"I have almost forgotten this atmosphere, Geneviève... These years I spent all on honing my sword and serving my queen, little did I realise my joy for feasts and ball was a little too far away...", lamented Annatoire while glancing up toward the gilded chandeliers in a corner of the ballroom, with her handmaiden accompanying.

"Then what's the reason you seemed reluctant to accept Her Majesty's invitation?", inquired Geneviève, helping herself and her mistress to some rosé.

"Servants we are just decorations for balls and feasts like these. I have settled my standing in this Palais, and an aristocratic ball has no place for I nor you in it... Lowly servants and honourable aristocrats are two different positions, my dear, and they do not mingle...", drooping down to her rosé glass, mused Annatoire melancholically.

Somehow, it hurt Geneviève from inside just listening to those words. She was aware it was her who convinced her mistress that her past was of no concern to the present, but she didn't expect said mistress to forsake the past altogether. The once honourable Hortense now regarded herself a lowly servant amongst many serving in Versailles. The once high-quality duchess now was equal, if not inferior than a former pickpocket. Were Geneviève's words the cause? Probably they were, probably they weren't. Before coming to Versailles, never did that noblewoman's head bow lower than her servants; never did she tend to herself without help; never did she fail a day being clean and fragrant; never did she think of dishonouring the name she bore— and yet to-day, said noblewoman bowed lower than her own handmaiden, tended to both the needs of her Queen and the noble people at this Palais, went several days venturing to places no other woman could ever think about... and she referred to herself, a dignified de Beaudelaire, as a lowly servant... Why would she in her right mind accept such a fate?

"I would have enjoyed this occasion if I were you, milady...", murmured the handmaiden.

Annatoire overheard those words but pretended she didn't pay attention to it. Why was Geneviève, the one who convinced her that the people of the past had now no relation to her and her days as nobility was of no concern to the present, trying to persuade her to enjoy the occasion which directly reminded her of the past she was told to forget? However, Annatoire didn't just listening to Geneviève's preaching, but also her own conscience's; having abandoned the de Beaudelaire family to pursue her selfish desires, she had sullied the family's honour. In the ballroom they were right now, there were many noble acquaintances of the de Beaudelaire and might have personally known her; what if they know the heiress of such an illustrious and prestigious family ran away to avoid an inevitable marriage? It would have been better she was seen an unnamed courtière of the Queen, a commoner like all others and belonged to no family that she might disgrace.

And yet, the guests to-night was to familiar to ever avoid. In another corner of the room Annatoire could catch a figure of her mentor, also Geneviève's grand-uncle; perhaps he was part of the entourage accompanying the second de Beaudelaire daughter and was just enjoying his little moment having a toast with his old friend, who just happened to be the Captain of the Musketeers.

"Are there the girls you always tell me about, d'Artois? At that corner by the table with rosé?", M. de Tréville nudged his friend to ask as he in turn noticed Annatoire and Geneviève amongst the guests.

"Ah, 'tis them, my friend. It's been a while since I saw them last...", glanced Monsieur d'Artois toward the direction.

"Why don't you come and greet them? They must be missing you, I mean, it's been a while since you last saw them, right?"

"I know what my little duchess wants. She probably desires I not recognising her an acquaintance, at least not in front of all these people..."

"Ay, again with your secrets! Yet I have promised to keep my mouth shut..."

Amongst many noble guests, Annatoire in particular felt concerned about two people, or, the two people she would like to see the least; her own little sister, who was dancing passionately with a lord, and Baroness du Chaumont. Geneviève noticed her mistress's normally placid expression became stern and her fingers on the glass tightened as she glanced toward the socialite baroness, as if a raging flame of betrayal was burning inside her.

"I was just another rock on Mademoiselle du Chaumont's path... and so will they..."

Geneviève could see that her mistress's tone had changed. For a moment it seemed to contain hatred, which was virtually unheard of the ever calm Annatoire. The young mistress was timid and seldom spoke outside her circle of acquaintances, so what happened with Mademoiselle du Chaumont that caused Annatoire to be this angry with mere sight of the baroness? In said voice Geneviève could sense jealousy and envy also, and she wondered why after just a glance it changed the young mistress she knew.

Before she could lose control of her mind, Annatoire stepped out of the ballroom. Geneviève followed just because she felt she was concerned, although she had no connection to the baroness nor any idea what had happened between the two. To-morrow she would need an excuse if the Queen noticed they left the ball early, Geneviève thought.

"Your Grace, wait just a moment!"

Annatoire continued walking down the many corridors of the Palais and Geneviève followed suit until they found themselves returned to their chamber. Geneviève was locked outside while her mistress stayed in the chamber, alone. Patiently knocking the door, she tried to convince her out-of-temper mistress to open so they might talk a little and calm down. Unfortunately, Annatoire wasn't that kind of person who would be easy to tell anything. Through the tightly closed door she was able to hear her mistress laughing deliriously yet faintly, as if she was trying to suppress those emotions or to forsake them.

"What idiot could be such naïve!", scolded Annatoire to herself angrily, slamming her fist to the wall.

We used to be close, recalled Annatoire, yet as close as a wildflower could be to the feet of a traveller; what use of friendship was there if not just for one own's amusement? What an idiot am I that believed I was able to make bonds with them!

A dull yet throbbing pain from the left shoulder cut her out from her own thoughts. She came to lean against the door, head resting on its polished wooden frame.

"It was... auld lang syne, my dear...", murmured Annatoire, just enough that Geneviève could barely hear. Her voice again returned to its usual calm tone. "I used to be acquaintances with Mademoiselle du Chaumont, no, close friends, at least it was what I used to believe... Ah, that idiot whom was once the ten-year-old me blindly had faith in a companionship which was only one-sided... Never would I make that same mistake again, even if it would cost me my life..."

The pain she was enduring now was incomparable to the pain of the past. Though as unwitting as it seemed, the feeling of betrayal was so real and destructive. What else would one react if they knew the person they had share laughs, memories, tales and days of youth together regarded them as a mere "acquaintance" and replacement of the last close friend as the friends to-day had replaced them in said person's mind? The young Hortense who had only solitude and a few servants around from birth till adulthood was excited believing she had finally found a companion to relate to, and time had proved her wrong all along.

"Ah, my dear Geneviève, though we may be close now, you will one day be like them, one day you will find someone— a companion, a partner— and thence I to you become no more than a distant acquaintance... When time comes, my dear, when we will seldom see or hear each other... ", murmured Annatoire mindlessly, believing she was the only one heard it.

Although peerlessly intelligent and bright, Geneviève's young mistress was unfortunately too naïve to be left alone. Unable to strike a good deal, unable to see through the personal masks of people and always wear her true colours, the young mistress was bound to meet unbearable ordeals. Mademoiselle du Chaumont was merely the smallest tip of an iceberg and there were countless out there— they might be just around in the court— that would never spare another moment stabbing the person they called "camarade" in the back.

"She was too young then, milady, and so were you. Mademoiselle du Chaumont perhaps didn't mean to forget you as a companion, especially if she was aware no one was as sincere as you were... Being an aristocrat must be overwhelming with all the sociality and protocols, you know this better than anyone. How were you meant to remain companion with one person when you were so busy maintaining your family's honour in the noble court?", comforted Geneviève.

"When she called me a close friend of hers, I was overjoyed, Geneviève. That companionship meant a lot to me, a child who was frequent in solitude and had a somewhat monotonous childhood, and it still did to this day. Ah, it was... indescribably terrific that it broke..."

Due to her naïveté and introversion she couldn't make so much friends, and it had been a decade since the last time anyone said she was close friend to them; Hortense did manage to make acquaintances with some others, but they went as quick as they came and no one became as close to her as Mademoiselle du Chaumont did, partly because she wanted to keep some distance in case that inevitable moment happened once more and partly because some friendships therein were all but false. After seemingly endless circles of deceit and betrayal, it was languishing to maintain a clear sanity before Geneviève followed her to Paris, and now she was on the verge of losing it to those sorrows and pains of the past.

"Shall we— umm— return to the ball and have a toast? And let all of these unhappiness drift away?"

Knowing all the dreadful relationships she had out there, Annatoire preferred not to return to the ball. There were a spoilt young noblewoman for a sister, a friend from an old time since and a mentor whom she was too respected to let her current pitiful self be known.

"There are many that know me out there in the ballroom. That child will humiliate me as a failure of an heir with her authoritative nature and that baroness will remind me I nearly let my past's emotion slip my sanity from my mind and it is going to be soon, I would like to avoid these. Good-night, Geneviève, if you will excuse me!"

Geneviève worriedly heard a knock sounded like a door slamming shut and her mistress's footsteps fading away from the door. She didn't care where she would sleep to-night, she cared the moment when she returned to see Annatoire to-morrow her mistress had lost herself. Though she spoke against it, Annatoire did regard Geneviève a close companion and vice versa, despite the gap in their social standing, but the former seemed to pay no mind to that fact as the ghost of the past returned to gnaw at her already brittle soul.