Mon Coryphée
Book II, Ton Sourire
"The Black Swan Father's Caesura"
This ring is the source of all my power.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Let us begin the conference."
Within the grandness of Merlot's conference room sat a panel of men. Wilhelmshaven Academy's High School principal, Gerald Wilhelm, was accompanied by his son—and the Opera House's Chief Director—Ivo Wilhelm; also present was Monsieur Claude Aldereaux, Shadow's dance coach—a man at proverbial gunpoint in regard to Merlot's private superiority over his ballet troupe; even competitors vying for Shadow's talent, including Monsieur Charles Viognier.
"I'd like to get straight to the crux of the matter by beginning with an announcement…."
This ring holds a power I've craved, a strength I've longed for.
It is something I've already sold my soul for. Yet never received.
It irritates me—this unforgettable, unobtainable power.
Merlot's smoky eyes darkened all the more. "It is my greatest displeasure to declare my son, Shadow the Hedgehog, as an inviable candidate for the deals I've made with you all."
An audible gasp escaped Mr. Viognier's mouth, while a moderate shock took over Claude's face. His tail bristled. The other men couldn't believe what they were hearing.
Even so, Merlot held his poise—hands at his back, feet staunchly apart, and a level head. French braids coursed around softly curled spines. A black ribbon bundled most of them over his shoulder, but a couple escaped the bind to touch his mid-back. Another single braid trailed down to tickle the opposite shoulder, but cowered behind it instead—to avoid Merlot's sharp gaze.
"Dear Monsieur," the portly Maltese spoke up, "Why ever would you make such a costly decision? Is there something wrong with Shadow—has he been injured?"
"No."
"Ahh…perhaps he's ill from something, or—?"
"I'm sure this is an issue of pride. Isn't that correct, Monsieur Merlot?"
The Fennec fox stood from his seat, and his ground. Once again, he and the coal-black hedgehog's gazes met. The other men at the table gave questionable looks to both of them. At Merlot's cool air, Ivo Wilhelm's glasses gleamed.
"Oh my, dear Claude. You've taken an awful fancy in my son's wellbeing, it seems. As benevolent as that is, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to keep your distance—à la 'know your place.'"—Steam reddened the fox's ears—"It is frustrating to lose your rising star, perhaps the most talented child you've ever come into contact with. But remember, Claude." His voice had suddenly deepened, almost threateningly. "He is my son. Not yours to baby and coddle. You are far too lenient, much too soft." His eyes narrowed, even. "But I'm sure Prince Siegfried's understudy will be an acceptable replacement. Agreed?"
An aghast look took over the other man's face. "How dare you undermine my—!"
"Consider yourself discharged, Monsieur Aldereaux. But if that scathes your ego too much, then I hereby formally withdraw Shadow from further membership and association with your ballet troupe, Les Joueurs de la Rose."
A choke. "Merlot—!"
"Please leave. You are dismissed."
That cruel sneer made Claude's ears fold backward. Ire burned in his eyes; tears flashed in red-hot floods. Set ablaze by Merlot's snide addendum, yet walled off by differences in influence and authority: All the 37-year-old fox could do was quietly excuse himself.
Meeting the slightly taller hedgehog's shoulder, Claude managed a parting remark: "At least I considered that boy a person instead of a broken toy you're willing to replace."
That cape held Rigel and all his glorious spangles.
Now, dead and burning, blackening in the candlelight.
More will surely follow.
Such endearing words. None that I've ever uttered.
Nor will I—so long as I live and breathe.
One by hesitant one, Merlot's benefactors left the meeting room. Lady Winter sobbed against the tall alcoves. Handshakes were received only if they wanted to be. Most of the older men had been looking forward to seeing through Shadow's progress, in assisting the promotion of his career. They had high hopes for him; with a lithe body and undeniable inner core, they wondered why Merlot would disenfranchise his own son's hard work.
The Pleiades.
"My apologies, Monsieur Marriott."
Andromeda.
"My apologies, Monsieur Adkins."
Both Centauri, snuffed out.
"Relay my sincerest apologies to your wife, Monsieur Viognier. She had been looking so forward to recruiting him, too…."
This cannot go on. I must unlock this power…!
"Forgive me for such an uncustomary disturbance, gentlemen." A bewitching smile ironed out the nervous tension from mere moments ago.
This citadel holds nothing but emptiness. Beyond its oak-works, masonry, and moats infested with thorns is a lone tower. It is my tower. Down below, the fauna kneel and the people kiss the ground I walk on. My wings hold false hope—to those in need of salvation themselves. Hence, I must brandish my power—this fettered power—to them, the ones drowning in depravity.
Welcome, Ivo. Welcome, Gerald. I must tell you now that Rapunzel is not for sale. Neither are his grades, his intellect, nor his talent.
"Surely you jest, Merlot!" The son threw himself from his seat, hands slapping the table. His father hesitated, awaiting the ultimate answer. "That boy of yours should've been expelled weeks ago! Yet he lingers—in frailty now—no thanks to your selfish arrogance!"
"Now, now, Director. Simmer down." I bite my tongue at his ridiculous accusations. "My son's attendance has no merit toward the grades he's kept thus far, does it? Have you forgotten the makeup exams he took and passed flawlessly?"
Sterling frames gleamed; crystal lenses flashed. A counter.
"Let my son finish his final year here. Then, he'll be out of your masterly handlebars. Permanently."
Somehow, a sickening air fumigated the room. The Wilhelm duo gave each other cautious looks. The son huffed. "Fine. But we're not erasing that Dismissal Notice from your boy's records. One more absence, and consider your wallet empty."
Ivo Wilhelm took his father's arm, supporting him as he hobbled to leave. "Goodnight to you, sir," the son chirred bitterly as he exited with his father.
Ka-clack.
In this golden silence, my amulet grows envious.
In this golden dream, I have defaced you.
But…this golden opportunity will allow me to do much, much more.
Much worse.
Something unspeakably heinous.
"Ah, Dr. Carrie…And then, there were three." That contemptuous smile had returned.
"You have Rapunzel, don't you?"
"…I never said I did. What ever made you think that?"
"Enough of your trickery, Sorcerer! Unhand Rapunzel…His power is weakening by the day!"
"Calm yourself…You're nothing but the mouthpiece." A vile smirk. "Let…the High Priest speak for himself."
No. Let him watch Rapunzel being stripped of all his power.
Watch as the cosmos collapses under his feet.
Let the moon and stars wail as he shrieks.
The chaste lily will sleep…
Rapunzel will turn into a chalcedony Sleeping Beauty.
…And yet, I still do not have the power I seek.
"The Black Swan Father's Caesura" Set…
Jun Yabriel: Oh my glob, so I've been super busy with real-life stuff, that's why my updates have been crazy slow. (Maybe not as slow as years prior, but you get it.) I've been stuck for the last few months, quite honestly. I'm getting back into the swing of things, thank God.
But I must make a confession: I really didn't have Merlot's appearance mapped out. He's been a semi-faceless blob in my mind's eye, all this time. Terrible, right? Even if he's this book's main villain, that's kinda terrible. But now, I've finally worked it out. In case you couldn't envision him before (like I didn't), he's a super-posh Frenchman, complete with braids, a soft-curl sideward "ponytail" going over his left shoulder tied in a broad ribbon, necktie, and 3-piece suit. Yeah, let's not forget that God-awful tie-clip, either. His eyes, though. *the Black Swan literally ate Merlot's soul* Jk, I'm just in a perky mood, methinks.
Anyway, an update—finally! Reviews mean faster updates, so let me know if you liked it!
