o v e r t u r e
An orchestral piece at the beginning of an opera.
New Orleans, Louisiana—1923
The sky turned darker over the picturesque city streets. The colorful scenery of the French Quarter was suddenly turning monochromatic. A little earlier, it would've seemed like New Orleans would have one of the sunniest days they've ever seen. However, they were all already used to the ever-so-often changing weather.
This Sunday morning, The Velvet Times lay flat on all the front porches of New Orleans—except for that one house. The Merlaine Mansion, located in St. Charles Avenue, seemed to have no newspaper subscription. The paperboy had always thought of them as traitors. Little did he know that behind those walls, lived his very own boss—better said, the boss of his boss' boss. Behind those mahogany doors, there's was darkness that was waiting to be found.
On the second floor, Colette was sat on her wooden desk, her window looking out into St. Charles Avenue. Her eyes glanced at her worn-out journal, studying every inch of the page she had just finished writing on. Her hazel-eyes were shining passionately, as she read over the date repeatedly – August 19. There were small ink smudges that had bled through from older entries. Colette's head was tilted slightly, something she always did when reading. Her wavy dark brown hair was down to her waist, some strands falling over her face, all the way down to the aged paper. Her body, was wrapped in a long white & elegant gown. All this while a sad, soft smile crept over her lips.
In a matter of seconds, she found herself overly entertained with the marvelous art of people watching. Colette—her mother's spitting image—loved observing things and making them into whatever her mind decided. Her brain slowly drifting into fantasizing made-up stories of the people who walked past their street. Specially, wondering about a person who would exist in between the multitude, one that would understand her in the most heavenly of ways, her soulmate. Could having that even be possible?
As she looked out her window, the people over on St. Charles Avenue were the same as every other day. There was a very funny-looking apple seller on the street corner, a perfect line of uniformed children and their caretakers, everyone so familiar to her. However, in the distance she could make out a figure she had never seen before. An odd man stood out from the crowd, his posture rigid, his hair gray. He seemed as if he were walking on air—is he even moving?
After a short while observing him, she realized it would be highly improbable for him to be doing such a thing—an impossible thing. Although staring at him felt eerie, nostalgic and terrifying; for some strange unbeknownst reason. This man seemed so familiar to her, yet still unfamiliar. Colette described him that way in her diary entry that night.
As she thought about how this could be, the old man slowly turned around and moved his head up just a little. He was now looking at her straight in the eyes—he can see me. She jumped back, instinctively hiding behind her curtains. Colette mentally reprimanded herself, knowing very well how rude it was to stare. Her hazel eyes would still be glowing with curiosity, moving her curtains to the side a little to glance back into the street–when she got interrupted by an extremely familiar voice to her.
"Colette, I'm home."
She turned her head to her door, opposite her desk, and looked towards it with excitement. Her father, Richard Velvet, who was surely calling out from house's main entrance. His voice echoed around the entire mansion. He's back. Colette ran down the stairs as fast as she could, noticing her father's hair looked a lot grayer than it had before he'd left. Even his under-eyes were purple. She felt a big pang in the chest, knowing very well they were both going through a lot of pain. The only difference was that he needed to keep working, no time to stop and process anything.
Richard had left Louisiana and traveled across a few neighboring states, looking to expand his newspaper further out. He hadn't been as successful as he'd hoped to be, sadly. It seemed as no one wanted to do business with New Orleans in general. Most reasons were from fear of being cursed to being rumored about, and not wanting to delve with what they called the "crazies". Outsiders never wanted to delve into things they considered obscure. Colette had never been able to understand that properly.
Colette had never spent a summer in that big three-story house by herself. Adele Papillon's absence had drifted the father and daughter apart, to the extent that they had stopped talking of important things altogether. Small talk, always; but when it came to deep topics, they would never be able to keep a conversation going. Thank God for Lila, Adele's best friend; without her, Colette would've never had a parental figure to talk about comfortably.
Colette had never traveled outside of Louisiana, and if she had, she couldn't remember it in its totality. Like when she went to stay with that cousin of hers that she'd never recalled meeting ever before. Even now, staring at the pictures playing and laughing with him felt eerie. Almost like having somebody trying to force memories into your brain.
It's not like Richard didn't invite her to travel—he always did—but Colette always politely declined. The idea of being cooped up in a hotel room for days on end, gifting fake smiles to people who were stupid enough to believe them seemed like the worst thing she could do. Not to mention, her father only ever talked about work–if he doesn't talk about work there's no other conversation he can have.
Although after spending two weeks in a three-story mansion all alone with the house workers, her own decision seemed just as stupid to her. Cantaloupes baloney, as she put it herself. She was lucky enough to have had Luna and her yellow pair of eyes to keep her company.
After the first month, she needed a human to talk to desperately. Furthermore, she started writing letters to her mother, a new habit she didn't think would stop anytime soon. It was therapeutic—like chocolate. While doing so, she came up with the idea of remaking her mother's infamous Halloween masquerade she always prepared to celebrate Colette's birthday every year. Since it was still August, she had quite a while to finalize the planning—which she'd already started in late-June. The real reason why she never truly left the house that summer—except for following the letters.
Colette was terribly missed by the people who constantly saw her out and about in the French Quarter. She had a habit of always smiling at everyone. A chipper and jumpy persona she was. Every woman and girl who saw her wanted to be just like her. There was no other girl that shone as she did, a lady who would have the courage to break dress codes and stand up for herself.
Her long dark brown hair was also something out of the ordinary. Everything about her caught everyone's attention, those who had the privilege to cross paths with her. Not to mention the French accent that was always rolling in the back of her throat, making every word coming out of her mouth to sound sweetly intoxicating and one of a kind. Her tone, as sweet as her personality, exceptionally sugar-coated.
Colette hugged her father as tightly as she could, being extremely careful—as if she were scared to crack a twig. The girl tilted her head to have a good look at her father's face, and he smiled back at her, moving his glance over to the counter beside them. Two whitely polished boxes with perfectly wrapped red ribbons on them.
"H-how did you get them?" she murmured while moving towards the boxes with utmost amazement. After all, her father had told her getting the items would be physically impossible—yet they were right there.
It was the first time Colette would be hosting the masquerade by herself. Some of her classmates had even offered themselves to help—but politely declined every time. No one knew her mother as well as she did, which meant that no one would understand the process but herself. Making her mother proud was always Colette's number one priority.
Those boxes contained twelve masks in total, six in each one, for the most special guests of the night—those whom she wanted to stand out.
Richard shrugged his shoulders and sighed, "A father has got to do what a father has got to do."
Colette furrowed her brows while taking one good look at the boxes, softly tracing her fingers down one of the bows. Had it been that hard to get them? She figured it was useless to think about these trivial things, so she turned over to her father and smiled softly.
"Thank you father," she muttered and walked over slowly towards her father again. "I think you should go to bed. I'll send Blue in to pour you some tea."
Her father nodded, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead to begin walking towards the staircase, when he turned around to look at Colette from a far.
"Will this be the last time?"
Colette sighed, knowing he referred to her doing things that reminded him of her mother, his late-wife. "Why do you want me to stop?"
"Everyday you become more like her. If you keep going like this, you're gonna end up just like her."
She furrowed her brows in frustration, "The best thing I can do is become like her, that's how I keep her alive."
"Suit yourself, Colette", without wanting to finish the conversation he turned around and disappeared into the darkness.
Colette turned around to look over at Blue, who was ignorantly staring into the horizon before him. Blue was one of the house workers of the Merlaine Residence, Colette's favorite person there. He didn't talk much, but he was most surely always there when she needed him the most. Blue nodded, walking smoothly over to the kitchen corridors, ready to prepare that tea.
She looked down at the boxes, tugging softly on the bow she had been playing with before. The bow softly untied itself until it became a mere piece of ribbon. She looked at its contents with more admiration than she'd ever given anything else before. While she stared, she noticed something strange in the inside left corner of the box, which seemed to be a fake end. Right at that instance, she didn't give it much importance—not in front of her father— but once she'd gone upstairs, no one would stop her from curiously looking over it.
The corridors inside the house were eerie and lacked some bright lighting—unlike the rest of the house, which was always bright during the daytime. The red and dark brown wallpaper could suck you into the darkness, like a portal of some sort. It felt cozier that way, and it's part of the many things that made their residence unique. Colette turned left, passing by her study, the music room, and her closet—a separate room—to open her bedroom door, which was there at a turn to the right.
She closed the door behind her. She looked at the white boxes she held with her right hand still on the doorknob. Her bedroom was entirely white—the twin bed, the furniture, the curtains, and the doors—almost like their whole house. The sunlight came creeping in through the window, which was open, and the curtains floated around with the soft gushes of wind.
Colette placed both boxes gently in her bed, impatiently wanting to open them. The reason for her impatience was simple, a mystery ready for her to unfold. Ever since her mother had passed, Colette had received many hand-written, secret messages in letter form. Sometimes things she couldn't understand, but mostly they were about places she was being to go. Colette would always, without hesitation, do what was asked of her. Even if there would be nothing for her to find.
With her delicate hands, she opened one of the boxes carefully, looking over all the corners for the fake end she had most surely seen a while back. She took her right index finger to try and pull the fake carton from the bottom, but it was no use. The first box didn't have a perfectly contrived ending, so she shifted it to the side and grabbed hold of the base.
She gasped, taking a glimpse of the clock over her midnight table as she was about to open it—it was ten minutes past noon.
"Really, really late...", Colette said, putting the boxes just as she had first placed them, "again."
The french girl stood up and ran along towards Audubon Park, where she'd be meeting her mother's longtime friend—Lila, who had valuable items to give Colette.
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Colette waited for Lila Botswana on a white bench in an out-of-sight area of the park, where Colette and her mother used to go. Lila specialized in doing creative paperwork—invitations. That gorgeous red-haired woman was the closest thing Colette had to her mother. Just by looking into Lila's eyes, it was as if her mother was there with her. Nevertheless, something about that specific meeting seemed odd to her. Never in her life had Lila ever asked Colette to meet in Audubon Park.
Colette's gaze drifted to a yellow sunflower that was slowly turning orange, decaying into a brownish color. It made her think about the future and how much time she had left to achieve what her heart truly desired. That solemn girl had always felt like she hadn't much time left. She would be twenty soon, and it would be too late to start a career as a singer. The Merlaine's sure as hell had money—heaps of it; thanks to Richard's mother, Catrina Merlaine. However, Colette wasn't sure her father would be thrilled about her wishes. The one person she'd ever told was her mother, Adele—who had promised not to tell a single soul. What would her father think of her if he found out?
She straightened her back and stared out to the lake that was a couple feet away from her, taking a deep breath to relax her thoughts.
"I'll just sell my soul to the devil."
Colette said, a lot more confident than she'd processed it in her brain. Deep within, she'd known that she meant it. She shook her head, getting those thoughts away from her brain and looking at the decaying flower in her hand and deciding to look around once more in hopes of seeing Lila.
Lila, was still nowhere to be found, what she did see was a man sitting on a bench right next to her. He wore a business suit and a peculiar fedora hat. Oddly familiar—she thought. Colette couldn't get a clear view of his actual face, though she did think it was quite a strange thing for a man to be wearing a business suit at a park. He looked quite taller than Colette, which didn't surprise her in the slightest. Considering when she sat down, her legs barely even touched the floor.
The man tilted his head upward, and a strand of his hair shifted across his shoulder. It was long—for a man—down to his shoulders, something that quite intrigued her. A man with long hair was a rare sight in the 1920s, and Colette thought it was absolutely and mesmerizingly beautiful.—He's mesmerizing.
That man was shifting his head towards her, when something crept upon her shoulder causing her to jump up and let out a frightened scream. The man in the suit must've heard her, considering Colette heard him chuckle. His raspy voice was noticeably familiar to her, as if she'd come across him before. The pale cheeks on her soft face had turned rosy-red in a matter of seconds, and when she slowly turned around to what was touching her shoulder, she found the terrorized face of Lila Botswana.
Colette frowned, looking up at the lady in utter confusion.
"Lila..." she murmured, but the middle-aged lady seemed like she didn't entirely listen to what Colette was saying, looking as if she had been bitten by some bug—as if she were in a state of shock. Dull and disoriented, she didn't seem like her usual self. Lila's gaze was directed out into the forest, and something must've frightened her because she tilted her head quickly towards Colette, and you could see in her eyes that something was off.
"Be careful with what you say, Colette. He is watching your every move," Lila said, brushing Colette's shoulder with her thumb for a second time. With her other hand, Lila proceeded to hand her a box containing fifty-seven invitations. Colette didn't understand what this woman was rambling on about, let alone spot what exactly she was looking to. It seemed as if Lila had lost her train of thought.
"Lila, sit down..." the girl said softly, pulling Lila gently towards the bench beside her. Colette looked at her face, trying to figure out what was going on. "Who is watching my every move?"
Lila shook her head and stared at the trees once more. The short brunette, still seated, tilted her head over to where Lila was looking, her long locks moving along with her. Colette's chest pounded intensely, Lila's behavior was slowly starting to frighten her. The man on the bench wasn't in sight anymore. Colette moved her gaze to match Lila's, and there he was, his back facing them, standing next to a tree. Why was it she still couldn't have the chance of seeing his face? Colette couldn't help but get a little bit anxious at his presence; she knew where she had seen her before.
He had been there, at her mother's funeral. She remembered feeling the same way she did now—cold, frightened, creeped out. Mostly the latter. Her heart raced as she tried to grab hold of Lila, but nothing was there. She trembled, tilting her head to her right side with tears brimming out of her eyes—Lila wasn't there.
"No," she murmured, her legs doing the best thing they could in that situation—run.
"This can't be happening again," Colette murmured to herself as she ran as far as she could. Something was telling her she needed to get far away from there. The pathway back into the park's main gates now felt much longer than she had remembered.
"Colette," Lila's soft voice tickled her ear, echoing deep in her mind. This was driving her insane, making her so much more paranoid than she already was. Yet as she kept running, she couldn't find a single way to get out. Colette let her knees fall to the ground in defeat. Closing her eyes, while crying and screaming in agony. Am I going crazy?
"Colette!" the girl softly took her hands out of her face and looked up frightened. The voices had finally stopped. There was Lila, staring right back at her, "What are you doing?" the lady frowned and jogged towards the short girl who had tears that ran down her rosy cheeks. Colette held her frame back together and stood back up, while still breathing heavily.
The petrichor was a lot more intense to her in those moments. This gave her flashbacks to when her mother's had passed away. It wasn't the very best of feelings, but Colette was still trying her best to get better. The doctors had said she kept experiencing what they called hysteria attacks.
"Colette," Lila repeated a third time, obviously concerned about the girl. To Lila, Colette was just a nineteen-year-old child who still had a lot of time to enjoy her life, "You'll be fine." Lila said as she stroked Colette's cheeks, "you left this back there."
Lila lifted a white box with a golden bow, returning it to the brown-eyed girl. "Stay away from the yellow-eyed beast." Those were the last words Lila said to her. So clearly, there wasn't a single word she could've missed.
Nonetheless, Colette hoped she had misheard her. What is that? The yellow-eyed beast? Botswana walked away from Colette, leaving her with questions shooting all over her small little head.
"The yellow-eyed beast?" Colette murmured to herself. She then heard a male voice repeating it in a whisper.
"The yellow-eyed beast," he said.
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Colette looked up softly at both the faces of her father and Poppy—her best friend—both of whom gazed down at her with affection. Standing up from the ground, she eyed her mother's grave once more. The ruby-red rose she'd just placed over it was contrasting heavily with the gray-looking grass.
"Happy birthday, mère," she said once more, closing her eyes and inhaling the petrichor through her nostrils. A little drop of water fell over her forehead, and she opened her eyes to stare up and see what was about to pour down on them.
"Run," said Poppy with a humorous tone coming from the back of her throat. Poppy giggled as she grabbed hold of Colette's hand, pulling her across the cemetery to get to their chauffeured car. Richard ran behind them, reaching the car together—slightly damp.
Colette, from the car, took a last glance at what she'd seen of her mother that day. She noticed a pair of bright green eyes in the distance, which pierced down right into her soul. The man in the suit, she thought. He was holding something Colette recognized in his hand.
"My diary..." she murmured as the car drifted along toward their secluded mansion. The storm had finally arrived, along with the yellow-eyed beast.
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Once they were back home and Colette was finally in her room, she'd decided to take a bath. She dried herself with a towel once she got out of it. Colette was very keen on always drying herself immaculately after a good washing, taking her legs first and going up all the way from there.
She propped on her silk robe and walked out of the bathroom, sitting on the bed, and taking a deep breath. It was about time she opened the second box. The day had been stressful enough.
Colette moved the first box to the side, propping open the second one delicately. Just as she'd seen—it was there—the fake corner. She moved the carton just a little, grabbing the paper while doing so.
Her heart raced.
The address to Audubon Park was there, alongside the time she'd been there that day. She suddenly felt herself getting cold, alongside a terrifying realization. The hand-written messages—she thought. Everywhere she'd been asked to go, he'd been there too.