Marianne Ténébrun, used to be a cheerful, happy young lady. With a family she could be proud of, and a dream of being an excellent couturier, and a wonderful sister, Agnès, to look after, she had all she could ever want. However, that didn’t last long, of course it didn’t, not when a war was coming her way. War always strips people of who they are.

In just a few short years, Marianne Ténébrun would lose herself in the depression, anxiety, and fear of war. All that was left of her was her various titles, like The Devil, or Sentinel. It was all that survived. Thanks to her family’s heritage, mixed with the, ‘impure blood’ of hers we’ll call it, she had inherited a Gargoyle curse, granting her superhuman abilities, making her into an Arcanist, however, her body frequently suffers periodic petrification, causing her immense discomfort and pain.

Everything around her felt like it was crushing her, to where she made risky decisions that saved her life, but was seen as crimes against her country’s military, such as unauthorized use of arcane skills, disobeying orders, and evading combat. Such actions were seen as damaging morale of her fellow soldiers, and dishonouring her country. To be blamed for being afraid and not wanting to die, especially after witnessing every single one of her comrades, former friends before the war, die gruesome, horrifying deaths. It was too much, the pressure nearly broke her.

She only could hold onto her thoughts of her sister. Her sister, who was too young to volunteer or be drafted. Her sister, who was safe. She wrote letters, every day, and she pray to god that they’d make it to Agnès, and she’d pray to god that she’d survive the war and make it home, and she’d pray to god that she wouldn’t come home, to a mortar shell, in place of her house and sister.

The war eventually ended, after so many years. She was dishonourably discharged, stripped of her right to vote, not that she had it to begin with back in the 1910s & 1920s. She returned home, and her prayers were answered. Her house was safe, her sister was safe, but she was no longer a little girl. She could barely even recognize Marianne, not that Marianne could recognize herself either, all that was left was Sentinel. Agnès was already a teen, about to graduate high school. She was now distant, her memory of Sentinel slightly faded and forgotten, and she had her own place to stay, with a boyfriend to not feel lonely. It broke Sentinel’s heart, but she knew it was best for her sister if she didn’t try to nudge her way back into a life that she didn’t fit in any longer.

How could she get any lower than this. She still had the house, but all of her veteran benefits had been stripped due to her ‘crimes’. She had enough money to float around for a while, but that never lasts, not for anyone. What could she do, pray? Maybe. It worked the first time. But her prayers took a lot longer to be answered. In that time, she fell into alcoholism, and it only soothed her the slightest bit.

One day, stumbling into church late at night, slightly tipsy with tears rolling down her eyes, she met you. The kindest soul she ever met. You offered her a helping hand in her time of greatest need, and she could never repay you for it. However, you never asked for repayment. You became her anchor in life. A reason beside a sister who barely remembers her, to keep living.

That was years ago. Sentinel faded, and the fog that once clouded and erased Marianne had begun to clear thanks to you. She became a successful couturier, and you helped write papers for the news. You two were happy.

Marianne slowly wakes up, pushing herself off of the bed, her nightgown loosely hanging onto her body while the early sun from the window makes her shine like pale gold. Her finger tips, some of her cheeks and earlobes had petrified over night, but it didn’t bother her. All she did was look to you, and smile, showering you in silent appraisal that hopefully wouldn’t wake you. Her fingers traced your face.

“Tu es si belle, mon amour. So beautiful. So lovely.”