-1 "He's not dead", The Viscountess muttered to herself quietly.
Raoul De Chagney looked upon his wife with the same depressing face he had been wearing for months now. His wife, his little lotte, had been in this melancholy state ever since the letter arrived. A red skull latched to the front, the only indication of who it was from the monster was dead, thrown back to hell with his dark melodies and constant rage. Yet, his wife could not fathom this truth, consistently denying what lay right before her eyes.
"Christine….he is dead", he tried to talk some sense into her.
"He cannot be Raoul, I can still feel him", she whispered back.
"You're living on false hope Christine, do not let this eat at you!" she just sat their staring out the window. The sunlight dancing across her pale features
A broken china doll and unfortunately, he is not a doll maker, he cannot put her back together. Therefore, he shall leave her to her misery, and hope that maybe she will snap out of it. If she is not better by next month, he will be unwillingly dragged into taking drastic measures.
Gathering his wits about him, he gathers a horse and asks a servant to tell Christine he will not be home for dinner. It would be a wonder if she even notices.
The scenery blurring around him helps to distract his thoughts, and clear his head of its turmoil. Hooves beating on worn pavement are as an aria compared to the silence that is usually resonating. His mind set on one destination, he veers the stallion to the right, through hazardous woods and over the rickety bridge. He could find this place in his sleep, a retreat from melancholy into desire.
Three knocks, two raps, a tap, a combination that every infidel from here to Spain must know. The Viscount hears the familiar footsteps approach; the wafting aroma of cinnamon arouses him. Flashing images of various nights go pounding through his skull, as a heart-shaped face makes its appearance in the crack of the door. Two blue eyes look back at him, and a corner of her mouth turns upward.
"Monsieur De Chagney", her voice seems to purr the Rs. "Back again?"
"Madame Rouge, you must know by now I cannot stay away from you", Raoul replied, letting that boyish charm he is known for shine through.
Opening the door wider she allows the viscount into her cabin. It had a simplistic layout, consisting of only the major needs and a pair of curtains draping the back wall. Taking his coat she leads the viscount through the velvet lined passage way. A trip they've taken together far too many times to count. He swiftly grabs her from behind, trailing sensual kisses down her throat. He leads her backwards in a seemingly desire-laced trance, removing the worn robe that encloses her figure. She quickly strips the viscount and moans deeply from his wandering hands.
The rest of the night is composed of a deep concerto involving high sopranic gasps and rich altoic moans. A sinful opera takes place between the viscount and a common whore, an opera that should be with his wife, who sits at home alone.