Through a glass, darkly

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I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


    **Cold that gathers like winter's tongue among the shadows

    Tariq
    Tariq
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    Join date : 2012-05-13

    **Cold that gathers like winter's tongue among the shadows Empty **Cold that gathers like winter's tongue among the shadows

    Post  Tariq Sun May 31, 2020 12:33 am

    Madame Reynière was not, despite rumours to the contrary, a stranger to sympathy. And seeing the miserable creature perched warily in the chair in her smoky salon stirred something akin to it beneath her breastbone.

    Their clothes were dirty and worn, the ragged edges of frayed hems suggesting they had been living rough. Her keen eyes detected the purpled bruises on the delicate skin of their inner wrist. They met her gaze with eyes haunted by coal-black smears.

    Her spoon clinked against the inside of her glass as she stirred.

    “You can’t stay here,” she said. Their ill-humored expression did not change - they knew this, had anticipated this would be her response. “I cannot have the gendarmerie overturning the place for you.”

    She could not help but admire the soft green of their darkly-lashed eyes and the twist of their pettish mouth as they scowled back at her over the hot chocolate they had not deigned to touch during their tête-à-tête. She assured herself it was a purely professional pang she felt that they must be turned away.

    “After what you have told me,” The gentle tone did not conceal the firmness in her words. “There is no one who will have you. Nulle part n'est sûr pour vous. It would be best if you fled the city, but with your name I do not think you would get far.”

    They stirred, ire crackling through their limbs. “You can’t help me.”

    Non. Not this time, Émile.” They digested this bitter answer in silence. The ticking clock seemed to echo far louder than the murmur of voices below their feet.

    She sighed and set her cup aside to scrutinize them over steepled fingers. They met her gaze without wavering.

    “What would you give up to get away?”

    They did not hesitate. “I would drown myself in the river before I gave them the satisfaction.” They spat the words as though they were hot on their tongue.

    Her eyes fell to the floor and she examined the intricate details of the patterned rug in silence. Her finger tapped absently against a powdered cheek.

    “There are many houses in the city,” she said softly. “Many rooms, with many doors. It would be difficult to find you if you were behind one of those doors, in a room you had no reason to visit.”

    Their brow furrowed as they tried to make sense of her meaning.

    “You have no money,” she continued. “Precious few skills of practical value. But maybe someone could be convinced to keep you behind their doors. If they found use of you.” She paused only briefly before adding, “Je... connais quelqu'un.

    She considered her own words. “You may be better off in the river. It would be a bad bargain.”

    “I can be useful,” they said dully. They leaned into the back of the chair and closed their eyes, their fingers trailing along their forehead. Their eyelids were purple with fatigue. “I can take a bad bargain.”

    “You have one day. I will see you are washed and fed, but if he does not come or he does not want you, I cannot help you.”

    Merci, tante Reynière,” they said, and the pain in her chest was so sharp she had to stifle a gasp.

    “None of that,” she snapped, rising to her feet. “Ne me remercie pas de t'avoir vendu au diable pour te sortir de l'enfer."

    --

    It was well after midnight when one of the girls burst into the parlour where Madame Reynière was overseeing the clean-up of a shattered bottle of blood-red wine to excitedly inform her that the man she sought had been spotted on the street.

    Merci bien, Rosalie,” she huffed, and when the young woman lifted her brows expectantly; “Oui, chose gênante, you will have your reward. But first, help Sibylla scrub the floor.”

    She ignored the protests this elicited to hurry from the room, pausing when the door had closed to straighten the neckline of her dress.

    The dimly-lit street was not so crowded at this hour that she need go far to find him. He was tucked beneath an awning darkened by shadow, his pale hair falling in a line down his back as he studied the nocturnal passersby.

    “Monsieur?” she called. “Monsieur, might I have a word?”

    His sightless eyes found her with unflinching precision and for one beat of her heart she felt a crystalline trill of doubt. She swallowed. Her voice did not waver.

    “I have something I think will interest you.”

      Current date/time is Thu Mar 28, 2024 7:20 pm