The morning after Alina Trévér's death, Paris awoke not to the cry of birdsong, but to the rustling of newspapers pouring out of owls' claws. They dropped them onto doorsteps, cafés, markets, and Ministry corridors, as though the entire magical world had been waiting for this very moment — the downfall of a house that had waged war with its every breath.
The headlines were merciless.
"Lady Alina Trévér Slain in Midnight Clash — Was Voclain Retribution Involved?" blared the front page of La Gazette Magique, the nation's most respected daily.
"The Widow of Fire Falls — End of House Trévér?" crowed Sorcière Hebdo, the gossip-heavy weekly that thrived on scandal.
"Voclain Power Play? Maximilian's Shadow Looms Over Alina's End", suggested the politically sharp Le Courrier Enchanté.
By noon, it seemed every witch and wizard in France had an opinion.
***************
In a small café off Rue des Sorciers, two elderly wizards bent their heads over steaming cups.
"Mark my words, it was Maximilian," muttered one, his cane tapping irritably on the floor. "The Trévérs burned half his holdings, slaughtered servants, left his family humiliated. You think a man like that sits quietly? Nonsense. He struck back."
His companion sipped his coffee, lowering his voice. "But to kill Alina herself? Without trial? That's dangerous. If word spreads that old families are butchering each other in the streets, the Ministry loses all authority. People will whisper of civil war."
"They already know about it when the Trévérs Killed René Voclain ," the first replied grimly.
***************
Meanwhile, in the corridors of the Ministry of Magic in Paris, the gossip was sharper, deadlier than any curse.
Clerks leaned against enchanted filing cabinets, whispering. Aurors gathered in groups near fireplaces, muttering. No one spoke loudly — but no one spoke of anything else.
"I heard she was cut down in her own manor."
"No, no, in the forest outside Versailles."
"Ridiculous, a duel in the open. It must have been an ambush."
"And who ordered it? Come on, who else? Maximilian Voclain. He's been itching for vengeance since his mother was murdered. Everyone knows it."
"And yet… what of the Minister?"
At that name, Isabella Voclain, voices dropped to murmurs. Her absence loomed larger with every hour. She had not been seen in the Ministry for days.
***************
Le Courrier Enchanté ran a biting editorial:
Where is our Minister?
While the streets are littered with ash and the most notorious feud of our generation claims yet another victim, Minister Isabella Voclain is absent. The council has met twice in her absence. Urgent questions regarding security, trade, and international diplomacy go unanswered. Has she abdicated her duties to wage a private war?
A Minister must stand for France — not hide for her House.
The article spread like fiendfyre through the wizarding world, clipped out and pinned to notice boards, copied and reprinted by smaller journals, debated over dinner tables.
**************
La Gazette Magique was more cautious but no less damning.
Alina Trévér's death, while welcomed by those who feared her ruthless grip on her House, raises troubling questions. Was this the result of Ministry-sanctioned justice, or a lawless vendetta? If the latter, then France must reckon with the truth: our noble Houses now act as executioners, and the Ministry stands idle.
Minister Voclain's silence is deafening. Her absence undermines confidence at a moment when stability is fragile. France cannot afford a Minister who disappears at the hour of crisis.
**********
Even across the Channel, the British press took note. The Daily Prophet carried a half-page column on "The Fall of Lady Trévér," reminding its readers that Isabella was once a beacon of French strength at international gatherings. Now, it suggested, her name was stained with blood and suspicion.
American wizarding outlets were more blunt. The Salem Sentinel ran the headline: "France Descends into Feud — Minister Voclain Missing in Action."
*************
In Paris, the rumors grew uglier.
"Isabella hides because she ordered it herself," said a shopkeeper in Montmartre, serving customers distracted by the headlines. "She wanted her rival gone, and now she's ashamed to show her face."
"No," countered a customer, "it's Maximilian. The duel, the murder — it's his work, and she can't admit it without condemning her own blood."
"Either way, she's weak. France cannot be led by a woman who vanishes when fire burns brightest."
*************
That night, the weeklies came out, fanning the flames higher.
Sorcière Hebdo printed a lurid two-page spread: a drawing of Alina's face, eyes hollow, framed with the headline "The Witch Who Would Not Die — Until She Did."
The article was filled with speculation:
• Alina had been struck down in a secret Voclain duel.
• Alina had been ambushed by foreign agents.
• Alina had been betrayed from within her own House.
One columnist went so far as to hint — without proof — that the White family of Britain might have played a role. It was reckless, but sensational enough to sell.
**********
Meanwhile, back in the Ministry, pressure mounted. A senior councilor was overheard saying:
"If Isabella does not return to her post within the week, we must demand an inquiry. France cannot wait while two families tear us apart."
By the following morning, La Gazette sharpened its knives again:
The Minister in Hiding
Two council meetings missed. Days of silence. No official statement. Minister Voclain's absence is no longer a curiosity — it is a scandal. France deserves a leader who governs in daylight, not one who vanishes into the shadows of blood feuds.
If the Minister cannot separate her House from her office, then perhaps she cannot serve at all.
***************
The ink bled thick across the pages. Citizens whispered, families speculated, and rival houses sharpened their knives — not with spells, but with words, questions, accusations.
In every corner of France, one truth became unavoidable: Alina Trévér was dead, and her death had not ended the war. It had only shifted the battlefield — from dueling grounds to headlines, from curses to editorials, from bloodshed to politics.
And in that war of words, Isabella Voclain was losing ground with every passing hour of silence.