Soul Eater.
Prologue. Paris, France. The sun was beating down on the pavements in Paris, as a girl was sitting under a tree in the Champ de Mars. The girl was 15 years old, and next to her, sat a beaten old guitar. She sipped her coffee and nibbled her croissant, trying to savour it as much as she could, because she didn’t know when she’d get her next meal. After all, she was only a beggar. The coffee and croissant had come from a cafe, just down the road, where her only friend, Emmanuel, worked. But before we go any further, dear reader, I must tell you more about our main character, the girl, Monique. Monique had been abandoned at birth outside of a run down orphanage in the centre of Paris. At age 7, she ran away and bought a guitar with her life savings. She was caught, and hauled back to the orphanage, she was beaten on her arrival back to the orphanage, but was allowed to keep the guitar. At age 10, Monique attempted to run away again, and was only caught after a month when she was spotted trying to conceal herself in a cargo train heading to Italy. Again, she was hauled back to the orphanage and beaten by the orphanage owner, Ms Moreau. At age 13, Monique ran away again, with only her guitar, and a small rucksack of clothes. She cut her dark hair short and lined her eyes with black and wore red lipstick. She hasn’t been caught since. It has been 2 years since then, and Monique learned quickly how to survive on the streets. She first met Emmanuel when she was playing her guitar for change outside of the cafe where he worked, ‘The Cosmo Cafe’. He was sent to tell her to move by the cafe owner, Mr Rousseau. After Emmanuel told her that she couldn’t play outside of the cafe, Monique burst into tears, as she had already been told to move from 5 other previous cafes in Paris, and hadn’t made a single euro all of that day. Emmanuel felt sorry for her, and told her to wait while he got her a coffee and a croissant. Since that day, it’s been a weekly ritual for Monique to visit her friend and for him to steal her her usual black coffee a chocolate croissant. Though, because Monique could only visit her friend once a week, (because otherwise, Mr Rousseau would find out and report her to the police for busking without a licence.) Back in the present, dear readers, Monique was in a good mood. She had earned over 6 euros that day, and decided to treat herself. So she walked over to a little shop called ‘Music and more’ and walked in. The shop was empty except for the woman at the counter who glared at her as she browsed through the guitar plectrums and strings. Monique bought a new guitar plectrum that said had tiny writing on it that said ‘Musical Blood’ on it. The woman glared as she handed over the 1.50 euros and not a penny more. and walked out of the shop. She then walked back to the cosmo cafe and met Emmanuel just as he was finishing his shift. He smiled at her through the greasy cafe window and she blew him a kiss and winked. She saw him slip a huge cookie up his sleeve from the jar sitting on the counter. -A few things you need to know about Emmanuel- He was 16. He had a lopsided smile and floppy blonde hair. He lived in a tiny apartment with his mother in the town centre. He was about to die. ~ Monique smiled at him as he exited the little cafe. He took her guitar from her as they walked, as was the ritual. It was a few minutes before either of them spoke. ‘So, how was your day?’ Asked Monique, looking at him. She was almost as tall as him with her platform boots on. ‘It was okay, mon cherie, what about yours?’ He said, handing her the cookie and smiling as she nodded her thanks. ‘It was good, I made six fifty six today.’ She said, putting the cookie in her rucksack for later. ‘Good! Remember to save some of it this time, for an emergency.’ He advised her. They turned up towards the Eiffel Tower, and Monique noticed three people sitting outside of a cafe, dressed from head to toe in black. There was two boys and a girl, around her age. The girl was looking her up and down, as if sizing her up. One of the boys was staring at Emmanuel in a sinister way and the other boy had his back to them, but Monique could see that he was drinking a coffee. She suddenly felt an uncontrolable urge to go over and talk to the teens in black. She tugged on Emmanuel’s sleeve. ‘Do you know them?’ She asked him, gesturing to the teens. ‘No, but that girl looks as if she’s ready to fight with you, so I’m assuming that you do.’ He said. ‘No, I don’t, and I could say the same about that boy and the way he’s looking at you.’ Monique said, eyeing the girl back. She looked away and said something to the boy with his back to them. He turned. -A small visual of this moment- Emmanuel’s scream filled the warm, parisian air. His body turned into ash. ~ Monique’s first reaction was to scream. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Passers by were giving her dirty looks and tutting, but she couldn’t hear them, she was kneeling in the ash that used to be her best friend and sobbing and shaking violently. A shadow grew over her and she looked up to find the two boys and the girl looking down on her, their faces seemed to mock her. The girl grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up. Little did anyone know at this point, that this was the beginning of something tragic, beautiful, and wonderful. But first, there would be hate, lies, and some double crossing. But even before that, there would be a history lesson. ~
Life was hard, but Monique clung to her dream of getting rich over night from an inheritance from an unknown relative, or her parents finding her and taking her home. But for now, Monique lived on the river bank of the Seine, where she slept under the stars. It hadn’t always been pleasant, as many drunk men had tried to take advantage of her, and once her bag was raided as she was held with a knife at her throat, but she had nowhere to go, so she had trained herself to only sleep for an hour or two, and stare at the sky for the rest of the night.
That was when Monique saw her best, and only friend, die.
He fell to the ground, on his knees, clutching his heart, before curling up into the feotal position.
Nobody in Paris noticed except for Monique, and the teens in black.
‘Come with us, keep quiet, and you’ll live.’ She hissed in her ear.
One thing was for sure, dear readers.
Monique was on her way to doing great things, and we were coming along for the ride.
