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He knew what he was going to do. Once he'd thought of it, the idea had beat like a solemn gong throughout his head. It would be so easy. It was a fitting revenge. Not enough to kill her, heavens no.
Just enough for him, or, to be absolutely correct, enough of it for her. And, to allay any suspicion, he'd have to poison both drinks. It was a risk, a very big risk; if not actively used to counteract the passion, or not yard in the right amount, the other substance would be just as likely to kill him as cantarella.
And that would put a fairly large spanner in the works.
But as for now, he just had to wait for her to show up...
He'd been sitting by the table at the window -the window this entire thing began at- for seeming eternities, and she still hadn't passed by. He was impatient. He wanted so many things, and she just had to go and be late.
Gilbert knew it would all be better when she showed; he could never stay angry at her. Not even the shards of his heart, painstakingly slowly sewn back together overnight, could continue to rage at her.
He stared out the window and idly twirled a glass cup in his fingers. The vial of cantarella hidden up his sleeve moved and nearly uncorked, and he stopped it with one hand.
On the little planter of pale white flowers outside the window was a blackish purple butterfly. It was inches away from his face, the closest he'd ever been to one of them, and he was equally captivated and repulsed.
It was only a butterfly...Except it wasn't 'only' a butterfly. The sun shone on the violet wings for a moment, turning them bright and translucent. Two triangular brown marks appeared like eyebrows, and...
For just a moment it looked like there was the vengeful stare of an angry Austrian floating right there outside the window, captured in the butterfly.
The albino dropped the glass cup. His fingers stopped twirling, the cup hit them and flipped end over end onto the marble ground. When he bent to retrieve it, he saw it was unharmed but for a long scratch on one end.
And only now did Elizaveta come down the hall, skirts trailing after her, and in a purple ripple of silk he saw the reflection of the angry eyes.
Feeling frantic now, he looked back at the butterfly at the window, and then in the reflection in the glass that tinted his vivid red eyes to the violet shade.
Everywhere I go, he's always there.
He glanced back towards Elizaveta, who increased her pace as it seemed like her quarry was going to escape. After yesterday's cold conversation, she obviously wanted a followup.
Gilbert understood that. He really did. If it was the same thing reversed, he'd want to make sure she didn't hate him either. Of course, he could never know for sure how the Hungarian felt...
The footsteps on the marble galvanized him. The Hungarian looked like an avenging angel, determined for him not to get away this time.
Of course, he had to remedy that. Forget the plan. He didn't have the nerve to deal with her anymore.
The albino sprang up so quickly he flipped the small table he was waiting at and fled down the hallway.
Behind him, he heard the advancing footsteps stop, and Elizaveta sank to the ground, head in her hands. "What have I done?"
Of course, she received no answer. The albino was long gone.
Outside the window, the violet butterfly caught an updraft and floated away, as if it had never been there.