--Prologue
'Moonlight weighs heavy on the lonely mind, daroga.'
He shook his head but could not rid it of the memory.
'It seems…at times…the light burdens my very shoulders.'
"Monsieur Gaston is still at the gates…" The young woman with the ribbon about her waist approached him timidly. It was a soft shade of pink, that ribbon; flowing gently behind her, falling just above the hem of her white dress.
So should he allow the man into his home? This stranger, this intrusive stranger, would burden his shoulders with the past. Yes.
"How long has he waited, now?" He asked, the sweetness of the French words having long since turned sour on his tongue. Perhaps he could have avoided the taste. Perhaps he should have tried to retire in Britain, as had been suggested so many years ago; really more a joke than sincere advice.
'Let the old man retire in lavish Britain…to leave me again, Daroga?' Erik had glanced up at him as he sat, lounged, on the front of the little boat.
The little boat on the lake.
Erik had smiled, then, laughed almost, for he had known Kasra as well.
And Kasra knew well what might come about should he depart.
For Kasra had known Erik as well.
"…Three weeks, now, Monsieur Soheil," Little Madeline replied, clasping her hands in front of her and leaning forward on the balls of her feet.
Three weeks.
He sat curled in the curve of the windowsill, the position he had been in almost all morning. The curve of the windowsill like the curve in the ribbon about little Madeline's waist. The curve of fabric. The curve in ripples of water. Like the waters on the lake.
Sitting in the curve of the windowsill almost all morning because he was too weak to move anywhere else. And due to the fact this Monsieur at the gates needed to be observed. Observed incase the burden would be thrust upon Kasra's shoulders once again. Observed.
The thought reminded him.
With pale and frail hands, too frail for his age, Kasra drew back the dark curtains and then unraveled the wooden shutters. Dust dispersed into the air, twirling, spinning in an imaginary breeze.
Yes.
There he was. That man. He was bent over a notepad, hat hiding his face as he scrawled something along the crimpled paper. Monsieur Leroux paused in his writing and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully before looking up at the window. His rather young face lightened and he waved his ink pen high in the air at an attempt to get Kasra's attention, or perhaps, to keep it. Kasra had seen much more interesting things than a man wailing a writing utensil above his head.
Slowly, almost resignedly, Kasra closed the blinds, and in turn, the curtains. Turning his head to little Madeline (who was still waiting on her petite, impatient feet) he said,
"Very well…show him in. But, darling…"
She paused in her scurry, twirling back towards him, the pink ribbon rippling as it embraced the sudden breeze.
"Yes, Monsieur Soheil?" Madeline asked, her long eyelashes blinking to protect her eyes from the sudden dimness. Nonetheless, her little smile remained eager on her little pink lips. Pink lips, pink ribbon.
"Tell him…be sure he knows…I only know half of the story he wishes to hear." Little Madeline nodded her head; blonde curls bouncing and seeming to mirror what little sunbeams graced the room.
Kasra turned his head back toward the closed windows before him. What lay behind the curtains; he knew. And yet he hesitated. A childish fear perhaps, to open the blinds. The doors.
The blinds and doors of memories.
Of pasts.
The floorboard creaked, it's cry clinging loosely to the air. Kasra looked back to find little Madeline had taken a sheepish step forward, her eyes slowing rising and falling from the floor to his face. A charming innocent look swam in her eyes.
"…Monsieur Soheil…" She started shyly, keeping her gaze traveling from foot to face. "…Bonbon? -- S'il vous plait." Little Madeline added quickly.
It felt as though small warmth from the mirrored sunbeams gave color to his pale lips. Kasra smiled and leaned towards the desk nearby. Reaching into the drawer, he retrieved several small peppermints, wrapped in crinkled wax paper.
"Mais certainement, mon peu cher," He replied as little Madeline hurried up to him and opened her hands. She popped one into her mouth and gave another smile, which seemed to multiply the sunrays.
"Merci!" She giggled, giving a brief and wobbly curtsey before bustling back out the door. Silence crept in an idle pace, moments passed. Doors closing, opening. Locks given keys.
"…Monsieur Gaston Leroux," Kasra rehearsed under his breath. "I do not know the whole story of which you wish to hear…"
To be continued in Chapter One: Attic Candles
Author's Note:
Thanks for reading the prologue! Please review! I have other stories under merchant-of-venice. The rest of "Il Libretto" (except for the epilogue) will be in Erik's perspective. For any of you Neopets people, I'm operaghost, and also have "Il Libretto" on my pet's page, littlejammes
Thanks again!
Emmie