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"Are the preparations ready yet?"
"Yes, of course ma'am. Is there anything else I can do for you, Madame Mentum?"
The narrow curves of her lips remain pressed together in an unwavering line while her face remains expressionless behind the mask she wore. Madame rises from the chair. The hem of her long velvet dress swishes around her ankles as she does so, the soft fabric of it gently caressing her skin as she takes a step towards the man in front of her. She warily studies the person in front of her, her dark eyes digging into his visibly shaking ones. His pupils move back and forth, from the door to the her, and never truly meeting her blank gaze. The man has his back slumped and hands clasped in front of him, fingers twitching more rapidly as each second ticks by.
Madame Mentum slightly tilts her head to one side and raises a forefinger in his direction. The man flinches. The glimmering silver material of his clown like costume flashes gold underneath the candle lit chandelier above them. Her almost black crimson stained lips curl without haste as she beckons him to come forward with a quick motion. Under the dim flickers of fire, her red painted fingernail looks as if it had been dipped in fresh blood.
Knowing better than to run, the man make his way forward, knees nearly buckling as he begins to walk up the steps that led to her feet. His footsteps are the only thing that could be heard amongst the deathly silence that sang eerily in the background. The sound of lethal nothingness bounces of the obsidian walls and painfully strikes his eardrums without an ounce of mercy. Thump, thump thump, goes his heart as time slows down around him.
He doesn't dare meet Madame's eyes. Instead, he allows his eyes to trace the delicate patterns of black embroidery sewn into the ruffles of her burgundy skirt. They curl and wrap themselves around the velvet fabric in a way that reminds him of ink as it spreads in water. Tainted and beautiful. What a merciless combination, he thinks as a sliver of fear slices down at his spine. Sweat beads on his forehead and drips down the sides of his face, the salt of it stinging his eyes.
She had warned him. She had told him, even before he had set foot into this hellish paradise, that he would regret his actions- that he would be a fool if he were to agree upon taking such a job. That he would have been insane to have ever think of even working for her. But he had not listened. No, he had taken her words for granted, he had believed that they were the ones who were being foolish and now he will pay the price. The loud click of his heels against marble ricochets around the massive room. The sound of it is so sudden and startling that he bites his tongue in surprise. No pain follows afterwards. The metallic and bitter taste of blood floods his mouth and stings the back of his throat. He was wrong all along.
"Wow, what did you say? That this job pays one thousand dollars per hour?" He exclaimed, his heart thudding crazily in his chest. There was nothing that sounded as amazing as that to him. After all this time, after all of his hardworking efforts to find a job, after hearing the words "No, I'm sorry, but you are not what we were hoping for," repetitively, this sounded like music to his ears. This was his chance to redeem himself, to bring light back to his miserable, failing life. Finally. This was all he needed.
