A Question of Integrity and Loyalties

Madeline-Clair took her time in heading towards Corvus Darrow’s office. She was early by all accounts; ready to meet with him and discuss whatever it was that needed addressing. She was silent; all but the gentle click of heels against the cold marble floor. It was a deliberate motion of course, all a part of the act. To glance at Madeline was to glance at meticulous grooming and an obvious need for organization. Not a hair was out of place atop her head, not a single thread loose from her clothing. There was no trace of unnecessary gaudy materials as most would see on the Pure-Bloods still able to cling to their families name and fortune. Madeline had been taught the difference between new and old money; that difference that showed modesty and taste rather than extravagance and the outlandish. True wealth did not need attention, did not need to be recognized as better than any other. After all, when one had wealth or their life there was no need to flaunt it, was there?

Madeline had chosen to dress in white this eve, a color her mother had always encouraged the young girl to wear when she was still alive. It was a color that symbolized purity and cleanliness. By all accounts, if you could fault Madeline’s appearance in the public eyes, you deserved a measure of praise. She was very careful about how others perceived her, very careful about the impression she gave. As such, she had denied herself many of the simple pleasures so many others of her kind indulged in. Unless asked or the situation called for it, Madeline would not use magic, would not shop for her own potion ingredients, and would never visit a hospitality establishment while in the public eye. At times, some of her closer friends had commented that it was difficult to distinguish between the really Madeline-Claire, and what Madeline wanted to show. But those of an intelligent crop would understand that they were both Madeline. Since her husband’s death, she had lost the majority of herself… reigned herself to the tedium of living and avoiding the exhausting malicious tongues of common folk.

Her flimsy but well crafter dress was held tight against her form with a tensely strung corset that accentuated her sensual curves. The color and fit had been done so to make her covering look as if it were built into the dress, rather than a separate article. It was not a fact most would glimpse however, as her form was covered by a thick tailor-made hooded-cloak. She let the hood of her cloak fall away to reveal clear ice-blue eyes, platinum blonde curls and a complexion that shone with a healthy glow. Her makeup was perfectly in place so that not a single eye lash dare wander from its set place. She was too young to yet have wrinkles, but too old to be considered truly youthful. Yet, underneath it all, there was a sense of defeat, of pliancy in her eyes. To gaze into them was to see her lack of personal ambition, to know that if one were to push her, she would bend rather than break. That was not to say she was weak, far from it; merely that Madeline had yet to find something she could commit herself to fully. She had yet to reassign her loyalties and convince herself to revive the strength her convictions once held. To stare into Madeline’s eyes was to stare into broken waters no longer enthusiastic enough to rage or ripple as they once had…

Perhaps it was why Corvus had summoned her here today. Perhaps it was his plan to convince her of their righteousness, to bring forth in her some form of passionate reply. The idea itself brought a pang of hope to her heart. She did long for something to put all manner of faith in, something she could build on to better her children’s futures. It was her hope, her silent hope, that Corvus could offer her some such revival. She had been a part of his organization for some time now, but Madeline supposed, perhaps it was not in her heart to dedicate herself to something. She did as she was told, wished to please Corvus if she could. But still… there was nothing keeping her there bar the fear she had for her children. She would leave without fear for her own life if given the choice, but she was more worried for what Corvus may do to her younglings should she abandon his organization…

Corvus had known her husband; he had been a part of the Purist Society Inner Circle after all. She wondered if the news of his death had saddened him as it had she; but Madeline doubted it, she doubted anyone had felt the sting of his passing as strongly as she. But where Jean-Claude had left off, Madeline had picked up. She had assumed his duties, joined with Corvus and did what she hoped would have made her late husband happy. Truthfully, she had found Corvus rather pleasant, closer to her own demeanor than that of her spontaneous and passionate husband. But still, it was hard to judge what Jean-Claude would have wanted. His actions had never made perfect sense to her honestly, merely confused and kept her guessing. But even with his passing, she had yet to find another to take his place as the center of her world, affections and loyalty. It was her hope to find someone one day, whether they were a friend or lover did not matter. She merely wished to know they were hers and she was theirs, wished to have someone she could call her own, yet be owned by at the same time. She supposed it was a strange concept for most to handle… but then again, Madeline had always been a strange woman.

Gracefully, Madeline-Clair revealed a small delicate hand and rapped gently against the door in three consecutive motions. She made no attempt to speak, merely assumed if he was in he would summon her, and if not, she would wait until he was. After all, patience was a ladies finest quality in her eyes.

Corvus sat in his study scribbling furiously. At the sound of the light rapping, Corvus paused and unconsciously looked up. The door had been enchanted to reveal whomever knocked on it. The form of the widowed Ms. Augustine materialised upon the door, slightly more obscured than a mirror's reflection but yet certainty the young French woman. Corvus returned his quill to it's proper stand before rising. A wave of his hand and the door opened on it's master's order.

An amicable smile was in place as he faced her. "Ms. Augustine, what a pleasure." Corvus approached to meet his female guest with the customary greeting of lightly pecking on either cheek.

Her eyes widened slightly, and flickered to focus on Corvus Darrow as the door opened. It was not fear that had caused the motion, rather caution. As she had leant all men of power were to be studied with curiosity, vigilance and concern. After all, such men were like snakes: beautiful to behold yet deadly if one was to make a wrong move.

She returned Corvus’ polite greeting, a hand on his right upper arm to steady her motions. For such a greeting, Madeline-Claire could respect Corvus; for to bend so easily to the customs of others was a difficult task indeed. It was one she had to emulate daily, as life as the Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation often leant itself to dealing with foreign Ministry members and their strange little customs. She had not been called Ms. Augustine for a time now; even those she worked with seem to understand her reasons for not wanting to be reminded of the heartbreak that was Jean-Claude’s death. But it was… pleasant, this eve, to hear her old name and be remember as the wife of a man Corvus had lost, rather than merely another face in the crowd of would-be supporters.

Madeline allowed a small courteous smile to grace her lips as she looked at her companion, “As always, the pleasure is all mine, Monsieur Darrow.” His name felt strange rolling across her tongue. It did not lend itself poetically to a French accent, but perhaps he would not be bothered by it as she was. After all, not every word sounded beautiful coming from the lips of an English-man either.

“I hope our meeting has not disrupted your matters of importance this eve.” She said in her docile but kind natured tone. It was not in Madeline’s nature to disturb or interrupt. But Madeline supposed it was a time he had agreed to and she should not feel too uncomfortable if his own matters interfered with theirs. After all, they could always reschedule if it were necessary.