The Ballad of Mona Lisa
Chapter II
"There are no raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses.
It's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses at the shade of the sheets and before all the stains...
And a few more of your least favorite things."
The girl stood there, one eyebrow arched, one hand resting on her bag, and one hand resting on her hip. Overall, she gave a rather defiant vibe.
He chuckled softly, so that she would not be able to hear him. Didn't they all look like that - at least in the beginning, until the time when they realized the effect he could have on them if he so wished?
Yes. Yes, they did. However, they had all been of the same type of psychopaths - she seemed different.
He sat there, unmoving, waiting to see how long it would take for her to break.
She refused to speak, steadily becoming infuriated by his silence and presence in what was supposed to be her room.
However, as often seemed to be the case with her, Ginevra's temper won over all her other emotions once again.
"Is there a particular reason, sir, that you are in my room?" She spoke with venom laced in each word. You see, even this asylum must value some morals and find this condemnable.
He didn't even glance at her while speaking. "As a matter of fact, yes, milady. I wished to speak to you."
She bristled. How dare this stranger treat her as some inconsequential girl!
"I'll have you know, sir, that I personally believe it more appropriate to knock on my door and take my permission before entering or meeting me."
He laughed, his head finally tilting, his dark and messy hair flipping, and his dark red lips opening fully. "I was waiting for that."
Her nostrils flared angrily. "Waiting for what, exactly? Would you please specify?"
He turned his face to smirk at her. "Waiting to see what it would take to rile you up." His words were a challenge, which angered Ginevra to no end.
"Sir, there is no need to be condescending; it doesn't become a gentleman." She replied. Who was he to talk to her like this?
"Do not worry. I am here to do nothing of the sor-"
"Then I do suggest you leave, sir, before you permanently give me a bad impression."
"May I remind you that I'm not the one in handcuffs?"
"Sir! Kindly remove yourself from my room before I call Mister Filch and tell him of your harassing me!
"All right, calm yourself, milady. I am going, but I shall be back."
"I do not think so."
"I'm sure I can, ah, surprise you despite what you may think."
They were a sight to behold: her, standing in her dark lace and affronted manner, and him, standing now rather informally, smirking at her with dark humor in his eyes.
The stranger strode across the room towards Ginevra (which further proved he had to be about a foot, if not more, taller than her) while she shifted aside, certainly not wanting to come in any contact with him. He gave her one last ominous smile before leaving.
She stood still for a moment after he'd left and then suddenly, with renewed vigor, picked up her bag, marched across the room, and placed it on top of the creaky wooden bed.
She glanced back at the doorframe once before giving up on her inner battle and nearly sprinting across the tiny room to it and peering outside into the darkened hallway.
There was no one in sight.
November 13, 1852
Ginevra bounded down the stairs that morning, in a much more cheerful mood than she was all of yesterday.
Downstairs consisted just of a hallway that led straight to the main door but also had three doors leading to rooms off it. One was Mister Filch's room, one was the well-furnished but slightly dusty parlour, and the last was the small but bright kitchen.
That was where she found the caretaker enjoying his breakfast and cooking hers.
With a snow-white, extremely furry, extremely old, and extremely depressed-looking cat perched next to him.
Now, Ginevra had nothing against cats. In fact, she'd rather adored the one back home that used to lurk around.
However, this one gave her a quite distasteful look, and that settled it for both of them. This was not going to be an amiable relationship.
"Ah, Lady Ginevra. How was your night?" Mister Filch said, looking up with a kind smile.
"Fine, thank you. I hope I was no trouble." She replied, a smile finding its way onto her face, as well.
"None at all, my dear. Oh, look at that! Mistress Norris seems to like you!"
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Norris."
The cat growled (since when did cats growl?) and turned its tail upon Ginevra, nearly hitting her with it.
Mister Filch let out a deep laugh, seemingly very amused; Ginevra was less so.
A few minutes later, when she was settled into her seat, she remembered something she'd been wanting to ask all last night.
"Oh, Mister Filch?"
"Argus."
"Argus, then. Had you not told me that there it is only I living here?"
"...Yes."
His answer itself was curious enough, but she hadn't missed his slight hesitation. Not at all.
Ginevra walked away from that breakfast with three new revelations to file away about Argus Filch.
One, he was just as kind as he'd seemed yesterday.
Two, he had a cat named Mrs. Norris. She vaguely wondered why anybody would want that cat.
Three, he was hiding something. Something to do with the handsome, rude stranger.
That night, Argus woke up, panting, in his sweat-soaked bed, despite the fact that the night temperatures were now near-freezing.
Rubbing his eyes, he turned, his heart sinking because he knew what he would see and dreaded it greatly.
Argus looked out his window, chilled to the bone by a very familiar sight - the newest occupant standing in the moonlight, her hazel eyes glassy and unfocused.