Clarisse Agbegnenou Novels & Stories

Claire I stood just outside the enormous building, staring up at it. I glanced down at the address in my hand again and swallowed hard. I moved to the ignition button and pressed it gently, after a little wait, a low voice came through, deep and masculine. “Yes, who is that?” I swallowed again, my throat suddenly dry. What am I doing? Should I really proceed with this? “I—I’m Claire. Claire Anthony. Is this the residence of Mr. Liam King?” I asked, my voice a little shaky.

"Tell them the Queen of the Peacock Clan, their Queen, requires the presence of their daughter… Clarisse." Clarisse Sairus — a name almost never spoken in court. Born to a minor branch of a virtually unknown offshoot of the Peacock nobility, her feathers were an anomaly: pure white, the color of new frost, without a hint of green or gold. Her eyes were pale pink, almost like pink sapphires, an albino... an occurrence in the kingdom so rare that whispers of her family meddling with lost sorcery or that she'd been cursed by the gods. In a court obsessed with brilliance, Clarisse was called plain at best, ugly at worst.

"Thank you for saving her." "I am Gabby Florence, a cultivator, and I just came from 3 years of training in Mt. Alebasi. My clan were physicians; it's my duty to treat any patient, regardless of their nature and status." "I'm sorry for my impudent actions awhile ago. Please let me treat you to dinner as my apology," I humbly offered. "That will do! By the way, how can I address you?" was his nice response. As expected, people from Mt. Albasi were really humble and kind. He lived up to their reputation.

When rain came, the soil turned to dark sludge that clung to her dress like dried blood. Clarisse was different. Where Seraphine had been golden-haired and bold—the one who climbed the estate’s tallest oak to rescue a trapped sparrow—Clarisse was chestnut-haired and quiet, a shadow in a family that demanded spotlights. Where Zephyrine wrote poetry in the margins of her books—lines about "stairs that hunger" and "balconies that whisper"—Clarisse wrote nothing. She learned the rules early: Never mention the missing chairs. Smile when strangers visit.

During the evening she raped me twice more in the same way. And there’s nothing I could do to stop her. Sometime in the early morning, I wake up and notice that the fog in my head is largely lifted. The drugs have almost worn off. Still a little stiff from the night's activities, I slowly turn my head and look at the sleeping face on the pillow next to me. To my horror, I recognize her. This is Clairy, the daughter of Abi and Jonas from Barbados!

Klair says. "Can I keep this?" I ask with tears in my eyes. "Of course dear " Klair says back squeezing my forearm. I see a photo of what looks like a little Michael holding a baby. "Is that Michael holding one of his brothers?" I say smiling. "No honey that's you." Klair responds. "Oh look here is one of you, Clarissa, Michael, Remy and Shade." Klair says with a sad smile. "Clarissa?" I say questioning eyes. "Yes, Clarissa was my niece. She died with the pack." Klair says with a tear slipping down her cheek.

Clarissa POV I looked through the window and listened to make sure no one was coming. I quickly gathered a few of my belongings, threw them in the bag, and quickly made a run for them. The moon goddess knew why he gave me this opportunity to escape this hell hole, and I will use it effectively. I practically ran down the stairs, grateful for my strength and stamina, even though I was only five feet tall. The building was a four-story building that was painted gold and purple, for reasons best known to Alpha Clay.

"Say it again." "Claire—" "Say it again." My voice is different. I don't recognize it. "Please say it again so that I know I heard it correctly." She meets my eyes. And there is something in hers — not cruelty exactly. Something worse than cruelty. The blankness of someone who genuinely does not understand the size of what they've just put down on the table. Who reached into the drawer for a tool and used it and doesn't understand that the tool was a grenade.

Before I could lose myself in that thought, Maya swept into the room with a tray, her smile bright and celebratory. “Wine for the champions,” she announced, placing the tray between us. “You two earned this.” Clarissa laughed. “We definitely did.” Maya poured the wine. “To a better future,” she said, raising her glass. Clarissa held hers up. “To a future where Nicho never crosses my mind again.” We clinked glasses. “So,” Clarissa said suddenly, turning toward me with a curious tilt of her head, “tell me about your girlfriend.”

Abby walked over slowly. The woman looked up. Young. Maybe thirty. Brown eyes. Tired face. But strong. Sharp. “You came,” the woman said. Abby sat. “Who are you?” “My name is Clarissa,” the woman said. “I knew Alice.” Abby’s heart skipped. “Edward’s maid.” “Yes. The one who left. The one who wrote that letter.” Clarissa reached into her bag and pulled out a photo. She slid it across the table. Abby picked it up with shaking fingers.