AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!
Am I the only person on this planet who thinks that Gerard Butler is ultra hot? Maybe he's no Hugh Jackman, but God in heaven, is he sexy or what? You know what, I don't care if not one soul agrees with me. I will continue to fantasize about his ultra hotness till my crooked little heart breaks! And all you non-believers can go burn in hell for all I care. DIE, NON BELIVERS, DIE!
Um, I didn't really mean that, I'm just upset that when I say something to the effect that Gerard Butler as the Phantom is my vision of male beauty, people look at me funny. That's love for you. I think that was one marshmallow too many.
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"My friends, I would like to make an announcement!"
The dozen or so people in the room turned to Sir Charles's voice. It was Friday, and Adrian was at her wit's end. Slowly but surely, the little threads of sanity that had kept her from raving madness were bursting in twain, helped along by Sir Charles and Mademoiselle DeFleurette. Her fantasies of torturing both of them had become more defined over the week, and the prospect of a weekend break was all that kept her from acting on them. Today they were throwing a party for their closest friends and Adrian was supposed to walk about and offer drinks. Maddening.
"I know that you have heard of my exploits in Africa and India, and that I brought a little something back with me to prove it!"
There were murmurs and nods of assent throughout the room.
"Well, if you would follow me to the basement, I will astound you with a treat few have been fortunate to experience!"
Laughter rose up and people began to trickle out the door. Adrian hung back, hoping desperately that she could stay behind and maybe go to bed. She had a headache.
"Mlle. Cartier, you must join us!"
Sir Charles was alone in the room with her, and rather than risk him attempting something against her wishes, she went quickly past her predator to join the group descending the steps.
Sir Charles had been very difficult that week. He kept trying to brush up against her legs by "accident", but through quick reflexes and luck, Adrian managed to escape his grasp. One day, he would go for the gold, and Adrian wished to hold that day off as long as possible.
They had reached the door of the basement now, and below Adrian heard puzzling sounds. There was a light scratching sound, then a rumble, and then a scream. But that scream wasn't human at all.
The ladies of the party jumped in fright, and clutched their escort's arms, laughing nervously. The escorts didn't look too happy either.
Sir Charles fairly shook off Mlle. DeFleurette to produce a ring of keys that unlocked the basement door.
The party descended into the darkness, led by an oil lamp held by Sir Charles. They came to a large object covered by a tarp. The noises came from there, and the ladies backed away as the unearthly cacophony rose in volume.
Sir Charles gave a flourish with his hand like a circus ringleader.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the terror of the East, the king of the jungles, Lucifer!"
The tarp was whipped off revealing a black cat, beautiful and muscular under its glistening fur. It was almost invisible against the black bars of the cage, but its sparkling green eyes shone from its angular face. The light that emanated from the panther's pupils spoke of long nights of freedom under the full, ivory moon, of the thrill of the hunt in the warm green nights under the canopy of the trees, and of the rage any animal feels when taken from its home and caged.
Adrian's heart instantly went out to the magnificent creature as it paced its filthy cage. We're alike, you and I, she thought.
"I caught the brute somewhere in India" Sir Charles said breezily, and Adrian felt her hatred towards the man mount. How dare he, a mere mortal man, attempt to cage this god of the forest.
"I named him Lucifer for his beastly temperament. He nearly tore the men watching him to shreds."
The people at the party said that it was indeed wonderful, and what brave chap he was, and what on earth would he do with a panther?
"Oh, I'll give him to the London zoo eventually, but the manager and I are thinking about using him for the new production of Margarita…"
Adrian lost the thread of the conversation. Why on earth would you need a panther for Margarita? Aida she would understand, since the Egyptians worshipped cats, but Margarita? The idea was absurd.
Her attention turned back to the panther. What beauty, what grace, what majestic sadness. She was lost in his eyes like a sailor at sea. Adrian drifted nearer and nearer to the cage, till she was almost touching the bars. The panther continued to stare back.
Adrian's concentration was broken by laughter. Obviously Sir Charles had just told a funny joke, and his guests were enjoying it. It would be wise to step away from the cage and so avoid attention.
"Mlle. DeFleurette," The diva turned toward her.
"Yes, what is it?" The silly woman was annoyed by something, and Adrian had a feeling she knew what it was. Sir Charles had been blatantly staring at Adrian for the entire night.
"It is very late. Would I be permitted to be excused?"
"Oh, yes! You may." The departure of the maid was obviously welcome.
On the way to her room, Adrian thought of nothing but the panther. His eyes were forever printed in her thoughts. They were still in her mind when she opened the door to her room.
The second she stepped in, her head began to pound horribly. Her headaches were more frequent now than ever. What she really needed was a bath.
The water that came from the faucet was orange with rust, but by some miracle, very hot. After running for a bit, the orange washed away down the drain and the tub filled with clear, hot water. Adrian stripped and lowered her self into the bath with a contented sigh. A hot bath was just the thing for a headache. The steam made her relax into a drowsy, comatose state, and the pounding behind her eyes stopped.
After a bit, Adrian pulled soap and a washcloth off the side of the tub, and began to run them over her arms.
The warmth made her feel as if her skin was dropping off her body as easily as a snake's, and the sensation was wonderful. It was all dropping away…every scar that marred her flesh, every burn that ate away at her skin, every cut in the muscle of her arm, every trace of blood…
Her eyes snapped open. Every trace of blood. Another night, much like this, cold, snowy, wet came to her mind. She was sitting in another tub, in another bathroom much finer than the one she occupied now, cleaning gore from beneath her fingernails and the grooves of her skin. Someone else's blood had covered her hands that night, and had soaked her dress and hair a deep red. The coppery smell of gore had filled her lungs till she was weak with the stench of it. The bathwater had been red…
Adrian shook her head, as if to deny any such thing had happened. But it did happen, and it was all your fault…
Adrian quickly leapt from the tub and dried herself, dressing in a frenzy. Her headache had come back with a vengeance.
A wild animal they had said. How could a man gouge out someone's throat? And it was a wild animal that was responsible for the string of brutal deaths all that year. Every single one had the same sort of marks; long tears down the throat like claw marks. An escaped circus animal, probably.
But they were wrong. She had done it. Isobel had orchestrated it, but Adrian had killed those people.
It hurt to move now. Her scars were aching again and restricting her movement. She would just have to sleep in her clothes. Besides, everything would be better in the morning. Memories are like sand; they wash away with time.
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Wishing you would somehow review again…wishing you would somehow write…Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, the reviews would appear…
Luv you duckies!
