"J'aime Paris dans le printemps,
J'aime Paris en automne,
J'aime Paris en hiver, quand il bruine,
J'aime Paris en été, quand il grésille,
J'aime le moment ev'ry de Paris,
Moment d'Ev'ry de l'année.
Je Paris, pourquoi, l'OH, pourquoi j'aiment-ils aiment-ils Paris?
Puisque mon amour est près."
Joan d'arc found herself singing above her party guests of the French nobility. Clad in her black silk dress, singing her heart out at the elegant ball announcing her engagement to a dressed suitor of the Engle line, Monsieur Julien Filippe de Genova, she sparkled and shone above the bubbling champagne and brilliant decadency.
In the modern age France found itself the only major power with a Monarchial system; beleagued by enemies such as the Germans, Romans and English she had not felt the time to undo the shackles of corruption and dynastic leadership. But France remained among the greatest countries in the world due to her expansive colonial empire, largely located in the African territories of Cameroun, Cote d'Ivoire and Madagascar.
As the crowd erupted in loving adoration of their beautiful Queen, she stepped down from the grand piano she perched atop while singing. Gently clasping the hand of Julien Filippe, and raising the champagne glass in honor of him, they pecked for the crowd.
Mixed in the crowd were not only political allies but political enemies. An enigmatic group of straggling megalomaniacs, the French hierarchy had found its strengths and weaknesses in itself. Family houses pushed one another down to move ahead of the last, grasping at the straws of corrupted power.
The gilded government, so had it been termed, now laid eyes upon the new couple and the House of Genova's great prowess. Genova itself had many political enemies, as did Joan. The green envy that painted the faces of every nobleman in France was tonight masked by the jubilee of marriage, but in time the faces would rear their ugly heads.
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The party moved past the alcohol and to the dinner table, as delicacies of filet mingion were served to each black tie attired Frenchman. Gently nibbling on their dinners in the snobbish way that so surrounded "etiquette," the hate seemed to be felt by each of the growing couples.
Francesca Marie, a young debutante of the House of Bretagne, had once been engaged to the young Julien Filippe. She wore her hair up tonight, curled in snakes around bobbypins and hair glitz, that sparkled as a crown above her tanned skin. Her draping dress, sparling as much as her head, followed behind her as she walked and made her deceptive elegance all too well noted. Slowly eating away at her vegetables set before her, she stared at the young man through her champagne glass. She had come to loath him, despise him, hate him for how he had so disowned her in the typical aspect; the house of Bretagne did not offer enough for the holier-than-thou house of Genova.
Two seats diagonally from the young Francesca Marie sat Didier de Bordeaux, an old man from the House of Gascone. Didier had made a politically alliance with the House of Burgundy, a proven impotent house that found its death at Joan's Ils de France. As one died out after another, he seemed the next target, and had reason to prepare for what might come. His greying hair, still retaining its color and consistency at his widow's peak, did little to compliment his stone-heard and weathered face. The man looked dangerous but with his visage, and gave a chilling aura to all who came in contact with him.
Madame Genvieve Didier de Bordeaux had been the man's wife for no less than forty-two years, and made her husband famous in the social circles of France. Believing she had made the man, and not the other way around, she had become vigilantly defencive, and cared not whom might stand in her way of fulfilling her dream of rule. Ruthless and cold, her bouncy red hair defied her personality and lead friends to falling for her trap. Whatever show she might put on, it was never really her, only a furtive power ploy.
Of the last major enemies of Joan and Julien Filippe, sat Raoul, a young scholar whom had an affair with Joan six months ago. The fire still burned inside him against her for cutting it off. As a young peasant, he had worked his way not through nobility, but by his own initiative to come to the top as a great. Joan's refusal of the continuation destroyed his ultimate opportunity, and for the loss of his future he could not forgive her.
The power went out, a scream, and shot were heard, naturally followed by the subsequent screaming. In the aftermath, once the power had come back, Joan lay dead on the floor with a single shot to the head.
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Author's note: Just a little teaser! Let me know if you like it 
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