand he wiped the sweat from his forehead as he
gazed over his handiwork. His waist length dark hair hung tightly down his back in an intricately woven cord. As the sound
of the men’s voices rose in the air, he was filled with the self-satisfaction that always came from hard work.
While the work continued around him, Guillaume glanced at his circus family. In the harsh daylight sun only the mortals were
busy with their labor. With a slight frown, the tall man glanced intently at the familiar faces of those around him. Although no
one had spoken it out loud, they all felt the tension since arriving in the sleepy town of San Madrone. It was nothing that could
be pinpointed but like a blanket of fog, it smothered them with its intensity. Just as he had done in past cities, Guillaume was
ever watchful and protective of his Gypsy family. In the past he never had to utilize his power and strength but he knew that if
need be he would do anything to protect his own because that is what a Rom Baro would do. Yes, he would act out of duty,
but more importantly, out of love as any Ming could do for their children and kin.
Guillaume released a deep sigh as the weight of his responsibilities bore down upon him. He, more than anyone, knew of the
dangers that could arise to his mortal and immortal kin. At every turn in the road and in every town there were those who
would stop at nothing to hunt them down. This is a notion that Guillaume always kept in mind whenever they entered into a
new city. Now, with the eerie tension in the air, he would be ever vigilant in his duties to his Kumpania, his Gypsy family.
Although no one had given him the title of Chief, Guillaume was considered the unofficial leader of the circus. No, he was not
the Bulibasha, the one who managed the day to day affairs as Renaldo did, but Guillaume was the inspiration of the
performers and their protector. Standing at six foot two, he towered over many the men. Yet this is not what caused them to
turn to him for counsel. It was his mild mannered nature, even temperament and quick smile that caused his comrades to
allow him to be their unofficial representative. It also did not hurt that he was the Queen’s consort. This alone would have
deemed him worthy of being their leader for although he acted as an honorable man, everyone, including himself, knew of the
importance of the Queen’s choice. Even he was surprised when she had named him to be her consort. There had always
been a small part of him secretly longing that she would chose him because his love for her was great.
When it came time for her to decide whom her new mate would be, he never dreamed that she would look to him because he
was a gadjo, a non-Gypsy. To many in the Kumpania, the Gypsy family, gadjos were marihme, they were unclean and not
to be allowed within their ranks. Even though Guillaume joined the Kumpania as a child, he never forgot that his birth and
origins were from the outside world. Despite his insecurities the Queen of the Gypsies had seen fit to choose him as her next
consort, and this pleased him greatly.
As his unfocused gaze glanced over his circus family, he allowed his memories to wander to his early years. For Guillaume
those childhood days had all but vanished and were replaced with the pleasant experiences of his new family. Being a man in
his prime he could now look back upon his youthful state and realize that even his quiet nature had marked him as special in
the Queen’s eyes. When she first caught sight of him he was but a young boy afraid and all alone in the world. Thinking
back upon his early youth, the Queen’s consort allowed himself a moment of respite as he remembered the days from long
ago…
Young Guillaume knew nothing of the outside world beyond what was taught in his academic lessons. Growing up in the small
village of Saint Victor, near the city of Saint Etienne, in France, his worldview was an idyllic one. He lived with his mother in a
small room of a chateau where she worked as a maid for a wealthy family. Although her employers had children, Guillaume
always knew his place and only played with the children of other servants. For a time this was all that the young boy knew.
The love and warmth of his mother, the kindness of the other servants and the camaraderie of his friends were enough to
sustain him. But this all changed soon after the illness consumed his mother. No longer able to work, the Madame and
Monsieur sent her away to the Hôpital du Sacré Coeur.
At the Hôpital du Sacré Coeur the boy learned of fear and sadness. The occasional coughs that his mother suffered when at
the chateau were minor compared to her increasing pain while at the hospital. Throughout the entire time of his mother’s
consumption he was by her bedside tending to her and helping the nuns as best he could. Within Guillaume’s mind, his mother
was receiving the best treatment available. The doctors held an intelligence seldom seen and the nuns were always quick to
give reassurance. Despite their best efforts, after many days his mother’s languished state deteriorated before his eyes until
she finally passed away.
At the tender age of eight Guillaume found himself an orphan. Although the sisters at the hospital tried their best to lighten his
burden, Guillaume found little pleasure left in the world. Whatever happiness he once had, whatever made him smile were
now buried along with his mother. At the time Guillaume did not believe that his life could get any worse. Alone in a world
without kin, Guillaume felt adrift in a sea of despair. Little did the boy know that his world was about to become far worse
than his innocent mind could ever imagine. The protection and love that had surrounded him even in his grief was soon to be
replaced by the cold harshness of a black heart.
Père Morris Follet was a common man who saw himself as extraordinary. As a child he watched his father’s brutal control
over both his mother and siblings. When the man finished with his tirade, he would leave them in peace to spend many nights
with the various women who shared his bed. Although he hated the man, little Morris did acknowledge that his father had the
gift of charm and charisma – at least with unrelated people. With each day that passed he hoped that someday he would
never become like his father. But this wish was not meant to be because as quickly as the grains of sand left the hour glass, he
had unwittingly become the perfect replicate of the man he despised.
Tall and lanky with pale, dried skin, Morris Follet turned into a young man who could do anything. He felt that his words
should hold power to sway even the strongest of guffaw. To those around him he was a laughing stock, a buffoon who
weaved wild tales, gave authoritative decrees yet knew nothing of the real world around him. Lacking the control and power
he desired with grown men his age, the young man did what anyone in his place would do. He promptly found an audience
for his antics and married her.
As a man and a father, Morris Follet loomed over his wife and children like a demi-god meting out his divine punishments and
proclamations. His thin angular hook nose jutted out past skin that was as tight as a drum. The corners of his thin lips were
often turned downward when in the company of those who professed to love him dearly. Yet despite their unconditional love
never a day went by when his merciless beady eyes did not notice their individual flaws before his evil serpent-like tongue
wagged with criticism. Often times he would laugh at the dim-witted nature of his wife with whatever maîtresse, mistress, he
happened to be with. With both his charms and controlled smile, he was able to sway many women to his bed, but not for
long, which is why he always returned home to his wife. Only she with her easy going continence would remain silent under
his barrage of control and she would allow him to do whatever his heart desired.
This was how he preferred it.
Control is what he desired and required from both his wife and children. Power is what he attempted to exert on those
nearby. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not. But nothing that happened outside of his home was of any concern. All
that mattered was that he was able to rule his roost with an iron fist. When his children were younger and elicited more fear,
he was prone to fly into rages, damaging anything in his path. But as he aged and his control over his children dwindled, he
utilized the powers of his words to inflict the greatest amount of pain that was once felt by his hands until one by one he was
left all alone.
Père Morris Follet found himself an actor without an audience and grew to despair the outcome of his life. Once his wife
passed away, his children soon abandoned him and left him for a life across a vast ocean. It was then when he was alone in
his home with no one to criticize and no one who would hear his voice that he experienced an epiphany. He would renounce
all of his worldly goods to join the Priesthood in order that he could one day become a Curé, a parish priest. With so many
parishioners he was certain that his voice would sway even the most stout of nerves in order that he could inflict his daggered
words upon his congregation. But even this simple wish was not to be.
Père Morris Follet, being far older than any other in the Priesthood, did not find himself a leader of a congregation. No, the
Church had deemed that he was to be sent to serve in an orphanage. With several other brothers he was to teach the
abandoned trash of humanity to learn to read, write, and calculate in order that they could one day be faithful servants of the
Church. At first Père Morris Follet despised the predicament that he was in, but after only a few short months he realized that
the power he longed for could be found within the walls of the orphanage. After only a short time the Bishop of the district
had placed him in full control of the orphanage, which is where all of Père Follet’s troubles began.
Guillaume Laroche did not know the history of the orphanage Priest. Before the day he arrived the young boy had never met
a person he did not like. He was so easy going and innocent that his smile and sad blue eyes were enough to sway even the
hardest of hearts…except Père Follet’s. Guillaume didn’t know it at the time but he was about to meet a bitter man who held
little compassion or empathy for the charges under his care.
Shortly after Guillaume buried his mother in the pauper’s field he was quickly sent to the institution that became his home. By
the time he reached the doors of the Orphanage of Saint Etienne Guillaume was numb to everything around him. Even though
the sisters at the hospital were kind to him, he could not help the tears that fell each time he thought of his mother. Upon
meeting the head Père of the orphanage, he realized that whatever warmth that once existed was no longer meant for him.
