I Remember, Once Upon A Memory [Camille]

Camille was not knowing what to suspect, she'd been at Riverdale for a few days at most and she was still at sea. Her roommates were polite and nice enough, yet Camille still kept guarded. She'd never moved before, much less to a foreign country so varied from her own. She was still slightly embarrassed by her accented English, she spoke the language fluently but with a French flair. Oh, how she missed Provence! Her friends and the lovely centre-ville, the scent of the air, and caress of the wind; Camille was more than a little homesick.

Clutching her books tighter, Camille tip toed through the entry connecting the dormitories to the main building. The halls were mostly vacant, everyone off doing something else. And where was she headed? To her dorm; since arriving at Riverdale Camille hadn't bothered to socialize, she showered, ate, went to class, came back, studied, and slept. It was menial and boring. Camille didn't trust herself in this new place yet, so how could she possibly trust anyone else?

Well, there was that one incident. But she hoped no one had noticed, it was just a dream vision, nothing too terrible; just her watching Paris leave, it was always the same. Camille worried that if feeling so attached to Paris was healthy, because after all, he was dead. Upon waking, she realized that she had tear tracks down her face - someone most likely noticed that.

Pushing the key into the lock, she nudged open the door with her shoulder and smiled at Alison, who had the tv on. "Hey Alison," she commented, discarding her textbooks and papers on her bed. Now what to do? Camille could always do her homework, but she was already ahead anyway. She hummed softly, an old tune her mother used to sing; the melody was soothing to her. With a turn, she decided to finish unpacking her books. Settling down in front of a box, she grabbed a handful of books and placed them on the shelf, Les Miserables, Tristan et Iseult, The Count of Monte Cristo, Candide, Le Petit Prince, and The Three Musketeers.

Camille admittedly, did not know much about Alison. She was aware that her roommate was a freshman and Camille guessed she was involved in that club whose acronym she couldn't recall. Alison appeared to be very involved at Riverdale; turning slightly Camille saw a book on the girl's bed and smiled, "Were you studying?"


Word Count: 411
To:Mandee/Alison
Notes: I hope it wasn't too awful!

Camille nodded at Alison's question, "Are you in a French class now, or were you taught as a child?" Camille wondered at what book she might suggest for her roommate, "Maybe you'd like Le Petit Prince," she mused happily, "But my personal favorite is The Three Musketeers; it's on the longer side, but such an excellent read." Going back to her box, she retrieved her Greek volumes, mostly historical books, but some were stories in her native tongue. Her parents hadn't asked how Camille knew the old language, but encouraged her curiosity and enrolled her in a few classes. She was fluent in her mother tongue, sporadically she took notes in a combination of Greek and French, only discernible to her.

With a sigh, she flipped open an older volume, The Iliad and smiled. She would never tire of that book, some things were distorted of course, but the basic frame was correct. Camille had managed to track down a copy on holiday in Greece; she wanted her first copy to be in the intended language. Camille remembers it all so vividly; the warm, misty breeze, the wonderful views, and the exhilarating feeling that she had walked this land once before, albeit by a different name. She chuckled at Alison's explanation, "Oh, I'm just unpacking over here, tying to get all settled."

Picking up another volume, she paused, on the cover was a sketch of what was supposed to be Paris; they never could get his nose right, but the set of his eyes was correct as was the slope of his jaw. The room had returned to its prior silence, say for the TV in the background. Placing the book in her lap, with a sad smile she turned to Alison, "This may sound, as you Americans say, weird," the word felt foreign on her tongue, but she continued, "But do you ever get the feeling that you're missing someone or something?" Camille averted her gaze back to the novel, her hand glossing over the cover thoughtfully.

All her life, Camille had felt a keen sense of loss as if something just wasn't right. Her Visions, for a start, didn’t even show Paris until she learned who he was; then a tidal wave of Visions came, him as a child playing on the cool marble floor, the two of them eating side by side joking and smiling… Camille shook her head, "It is a silly question, we hardly even know each other." Her hand laid the volume on the shelf carefully, "Forget I said anything.” She turned back to the bookcase and once more, placed her various novels on the shelf; all the while, her mind grasping at her recollections of Paris, his kindness and his brotherly love.

Word count: 458
To: Mandee/Alison
Notes:

Camille smiled, "It’s about a Prince who travels the galaxy and meets people, some good, and some bad.” She grabs the book and places it on her bed, “It was published in 1943; I adore it, it’s a lovely book really.” Turning back to her box of books, she reveals more literature; there is no such thing as too much reading in Camille’s opinion. She cataloged the few plays she owns next to her sheet music and song books and then moved onto her school books. Done with her library for now, she stands dusting herself off and goes to recline on her bed. It’s all too comfortable and Camille sighs into her pillow, and rolls over staring at the bunk above her own. She’s plastered it with photos and mementos; Camille and her parents in front of the Acropolis, her first painting, a crown of dried flowers and ribbons, and finally the last photo taken of her before she moved to Riverdale. Her father snapped it while she was unaware, staring longingly at the Eiffel Tower, her hair was pulled back in a low pony tail and the wind blew a few stands into her face, there was a slight smile on her face, and Camille looked happy.

Camille turned to Alison and smiled at her comment, “Really?” It had already occurred to Camille that she had possibly already said too much, she’d have to be more careful about that. Casually, Camille hoisted her bag up on to the bed and rummaged through for her sketchbook. She’d done the reading for her classes already and needed something to fill the time. Sketching was soothing for her, granted it wasn’t like painting and you couldn’t over with charcoal like you could with paint. Camille cocked her head at a work in progress, wrinkling her nose in thought. It was an all right piece, just a landscape of Riverdale High. Flipping to a new page she mused at what she could possibly draw.

“I suppose it is rather common, isn’t it?” Camille replied; glad to know that she didn’t seem strange because of her previous question. It was a moment of weakness for her, and it would not happen again. At least, if she could help it. “I’m probably worrying about nothing, I’ll get over it in a few days I’m sure.” Grabbing her pencil she began to sketch the outline of her chosen figure; she was feeling a bit nostalgic and had decided on Paris and Hector. If she was feeling up to it, maybe she’d put herself in there somehow. Once the basic outlines were in place, Camille honed in on the more difficult features on the faces. Paris always appeared to be at ease, while Hector was standing straight his eyes focused on something out of view.

Camille’s visions rarely included Hector; he was the oldest son of Priam and Hecuba and the commander of the Trojan army. The years between them made it nearly impossible for Cassandra and Hector to bond, that and he thought she was insane and didn’t believe her visions. Part of Camille resents that loss, it was as if he didn’t even bother getting to know her; but the reasonable part of her says that Hector never got the chance too. She stopped her sketch and laid the pencil down, the day she witnessed Hectors mutilated body being dragged around the Trojan walls was a hot one. The winds didn’t bother to sigh, yet Achilles killed Hector without a second thought and proceeded to bastardize the traditions of her kingdom by harboring the body.

Camille pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily, she loved Paris and Hector, and truly she had. But she warned Paris about what was to come of this, of him stealing fair Helen from Menelaus. She was beginning to have a headache, which could only mean… A burst of light flashed before her eyes: ”Your lovely bounty will be the death of this kingdom,” she turned to face her brother, “All of Troy will burn and many will die. I beg of you dear brother, please do not go for Helen.” Cassandra sank to her knees before Paris, tears streaming down her face, “Surely you can find another suitable bride? Father, he loves you dearly, I know, but he is ailing brother, each day he grows weaker and I fear…” She swallowed and shut her eyes, “I fear your conquest and the wrath of Agamemnon and Menelaus may kill him."

At this, Paris kneels beside her and brushes the hair from her eyes, “Sister, I know you possess this gift, but could it possibly be wrong? How could love bring such the vile curse of war and destruction?” He places a kiss to her forehead, “Helen is most beautiful and kind Cassandra, I hope that you can come to love her as a sister. But, before I go,” He’s facing her now, face full of love and trepidation, “Please tell me that none of this will come to pass; the war, death, and burning of Troy.” He laughs softly, “One word from you sis, and I will let Helen be as she is and sulk in misery for the rest of my days.”

She shuts her eyes and breathes out a sob, Paris is holding her close and murmuring kind and loving words, but she hears none of it. ‘Achilles,’ she remembers, ‘Achilles will come.’ With a vehement shake of her head, she pulls away from her brother and does the best to smile, “All will be right Paris, and I will love Helen as a dear sister. Your happiness matters greatly to me, and you will have bliss with your new bride.” She wasn’t lying to him, Paris and Helen would have bliss, and a few days worth at least; and then the fallout would come. Perhaps she could convince mother and father to see reason before the arrival of Achilles and the death of her kingdom.”

Camille felt as if she had been drowning, and coughed while scrambling for purchase. That… Well, her having a vision was probably a bit more apparent and obvious than she would have liked.

Word Count: 1,034
To: Mandee/Alison
Notes: Oops! That was rather long, wasn't it?

Camille gulped in air with huge breaths. She could scarcely hear Alison, but she looked concerned; all she could do was calm herself down and think up some sort of explanation. “I’m,” she began but was interrupted by a cough, “I’m fine, I just zoned out. That happens sometimes,” she grabbed her water bottle from the side table and took a sip. After satisfying her thirst, Camille set it back down and muttered to herself, “They’re never that bad…”[/b] She wondered why she had that reaction coming out of the Vision. She coughed again, clearing her throat and addressed Alison, “I’m sorry if I frightened you, I meant no harm by it.” Camille methodically gathered up her sketchbook and charcoal, placing them safely in her bag. The girl on alert; usually her Visions had no dramatic effects, she merely zone out of one world and focused on the other.

She had, as of late, felt a higher energy whenever she did have a Vision. It was as if there air was statically charged with something. It was strange, to say the least. Camille was wound up about the entire situation though; ever since arriving at Riverdale she found that she couldn’t relax because of it. It was unnerving and embarrassing. She chanced a look to Alison, “I’m fine, really I am.” Her small smile of reassurance did little to validate her claim. Camille picked up the book she was currently reading, and flipped open to her bookmark. At times like these, in lieu of an explanation Camille usually just occupies herself with something else. It was cowardly and she knew that; but what was she supposed to do? Simply say, 'I just had a Vision, no big deal. Also, Cassandra of Troy, you’ve heard of her? Yeah, well that was me in my past life.'

Uh, no. Alison might ask questions, well she probably would. And Camille would come up with a logical explanation for them. I was thinking, I fell asleep sitting up, something to that effect. It worried her that she would be found out and institutionalized or taken away for experimentation. Maybe she’d seen too many X-Men films. What if she was the only one like this? Or, what if there were more like her; not with the Visions, but who had memories of their past lives? It was preposterous. But maybe the others like her would explain why the air was so heavily charged. Too many questions, not enough reading. Once again, Camille lost herself a world she could control.

Word Count: 428
To: Mandee/Alison
Notes: None

Camille sighed at her inability to convince Alison that everything was all right. She was always a horrible liar. She continued to glance through her book, attempting to focus on the characters dialogue. She’d only made it past a few pages when Alison asked what she was thinking about. “Well currently I’m wondering why I can’t focus on this book or much of anything right now.” She puffed a sigh and closed the novel setting it back on the side table. Her headache was slowly dwindling away when she realized the time; it was a quarter after nine and if she left to shower now, she’d have enough time to blow dry her hair before going to sleep. Granted, she could do that in the morning; but the warm water would be soothing and relax her wound up muscles.

“I think I’m going to shower and come up with an answer to your question.” She got up and found her shower caddy with her toiletries. Grabbing her towels and slipping on her robe, Camille unlocked the door and walked into the small bathroom. Setting down the caddy, she hung up her towels and turned on the tap. Waiting for the water to heat up, Camille hung up her robe as well and then stepped into the stall. While soaping up, she began to think that Alison would figure her out quite soon. The girl seemed to have a few assumptions already mapped out and it was only a matter of time until she confronted Camille. Reaching for her razor and shaving cream, she hesitated; would Alison confront her? And if so, what would she want to know?

Camille vowed to keep tabs on herself from now on; she mustn’t let anything else slip. She began to shave her legs, and let her mind wander. This inevitably led to her thinking about Paris and her Visions; she’d reasoned that she couldn’t ask ‘what if…’ about her time as Cassandra anymore. Her refusal of Apollo granted her the gift of foresight, but the curse that no one would believe her. Camille knew that, she did, but it didn’t change her questions about it. Setting the razor aside, Camille felt a keen prick of pain on her calf. Glancing down she saw a stream of blood, of course she would cut herself shaving. Grabbing some soap with a shake of her head, she cleaned the wound. With a quick wash of her hair, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off.

Hopping out of the bathroom (she didn’t want to put pressure on her injured leg) Camille located her first aid kit and dug around for Neosporin and a band-aid. Ironically enough, she only had Hello Kitty bandages but figured they would do just fine. She cleaned the cut and covered it with the band-aid. Looking to Alison she sighed, “I still don’t have an answer for you,” she conceded, “I’m not really thinking about much, which is probably the issue.” Taking her hair down from the towel, Camille combed through the wet stands and applied a serum. “Well, that’s not entirely true…” she murmured turning to her roommate, “I was thinking about the Trojan War.”

With all that said and done, Camille grabbed her blow dryer and plugged it in. She hoped to clear her head for a bit before Alison could respond. Turning on the device, she flipped her head upside-down to dry the underside of her hair. The heat from the dryer and whrrr of it was nice and provided a solace of sorts.

Word Count: 596
To: Mandee/Alison
Notes: None