Walking up the cobblestone steps to the Théâtre du Ciel, I clutched the ticket in hand tightly. I had to talk to the performers. Their names, what were they? I shook my head in frustration and agreed to ask them when I had the chance, besides, knowing their names wouldn’t quite be of an importance to me anyways. As I waited for the other gentlemen and madams to get their tickets stamped with red wax from the usher, I traced my index finger along the compilation of hair thin, black lines that formed a picture of a golden beast—a roaring lion. There must be a full house, for it looked as if it would take quite some time until I could have gotten my ticket stamped.
When the usher finished stamping all of the tickets, he shut the iron wrought doors and motioned for his co-workers to light white wax candles lining the inside walls of the Théâtre du Ciel. The ceiling was painted with cherubs, up in the heavens, lips cherry red. The stage made up of wooden boards, the seats of velvet brocade, and curtains of blood red hung almost everywhere. As I thought, it is a full house. The smell of mellifluous perfumes filled the air and white powdered wigs laid on men’s heads. My seat was the cheapest; I was sent to one of the back seats.
In just a matter of minutes, the chatter of people’s converses settled down as most of the candles were blown out and a man of average height walked on stage. Wearing a suit of black, and gloves as white as untouched snow, he thanked everybody for coming. He told what all his acts were, but had a trick up his sleeve that he didn’t tell--it was of an automaton. Nobody could believe what the odd doll could do. It replied to responses, it walked, and completed a series of awkward dances like the waltz without a partner. Even if I sit in the back, the work was still marvelous. This. This machine was what intrigued me. Is this why Monsieur Aubury, the man I work for, had sent me here? Or the confidential letter that I took a peek at anyways?
When the show was to be done, I acted to have nodded off and ignoring the uncomfortable squeeze my bodice was causing me. The workers again lit the candles and led every gent and woman out. Some of the women carried blue, green, white, and other color fans which always hit something one way or another. Only then, after every persons had departed, was I finally noticed. A man, looking at around the age of eighteen, woke me up. “I take that our show is dull?”
I shook my head, in disagreement. He chuckled slightly. “Best be on your way out, I assume, Madame?” he asked.
“No. I am meant to stay. I was told to.“ my voice was firm. His eyes grew serious and he motioned for the man wearing white gloves to come. The person who woke me up had such dark eyes and hair that matched his medium skin color but what drew me in unintentionally was his deep, dark mysterious eyes.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” the man in white gloves asked.
“I am here for Monsieur Aubury. My name is not of yet importance.” I winked at him, then stood up. “What is your name?”
Both stared, unsure if whether or not to tell. “Follow me.” one of them said. Soon all three of us were descending down the stairs, onto the stage, backstage behind a curtain, and out a door that led to the outside world. I breathed in the cool winter air and let it consume my lungs.
“What is it, that you must let us know?” the boy with shadowy dark eyes asked as we walked down the street, heading in the direction north. I, however, remained quiet.
“Such beautiful land. A shame that it is also cruel, killing the innocent and guilty alike with no intention to stop by the guillotine.” I whispered hoarsely. The boy repeated what he had said. “Again, tell me, what is your name?” I pointed a finger at him.
The boy looked taken aback. “M-my name?” he put a hand on his chest.
