For centuries, a small town, hidden deep within the outer forests, provided comfort for the elite of Rousseau, France. They went about their day, unaware of the horrible conditions that plagued the less fortunate. Blind, to the men who tortured the women, made them slaves for their own pleasures, they gleefully went about their business. The slaves bore no self-esteem, for they knew if they spoke out they would surely meet their demise. But there was one, one who dared forsake the unspoken oath, the one who dared to break the silence. Jocelyne Joubert, a strong determined woman, unafraid of the consequences, spoke her mind among the men who had come to the town to claim their next victims. And in the rumble of voices crying for her death, she saw her revenge.

to be continued…..

Part One

©2016 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo: Pixabay

Her spirit lingered, much like the mist that covered the sacred ground of the fallen. They were scattered among the mundane, the ones with no name, who were buried haphazardly among the royals. She was neither. She was free to roam, free to frighten those who thought themselves better. On nights like these, she would make her way out of the graveyard, between the headstones, watching them fall to pieces as she snaked her way through. One touch and she could end them all, but she preferred to play. Callously, entering houses, knocking over fine antiques, without a care, she wreaked her havoc among the living. Children ran, women screamed and men cowered, yet they could not see her, they only felt her wrath as she slipped by. And as the sunlight approached, and darkness began to fade, she would make her way back to her surreptitious place, buried among the dead….

….But this time she wasn’t alone.

Should I continue?  Or leave as is?  I’ll let you decide 🙂

©2016 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo: Pixabay