a/n:The evil plot bunnies are going to kill me someday…
Anyway! Drabble-esque oneshots! About lots of pointless things. :D You'll probably be seeing a lot of Éclair, because I just feel like there's so much of her character to explore. And I promise lots of different parings… definitely a TamaHaru and KyouHaru but hopefully the plot bunnies will bite with something for the rest of the hosts as well. :) Reviews are appreciated. This was really fun to write.
Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran.
At the age of six, Éclair Tonnere knew she was destined for something great.
Most children her age would never even think of greatness. Most six year olds, even those of her own status, had no aspirations further than sneaking a taste of play-doh. But Éclair knew she was better than those play-doh eating, snot-nosed brats. Her parents were the most successful couple in France. They might not be the happiest couple, but they were certainly the wealthiest. She was a princess, and when she became older she would rule as queen.
At the age of eight, Éclair received her most precious possession: rose-tinted opera glasses. She wore them everywhere for weeks. Her parents would joke about their little Éclair and her rose-tinted view on the world. She didn't really see it that way – to her, the opera glasses were a symbol of sophistication.
But perhaps there was some truth in what her parents said. Although she was an odd, cold girl, she tended to have a fantasized view of life. She brushed off anyone who didn't fit in her fairytale. Including her parents.
By the age of fifteen, before she was even formally debuted, Éclair was one of the most sought-after girls in French society. Despite her strange, haunting habit of examining people with her infamous opera glasses, she was considered beautiful. And so very mature. She looked older than she was, and acted so.
Marriage offers barraged the Tonnere household. Éclair wouldn't bother to so much as reply. She would peer at boys through her glasses, but would silently decide they didn't fit. Her prince would be blonde, intelligent, considerate, accomplished, blue-eyed, well-bred, and, most of all, warm-hearted.
At the age of sixteen, only a few weeks after her parents had begun to pressure her to take up one of the betrothal offers, Éclair found such a man.
She did not find him exactly, she heard about him. But she knew it: he was the prince she sought.
She was speaking with some woman, some former associates of her parents. They were aristocracy who had fallen onto hard times years ago. Her parents really were just being charitable (this family, as well as the rest of their social circle knew it) by inviting them to visit.
The woman – more a frail girl – Éclair spoke with was their grown daughter. She had been rather intrigued by her, as she'd heard whispers flung around concerning her.
"You're just about my son's age."
The woman was surprisingly kind and soft. Éclair, studying her through her opera glasses, decided that she liked her. She smiled her slight smile, a smile that was genuine.
They talked. The woman didn't have much stamina, couldn't even stand for long, but she spoke about her son for hours. And as the woman sat, dreamily staring out the window, Éclair asked her:
"Is he really that kind of a gentleman?"
The woman answered softly that he really, truly was.
Éclair announced to her parents that night that she was ready to marry.
He was wonderful.
It was under his grandmother's influence, but Éclair liked to believe that he would have been chivalrous anyway. She looked at him closely, more closely than she looked at most, through her glasses. His expression was perplexed, as everyone's was at first, but he smiled and she smiled back.
He tried to lead her around the grounds, but Éclair wasn't interested. Her Japanese was good, but it didn't come naturally like her French, or even her well-polished English. Girls whispered, boys stared. She felt out of place, especially among his club members. They detested her right away, she could tell. Not that she cared.
Right away, she knew it was presumptuous of her to walk into their happy scene.
For a moment, she was on top of the world.
She was going to marry him.
She was a princess, he was her prince.
Everything was perfect.
But only for a moment.
His piano playing was like magic. She felt a surge go through her veins, a surge of hope. What she hoped for she didn't know – a girl like her had little to wish for – but she knew the feeling well.
That little fox. She ruined everything.
She stripped down, let her clothing fall to her feet. She was thin, too thin. She stepped into the shower and turned the pretty little knob. Cold water sprinkled down.
She didn't care that it was cold. Thoughts ran through her mind like wild horses, unable to stop, not letting themselves be tamed. She turned her opera glasses around in her hands and held them up to her eyes. So, Fujioka Haruhi was a girl. And Tamaki obviously cared for her. He wasn't her prince… but if she wasn't a princess, what was she?
She stared down at the water as it slipped down the drain. Just like her fairytale.
Her arm was restricting his before she knew what she was doing.
He was going to jump, the fool. He was going to jump off a bridge for some crazy girl who cross-dressed and was poor and oblivious and ugly.
But he loved her.
So Éclair let him go.
She could feel the tears slipping down her face, regret already screaming in her veins, but she let him go.
He smiled at her one last time, and jumped.
She never saw him again.
She threw away her dreams that day. She threw away her rose-tinted opera glasses.
But the fact that he smiled, even at someone like her…
She leaned back in her seat. Even though it was only for a short time, she'd found a prince. He just wasn't hers. She didn't deserve a prince.
She was the antagonist.