The Curator easily opened the heavy doors for Mariette, using only one of his hands. She stepped inside to the never used guest room. It was a bit smaller than the Curator's office. As she walked into the room, she noticed the tall windows, at the far side of the room, the fireplace at the left, two armchairs in front of it in comfortable talking distance from each other. She turned to see the huge old-fashioned wooden baldachin bed. "I wonder if he sleeps." She thought, as she turned back to the Curator, who was neatly placing his clothes on the hanger. She shook her head a bit. "I don't think so."
The Curator offered a seat in one of the armchairs for her and started to light the fire. When warm light filled the room, the Curator walked to a cabinet, to get two glasses, and a bottle of wine. He poured generously for both of them, and as he joined his guest by the fireplace, he handed a glass to her.
- As the Bard once said: „As soon go kindle fire with snow, …" – he started, gesturing to the warm dancing flames.
- „…as seek to quench the fire of love with words." – she finished the quote and won an appreciating smile from the Curator. "But what is he trying to suggest with this quote?" she wondered, unable deal with the butterflies in her stomach in his presence. Is the Curator teasing her again? She made a mental note about being careful with the wine, she was already lightheaded because of her own betraying feelings.
The Curator was impressed. This young lady was more and more intriguing by every minute. He started to feel a need to play on her nerves a little more, just to see her struggling to control herself, and keep her focus. He had to admit enjoying it too much. He wanted to tease her, to see her blush. He always enjoyed playing little games with his guest. But not like this. He usually misled them with cryptic quotes, made them question their decisions, placed the seed of doubt in their mind, just to make a more interesting story out of it. Even if he was not allowed to interfere. It was not his place, apparently. But this story was folding out between his own hands, in his own repository. This could be a loophole in those rules. But still, why is he teasing her? Out of curiosity, or fun? Maybe.
– I can see you are an intelligent, beautiful, more than capable young lady- he smiled at her, not breaking the eye contact for a moment. He immediately got rewarded, as her face turned red from the simple compliment.
She could not take her eyes off him either. She had the feeling, as she was slowly losing a game of some kind, and she was almost sure, that her opponent is not the Curator, but her own growing desire to get closer to him. She suspected that he was aware of that and taking advantage of it.
– Would you mind, telling me more about your research? – he asked casually, wanting to know more about his mysterious guest. Putting aside the idea of teasing her, for a while.
- You should be telling me more about my research – she said with the newly found confidence- since you are the very subject of my research.
The Curator leaned back comfortable into the armchair, crossed his legs nodding just a little for himself "She is brave, bold and nosy" he thought "she could tell an amazing story." Maybe that's why he wanted to test her self-control and intention so much. To lead them to a story worth telling.
- I guess, you have questions – he said, a raised his glass towards her, gesturing to ask away.
She was more than excited, to pull out a list of questions, but what to ask first? She felt adrenalin rushing through her. She took a sip from the wine, to keep herself together, not to rush.
- How old are you? – she asked, as she started to plan out the following conversation.
He was admiring the light through the wineglass, as he composed his answer for her.
- For someone, who has been recording stories for thousands of years, age cannot be experienced. You can safely say, I am old, but what does that mean to someone, who was never young?
"Always cryptic" She smiled defeated, but she was not ready to give up.
- Are you immortal? I mean in a way, that can you be killed? – she said, and realised, that question was not formed well to reflect her real intensions. But she was ready to let it stay this way. The Curator deserved to be left puzzled for a change.
Sure, he was surprised by the question, but he enjoyed being called out.
- I would suggest, let us finish our glass before you end me. You can use me better this way, at your service. – he said smiling at her mischievously, hoping this would make her more uncomfortable. – I mean I can answer more of your questions.
Mariette was more than unsatisfied with his answer, but she found it more and more hard to concentrate on following up with her research. "He is giving me breadcrumbs, not answers. Let me see, how you answer to direct provocation!"
- Are you Death? – she fired the question towards him. When he smiled, he smiled with his eyes too. Mariette realized she likes that characteristic in him.
He was waiting for this question, this was not the first time, he heard that.
- I am only an observer, who records a story, what has been told. It is not my place to interfere. And not all story ends with Death – he deepened his voice at the end. - Not that there is anything particularly wrong with death. - He couldn't help himself but to be dramatic.
Mariette's eyes fired up, and she tasted her wine again, to calm her nerves. It was easier to dig out a thousand years old artifact related to this man, than getting any straight answer from him in person. Also, he was so distracting with those smiles, and icy eyes. She realised the glass was almost empty in her hand, and that was not helping at all.
The Curator saw her frustration. He appreciated, that she asked the good questions, but he wasn't sure if he could answer her directly. He got used to being cryptic over the years, giving away half or misleading information, and usually getting away with it. Why would he give a direct answer now? It was still not clear how was she allowed to enter the Repository. Maybe she was allowed to be here on purpose, not to play the major part in finishing the story but to have more exciting role. Either way he was not ready to risk this opportunity to interact with someone, giving away too much information.
Mariette somehow figured out that maybe not every secret is the Curator's to tell. She was sitting in the armchair, trying to figure out the Curator. He looked like he was having fun. Then she realized again, he spent most of his time alone. Of course, he was enjoying this conversation, this game, at least as much as Mariette did. It should make her feel proud and honoured, that the legend of the ancient tales, the Curator of Stories himself enjoys her company. But she could not escape the growing frustration, out of the desire to kiss him. She swallowed hard to fight the need, but it was a torture.
He watched her, as she finished her wine in silence. Her brown eyes staring into his soul. Her whole presence was a light refreshing night breeze for him, as her dress emphasized on her figure, her light brown hair was in a comfortable looking updo, and as she tried to get under his skin with her questions. He enjoyed her company, enjoyed looking at her. "And I would really enjoy, to touch her, just to see how she reacts." He thought to himself, so he got up, to get the wine bottle from the cabinet.
Mariette watched the Curator go, and she had the sudden urge to follow him. She stood up, but went to the nearest bookshelf instead, turning her back towards him and the fire, to hide her blushing red face in the shadow. She was a bit ashamed by her feelings, and about being a little tipsy.
He walked back to her, with the bottle in his hand and admired her figure in the dress. Her waist was inviting to touch, but it would be highly inappropriate, and would probably scare her away, if he would just embrace her. But the Curator was always in control of himself, a perfect gentleman. "But what if we got an unexpected twist out of it?" He supressed a smile. As he passed her, he gently touched her arm.
She was so immersed in her thoughts she got a bit surprised of the sudden gentle touch of the Curator. He was standing in front of her, offering more wine. She wanted to refuse it, she already had more than she should, but the Curator quickly filled her glass, before his own.
- May I ask, Miss Hartfeld how did you find, such an unusual subject to your research? – he asked her with his gentle smile. He was amused by her expression, how she turned from surprised and blushing into determined and focused. She was clearly living for her work, what was basically the Curator himself.
- After I graduated from university, I continued to work for the history department. – she started. She was a bit afraid, he would find boring the beginning of her journey, so she kept it short. But the Curator was looking at her with curiosity. He was really interested in her work. – During my second year, I was researching the disaster of the Titanic. – Mariette saw as the Curator's face light up to the mention of the famous ship. – In a diary, I have found more than one reference to a man called "the collector of stories". The notes explained a mysterious figure, who claimed to come to witness everyone's death on the ship. At first is sounded like a poetic symbol, but or a legend, but it seemed out of sync with the rest of the diary, as it was written by a realistic, practical man. – she took a sip of her wine, so she can collect her thoughts again, because the Curator was looking at her with those icy eyes, breathing in every word of her story. Her hearth skipped as she realised, he stepped closer to her, while she was talking. She wanted to take a step back, but something naughty inside her was keeping her at that spot, telling her, that one more moment can't hurt anyone. Telling her, that she should enjoy this moment. She could wait until he closes the distance between them completely. She was glad for the glass, she was clinging to, and the wine to give her shaky body some support.
- … so I cross-referenced it with mythologies from around the world through history – she continued slowly.
- And what did you found? – he asked Mariette as he tilted his head a bit, leaving her with the feeling they are sharing secrets, like a partner in crime, and got even closer to her than before.
The Curator was amused. He found great joy in making her loose her line of thoughts, playing his mischievous game with her, taking advantage of her admiration towards him. It felt so inappropriate, but he enjoyed it like nothing in thousands of years. How could this innocently wicked game feel so good, that he started to forget to be a gentleman?
- I found almost nothing – she said finally – because in every culture, you have a different name: the Ferryman, the Collector of Souls, God's Eye. When I figured what to look for, I even found ancient text referring to you. More than three years later I found the first notes about someone, who visited the repository. – Mariette was swallowing hard, as she continued staring deep into his eyes – That was the moment, when I knew, I need to find this place, I need to find you.