The faint footsteps of Manon and Alistair echoed off of the limestone church walls- sending a cold shiver down Manon's spine. Hesitant to observe who was in their presence, Manon kept her gaze fixated on the altar that was enveloped in grandiose arrangments of lilac columbine and white asphodel flowers. Her breathing becoming increasingly heavier with each step. The overwhelming aroma of flowers didn't make it any easier for her to breathe. She could hear the reverberation of her heartbeat pulsating inside her ears. Drawing closer to the altar, her throat began to tighten up at the sight of it... Placed on a tarnished silver easel, staring back at her. The picture of Mama and Papa that Manon had picked out earlier for the dismal occasion.
Manon was absentmindedly gazing at the photograph. 'What would Mama think of us now? Does she pity us, immortals?' Manon wasn't aware of how long she was lost in her train of thought until she was startled by a gentle tug on her sleeve.
"Manon," Alistair murmured. Manon turned to face Alistair who was now guiding them to their seats in the front pew.
Manon took her seat next to Papa. His gentle honey eyes looked up at her as she placed a gentle kiss on his cold stout cheek.
"Max..." Papa's voice quavered with tears in his eyes. He hadn't called her by that name since she was a child. When Manon was two years old, she had a difficult time pronouncing her name. Every time she would attempt to say her name, the words Max came out instead of Manon. Papa found it amusing, therefore he began calling her Max as a nickname. Manon didn't allow any of her family members to call her by that nickname, not even Mama. It was a special bond shared only between her and Papa.
"I'm here, Papa. I'm here." Manon half-smiled as she held his hand tight with reassurance.
Manon headed fast-moving footsteps making their way towards the front pew. Underwhelmed to catch sight of Oliver and Etienne seated next to Alistair. Manon narrowed her eyes at them in a pitying glance. With his meticulous dark brows furrowed, Etienne's disconcertingly gray eyes anchored to her gaze. It was like staring into a mirror, if you didn't know the Maxwell's you would presume Etienne and Manon were twins, despite the five-year age difference. Their mannerisms were more or less the same. There was something rare and transcendent about their peculiar appearance. They had Mama's porcelain olive skin, straight noses that slightly pointed up at the end, and prominent hollowed cheekbones, it's like they were carved from the same stone. The only feature setting them apart was their eye color. Manon had her Papa's brilliant and deep-set hazel eyes that glimmered with specs of sweet and fiery honey, luminescent greens, and limpid golden orbs.
Etienne's medium-length ravenous black disheveled hair now fell alongside his beseeching eyes. Manon shook her head in disapproval, she wanted to sympathize with him, regardless of how many times he's put himself in this position. Etienne's heart was too pure to turn his back on his big brother, his best friend, but it was time for him to comprehend his own limits. Manon wasn't cleaning up his chaos this time.
Appearing from a heavy wooden vestal concealed on the side of the altar, Father Aldrich emerged. Papa rose to his feet, and the congregation followed. Still holding tightly onto Papa's hand, Manon lay her head on his poised square shoulder, midnight black strands of her tousled hair lay draped over Papa's shoulder. Intermittent unsteady patters of raindrops were heard inside as the angelic church choir voices harmonized with the earthly elements outside.
Being inquisitive, Manon discreetly turned her head to see if she recognized anyone. She caught sight of a few peers from Yale and a childhood friend. Manon wasn't the easiest person to become acquainted with, she was reserved, callous and rarely trusted anyone who crossed her path, except for Bowman Cooper.
Bowman Cooper was the lone survivor, the sole person who could identify with Manon. Like Manon, Bowman is an immortal. Bowman's family comes from a superlative line of deities- one, in particular, descended from the Greek goddess Hebe known as the goddess of youth. Hebe was the youngest of the gods and responsible for keeping them eternally young. Her role as a Goddess was cupbearer to the gods, serving them ambrosia that made your taste buds salivate because of the sweetness, notes of mouthwatering sweet and sticky honey, and fresh watermelon. It was the influence over all eternal youth and had the ability to restore youth to mortals.
As a child, Manon knew better than to ask questions when the Cooper's were over for dinner routinely every Tuesday night. The evenings with the Cooper's were like bacchanals. The passing of a sumptuous golden gauntlet filled with sweetened nectar being passed from adult to adult, occasionally witnessing her older brothers Percival and Francis drinking from the mysterious chalice. The revelry of the night songs and dance quickly evolved into the early sunrises. Manon reasoned it as the equivalent of celebrating life like it was a normal thing for individuals to do. Both Manon and Bowman were left feeling elated after those eccentric nights- like they were floating on clouds. When Manon became of age to partake in the drinking from the golden gauntlet, she soon registered that the Cooper family was aiding the Maxwell family to sustain their youth.
Manon was revived from her memories when she heard Francis at the altar presiding over Mama's eulogy. He was, without fail, the bravest out of all the siblings. Francis had been through so much as a child, but he held them all together like glue. Like Mama.
Francis's voice had begun fading as Manon attentively immersed herself in the sunlight that was forcefully trying its hardest to peak through the ornate stained-glass windows. A fragment of a rainbow quickly appeared, but soon vanished. Manon sensed a sudden shift of mystified energy inside the church, overwhelmed by her senses, a cold breeze caused her to shiver. Whipping her arms up and down to get rid of the goosebumps. Manon's ears filled with a high-pitched clamor followed by overwhelming tormented whispers that only she could hear. Manon couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The faint creak of a church door caused Manon to turn instantaneously, catching a glimpse of the back of a long black trench coat exiting the building.
Etienne grief-stricken, hanging his head in solace, was immediately overcome with a twinge of panic. Head shooting up in wariness glanced toward Manon like a magnet. His inquiring gaze heeded Manon's attention. He sensed a wave of alarm in her demeanor, but he couldn't seize her attention.
"Miserere Nobis, have peace among us." croaked a remorsefully hoarse Father Aldrich, uplifting his wrinkly palms to the heavens above, then placed his hands in a benevolent prayer position towards his heart and bowed his head in ghostly silence. In lieu, the church choir commenced in a harmonious sonata, indicating Mama's ten-year memorial liturgy had come to an end. Papa squeezed Manon's slender hand, startling her out of her stupor as they followed Father Aldrich leading the procession out of the church, followed by five distraught brothers.
Setting foot outside the church walls resuscitated Manon, her vitality no longer suppressed. Inhaling a deep bellied breath, her lungs gravely filled with a dampened earthly smell lingering in the air from a sporadic rainfall that re-awakened her keen senses. A motorcade of sleek black sedans parallel- parked along the street, which could only mean one thing. Manon's eyes glistened like a famished beast, quick to veer in the direction of a predator. Her fiery eyes landing upon Hamish Marsh, a Council Delegate. A broad-built man with wearisome features who was Senior Associate to the President of The Council, Cyril Cartwright.
Papa was conscious of Manon's predatory gaze fixated on Hamish Marsh. He squeezed Manon's shoulder with consolation as he walked over to acknowledged Mr. Marsh with kind regard while 'The Sinister Six' as The Counsel labeled the Maxwell clan, kept an observant eye on Papa's brief conversation.
"I wonder what they're talking about?" A nervous Oliver pestered rubbing his neck while pacing back and forth.
Manon's lips pursed tightly, jaws clenched. Arms crossed tightly over her chest. The eager chatter of her brothers overpowered her concentration.
"Be quiet all of you!" hissed Manon attempting to undertake her focus on the conversation, but it was too late, Papa was already returning. Manon's nostrils flared, her hands now balled into fists.
"Percy, Mr. Marsh would like a word." Papa indicated as he held out his arm towards a pitch-black sedan.
"Yes, Papa," Percival remarked unfaltering, turning up the collar of his steel grey tweed overcoat. He sensed this conversation was coming sooner than later.
"Please, Mr. Maxwell. My driver will escort you and your family back home. I won't keep Percival long." Hamish assured Papa.
Repulsed at the sight of watching her brother drive off with a wickedly vile man infuriated Manon. Sitting in the car of a Council delegate inflamed Manon, exasperated with anger, she could feel her cheeks turning scarlet, her body seething with rage.
"Stop the car," commanded Manon. Without hesitation, the car came to a halt. Making a quick exit, Manon slammed the car door with haste, she had reached her boiling point. No one plucked up the courage to stop her.
Manon walked and walked until her irritate steps turned into distressful strides, her lips trembled as tears scorched her balmy cheeks. Manon settled herself against a brick wall petrified with overwhelm, a great sob escaped her as she covered her face with shaking hands. Gasping for air as gut-wrenching sobs tore through her chest. Manon mumbled incoherently through her hands as she choked on her sobs...