Mina found herself in front of Dorian's home the very next night. She was dressed in the longest coat she could possibly find and every last inch of her pale skin was covered in something. She stood out in the cold snow for what seemed like hours when really it was only a few seconds. Looking about the outside she could see that he had already gotten the front door fixed. It was now a rich mahogany color, with a small door -knocker of gold set in the middle. When she walked up the steps she pressed her nose to the cold metal in order to read the word etched there; it read, in lovely script writing, GRAY'. She scoffed. It figured he would now have his name on the door. She knew this was his cleaver way of regaining what was his. She moved back, wiped the surface with her gloved hand and quickly rang the bell.
She was greatly surprised when Thria answered. The night before, Skinner and Tom had lifted the poor woman from the steps and left her for dead in the downstairs foyer. They had been completely sure that she was completely gone. Now here she was opening the door, her face set with a deep flush of life. She smiled gratefully at Mina, "Oh Mina." She said in a rather happy tone, "How wonderful you are home."
Mina, very used to the unpleasant disposition of Thria, gave the woman a long stare, "Are you okay, Thria?"
"Oh yes." Thria said with the excitement of a young girl, "Mr. Gray is home and I should think that the two of you have much to speak of."
Mina almost rolled her eyes, but seeing the look in Thria's eyes made her think different of it, "Where is he?" she asked, trying not to sound angered.
The woman tried to take Mina's coat, but Mina refused telling her that she didn't plan on staying too long. She only needed to ask Dorian a few questions and then she would be on her way. Thria accepted this, but still seemed a bit annoyed, "The two of you always made a fine couple."
They were now walking up the stairs. Thria in front of Mina, her heavy form pausing on every third step to gain her breath. She smiled again when they reached the top of the steps; "He really is looking quite well for someone to have been rumored as dead."
Mina was still questioning the woman's good mood. And then, as she watched the woman slide a hand over her large bosom and nod her head to the side in some sort of dreamy way, she realized what was going on.
Dorian had gotten to her.
"How quickly he works." Mina said softly. Thria seemed to pop from her little fantasy bubble and again she was leading Mina.
"He's in his painting room." Thria said, her ample bottom shifting in the pants that clung there. Mina couldn't help but stare at it as they walked toward Dorian's favorite room. She was trying to see what Dorian might have seen to make him want her. She wasn't exactly his kind. He was a bit of a snob when it came to that.
Mina was so heavily concentrated on the woman's behind that she bumped right into her when they came to a quick stop in front of another stairway going up, "He's up there." She said, her blue eyes sparkling like diamonds. She had a slight smile nudging at her lips, "I'd go up, but, he said he was through with me for the night."
Mina blinked, now she was actually paying attention to the words coming from the woman's lips, "That sounds like Dorian."
The woman said her goodnight quickly and left. Mina knew she was headed for her bed and the romance book that lay on top of her dresser. And the man in the book always had the face of Dorian Gray.
She did smile then. Fantasy was always better than reality. She almost wanted to yell after the woman and tell her to keep to the books; they were always better than the real thing. Especially in Dorian's case.
She walked up the steps now, pausing at the top. She could hear music on the other side of the door. Light, airy music.
Quickly she walked into the room.
Only to be stopped by the painting she caught sight of as soon as the door had hit the wall. It was the painting she had held up to him. It was the portrait that had been his undoing.
The door slammed behind her.
She turned.
He stood there. His hand was still on the knob of the door. His other hand grasping a glass of wine. Slowly he raised it to her, "Recognize anything?"
