The path-way cluttered, with tree branches, leaves, old carriage parts, covering the dirt road. Our, my mother, sister, our three friends and I’s, carriage was rickety and not to sturdy, especially with the extra weight on the back. My mother complained and begged not to take the back roads to our new home, but the driver decided it would be safest. You see we were shipped from France to here, New Orleans so that the French bloodline could stay strong; the young girls marry New Orleans men and carry it on that way. My sister and I were chosen, along with one of my friends, everyone else came as a helper. As we reached the plantation home, I realized just how right our driver had been. It looked as though the entire town was there in the yard, waiting to catch a glimpse of the well-known Casket girls. That must seem very odd to be referred as, but all French girls traveled with caskets connected to the back of the carriages, which is not something many enjoy seeing, they believe we are bringing evil things, and not a single person will hear us on the fact that they just carry our luggage.


The plantation was magnificent, white with pillars and huge windows spaced out perfectly around the whole house, I swear it truly I was in love. Through the tall wooden doors, I took off, rushing to grab the first able looking hand, telling them exactly what I needed. My family, Murielle my mother, Sidonie my sister, Camille, Adora, and Bellina my friends, followed closely behind. Showing us to the room we were meant to prepare for the ball in, they left, leaving us to work. Shimmering my dark brown almost black hair laid straight while my mother brushed through the thick locks. My dark brown eyes looked to my beautiful sister, her dark hair, curly and a mess could not be brushed, her blue eyes met mine and we shared a look of sympathy toward the other for our hair was being ripped from our heads. Hours later I was done getting around, my hair pulled back with a clip, lips made darker with red, and my tan skin popped from the drastic contrast with my lavender dress. Bellina, Sidonie and I, Pascaline stood tall beside the other, each ranging from 5’7”- 5’9” in height. We were escorted to a carriage and sent off, the masquerade a few paths down.


I swear on my fourth husband’s life that this home was the best home I had ever seen, the garden full with roses, pansies, and zero weeds, a gigantic balcony off the front of the brown brick plantation house. I stumbled but once, hoping no one caught that I almost went face first into dirt. Luckily I do not think anyone did. Strutting arm in arm through the door the three of us stopped, instantly, never had we seen so much drinking, smoking, food, dancing, it was beautiful though the look of horror that flashed across Bellina’s face was not missed, I did not wish to embarrass her further and let it go. Left, right, then left again I surveyed the room, my chocolate eyes instantly darkening, not only did this foreign place have gorgeous homes, and fun, but also gorgeous men, all were taller, darker, far more handsome than those in France. But this man, this one jaw-dropping man was the halt of my husband search. His chiseled bone structure, thick lips, brown hair styled back, compassion shone bright in his dark eyes and white smile. Pulling away from my dear friends, I excused myself walking curiously, carefully toward the six something beaut. Eyes meeting I saw his breath catch in his throat my lips graced with a smirk, thick eyebrow raising, daring this stranger to look anywhere but where he was. Catching the running breathe he smiled still stunned and odd looking. I walked closer,
1.“Bonjour monsieur, mon nom est Pascaline, je me demandais si vous voulez me faire confiance avec le vôtre.” I asked sickly sweet, now I really wanted him to ask to talk; I was quite in the mood for talking.


“Hello love, I would love to dance.” His voice I knew would become my weakness. Grinning arm in arm we walk to the dance floor, to begin we start with a century old waltz. Five songs later he finally asks to talk. Making our way outside to the garden, I find Sidonie, shooting a do-not look. The night is chilled and it masks my already cool skin. Talking, and blabbering, giggling, and chuckling we stayed chest to chest as we were, until he asked about France, the caskets, asking me why we bring them any and everywhere we go.
I tensed, “Do you girls bring what they say you bring?” he asked, voice raising.
2.“Dépend qui "ils" sont et ce qu'ils disent que nous apportons.” I sneered
Staggering back at the new face I bared, teeth becoming points, the veins covering my face growing, he whispered lowly, scared, “Yes, yes you are what they say, how?” Shocked I stopped backing the terrified man, face like a child and acting as one as well, I stayed stopped, unmoving looking questionably at the odd man, the odd man that acted as odd as he looked. So very odd, everything, the place, odd, the people, odd, the foods, odd, I began to realize that this man, Jeremy Cole, was as bored as I was in life, all he wanted was fun, all I needed was fun. We could travel, fall in love, get married, live, forever, together, it was perfect.


Suddenly he looked, normal, and shocked me for the third time that night, “Could you be any more perfect,” my face was now back to the plain one previously worn, “honestly, your face is the most perfect, you're an angel sent from above, you are the stars that grace the night, I would love to spend the rest of my days with the stars, I don't think I would miss the sun very much.” The path-way on our way back was not cluttered, with tree limbs or leaves, it instead was clean and clear, making it very easy to walk back to the masquerade ahead, still in full swing.


1. Hello sir, my name is Pascaline, I was wondering if you want to trust me with yours.
2. Depends on who" they "are and what they say we bring.