Of course, the true dilemma was how does one approach the woman you hope to spend your pitiful remaining days with, and subject her to your whims? A paradox.
It goes without saying that I have a...flair for the dramatic. Yes, a glimpse, a glimmer and then a flick of the cloak and I'm gone. Yet, has she had enough of ghosts? Am I bold enough to look at her, to bore my golden eyes into the sapphire of her own, and to feel her bend, to yield, to give into my wishes?
Yes.
A thousand times over, yes.
I felt as a Spaniard, a Conquistador, confident, proud. I carried myself with my shoulders squared and my jaw jutting proudly upward. I rode tall in the saddle and for the first time in many, many years, I went confidently into the daylight. Those that passed me on the road refused to meet my eyes; the rest of my face was hidden behind my cloak.
Did they think that I was Death? Was I the embodiment of some disastrous plague? Heavens, yes! Run from before me, for I am some great and terrible storm gathering on the horizon! Do you not hear the thunder rolling beneath me? Can you not feel the Earth tremble and shake?
I passed through the wrought iron gates without a hesitation, pulling to a halt haughtily before the grand entrance. I spared a glance from beneath the brim of my hat, just a glimpse, really, up to the window of the room that Christine called her own.
I'm certain that my eyes were shining when I banged heavily upon the sturdy wooden door. My keen ears detected the flurry of footsteps behind the door, a rustle of skirts.
The door pulled open, and suddenly, a great bitter wind came up, whipping the volumes of black fabric about me, billowing up like the tide. The young maiden's eyes widened, and for a moment, she froze. She opened her timid mouth to speak, but before she could utter a sound, I had already announced myself in a voice that sounded like a rockslide.
"I must speak to Madmois--the Viscountess DeChagny; it is of great importance," I boomed, cursing myself inwardly for the slip.
"Yes...I...yes. What may I tell her this call is--"
"It is of a personal nature, my dear, now if you would be so kind as to fetch her before I die of exposure," I snapped. Her large brown eyes blinked in surprise, and then she was stepping back, allowing me to pass.
The door thudded shut behind us, and she indicated with one arm a sitting room just off the foyer that had a fire roaring heartily in the hearth.
"May I take your...cloak and hat, sir?" I dismissed her with an elegant flick of my wrist, and stood before the fire.
"I will fetch my mistress then."
I could sense the weariness in her bones as she paused in the doorway, her brow furrowing in confusion. She took a cautious step forward, her hand resting on the door-frame as if she needed an anchor to the outside world. I was near enough to her to watch the gooseflesh rise on her neck as she took in the hat that rested upon the table, the voluminous cape thrown casually over the settee. Yes, she could feel the charge in the air, the chill in the room.
The dance had begun.
She stepped; I followed. She turned, she twisted, she craned her graceful neck, her elegant hands were poised. My hands hovered delicately close to her body, a ghost's breath between us.
She inhaled--we nearly touched.
We spun, we hovered, we slid around each other, our shadows embracing, touching, caressing...
And, at last, as the dream was clearing from behind my eyes, I leaned forward, my lips a whisper from the back of her neck, and I spoke.
"Christine."