One of us is an addict..one of us is a fraud. One of us is haunted. One of us is a monster, one a killer, one a liar. One of us is a predator, one of us a prince. One of us is a seductress. One of us is damned. All of us are killers.
Some secrets sh...
I want nary a murmur or complaint if you want me to keep your secret. Oh, how the note had positively drawled in that majestic handwriting of his. Blackmail. Ha! By Jove! I had laughed half mad to myself at the sheer absurdity of it!
Ah, yes, to many Julien Jean Bouvier had indeed made himself ... acquainted, but I, unlike the remainder of the deceased man's dinner guests, had not taken leave of my senses under his spell.
No.
I'd had him fallen unto mine.
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Admittedly I found myself somewhat surprised to find I was not the first to arrive at the dinner party, despite making it quite plain to my chauffeur that he must have me present at the estate earlier than Bouvier's allotted 7pm. I assured my presence in the dining room right away, dressed most fashionably, of course, to a soft jazz saxophone singing through a gramophone of crystal. Why, I should have known! The good man Bouvier himself spared no expense pursuing a good impression on his guests, and by the sheer golden grandness of the room spared no amount of pomp, either.
Oh, dear Julien, even in death you did not move me.
I sauntered the circumference of the central table once, surveying the Bouvier family heirlooms amongst other such clutter. Naturally, I found them to be vile and overvalued, not unlike the man who had once owned them.
The other guests were already introduced and seated by the time I found my place card beside an unapologetically handsome thing. Comely, yes, in a sort of aloof, Scandinavian way, but there lay an ocean of woe hidden in those blue orbs of his. He caught my eye as I lowered myself, and again as his reflection stretched into the curved silver shell of my cigarette case.
"Care to take one?" I asked to fill the silence.
"No," he answered.
I placed the butt of a cigarette between my lips. "So be it. But just so that you know—" I sneaked a glance at his place card "—Mr Morris, that when an aristocrat offers a cigarette, it is bad manners not to take it. I'll ask again. Would you like one?"
He held up his hand. His soft palm revealed to me his background in the arts or education. "Thank you sir, but I must decline this time."
"Clearly a man of no status," said I, though I did not altogether mind. The glimmer of lust in his eyes told me he would not have refused me should I have asked him once again in my bedroom. Oh, but of course! That was the reason Bouvier had seated Morris to his immediate left. Their clandestine relationship then became apparent, and so did the significance of being seated the other side of this soft-featured, soft-palmed artist.
Feeling chided from beyond the grave, I glanced at the beauty sat opposite me; her white gown rivalled her pallor, though shimmered stark against the deep hues of her locks. She had caught my attention almost immediately, for she was a much welcomed contrast to the grotesque grandeur of the room.
