He Calls Her Duchess

C'est La Mort
Long ago, long before the memories of memories, he called her Duchess for the first time. Neither of them remember when it started. They know it was his way to get at her. To knock holes in her polished exterior. She was a Duchess. In her mortal time. She was one of the only women of the time to hold her husbands land and run his affairs (both in and out of the bedroom). She had been sold to the position. Her father needed the Dukes money to keep their family farm out of the hands of the growing Italian Mafia. The Duke had the means to provide such security, given that the mob worked for him. It was a different Mafia than those of today know or hear stories of. Remember this was before the memories of memories. This was a time only told in fable and lore. A time few can even fathom having ever existed.

Yet they knew it existed. They were a part of it. Tybalt had little care for titles. In his younger times he had little care for anything. But Franka held her title with esteem. She had earned it and she intended on continuing to do the title justice, even though it no longer served her. But when Franka-Rita Vincini was introduced to Tybalt, he saw pomp. He saw protocol and a society he missed yet rebelled against. Franka was everything he had grown to dislike. She wielded a power he had not even begun to understand. And while he despised the title, he was mesmerized by the woman.

What began as a way to break her down became a term of love and endearment. She was no longer annoyed with the tone he used. She looked forward to hearing it. When they were apart she would long to hear his voice say that one word. She had long since proven herself to him, and he to her. Their lives intertwined like the fine weaving of the tapestry that hung in their home. The man who she was once forced to have beside her, was now the only one she wanted to take up arms beside. The only one who call her Duchess and survive.