The next few days were peacefull, Madeline was no where to be found in school and when she was her indiference and ignorance towards Evette only grew, ignoring and denying her very existence. It was Friday. Winter. A thick morning dew covered the city landscape. It glistened brightly in the newly rising sun. Now as the city began to awake to the new day. A gust of snow winds through the maze of ancient houses in the Ol' Town where windows almost shattered in the weakness of their structures and rotting boards, some broken, others hanging try to cover the empty eyes of every home. Weeds socialize across the cracking asphalt of every road, gathering and laughing at the lone girl as they try to weave around the catching leg with every step. After weaving through the labyrinth of old roads, the paths eventually converged and unveiled the central piazza¹.
Flocks of crows were gathered everywhere; their numbers delighted the children as they huddled around the birds, and either fed them crumbs of bread, or took photographs. The children inclination towards the crows differed from the locals; the birds were considered nuisances, and treated as such. A sea of people, of all ages and ethnicities, filled the square and it's many stores. But what attracted the petite damsel attention was the Cafe Séance, run down South Street, two doors down from fabulous Palmeo restaurant, near the Rastafarian's car garage, opposite mid rise low cost flats.
They served the tea in real white china pots at round tables that mostly just seated two people. At the glass-fronted counter was an array of cream cakes and pastries, all with French sounding names, and of course there were the obligatory scones. A unknown place, a place she never dared to cross, and unconscious she found herself staring through the window with her vivid lustrous lenses, fringed in thick, long lashes of obsidian veil, sparkling in the morning sun with tints of orange and blue.
— „ Hei, you. ‟
A man voice. Pleasant and cheerful. Was it calling her? Impossible. She knew no man other than her father, who was hardly ever home. The voice boomed across the sky. She could listen to it all day. It was a voice to sink in as it wraps you up. Yet, vibrating with power and command. It was a voice with authority as a kindly laugh shook the ground like a storm.
— „ Hei, you! In front of the window! ‟
The voice was unexpected. It was high, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of more power than her frail body would possess. Her dreams were shattered by it and with a slow motion her crown would turn towards the source of it; A man, in his early twenties, wearing a fitting high sleeved white shirt and made-to-measure black pants. His charcoal tie touched the silk-like sourface of the silver tray he was carrying as he reached after her from the Cafe's door.
— „ I-I apologize,sir. ‟
It is startling, the first time she speaks. The intellect that graces every specifically-chosen word is not expected from her painted porcelain visage; one simple argument can be supported with a shy smile and calculated glance. Turning on her heel, she was startled to face him. As if an artist had mixed a bucket of grey and black and splashed it onto him, giving the man a rich tapestry woven in a dark like coloration; running from his cranium, to his eyes. Cascades of charcoal oil would fall from the man head touching his neck with his rich and messy hair. A towering creature, acutely beautiful, his features smooth and precise, as though they had been carved from fine marble. His head high, sloping into a wide back and lowered hips, the stance of a general overlooking his troops. His eyes,silver pale, filled with a raging fire of passion and tenderness, he seems as though a finely crafted piece of art rather than a living, breathing man. Muscles keenly defined under his fitting high buttones shirt, heavy-set but still lean enough to be attractive for most women.
— „ There is no need for that. I thought there migh be a creep disturbing our costumers but it was just a school girl. ‟
The gentle rises and falls of her lean body made for an easy scene to lay one's eyes upon, and she held herself with a shy semblance of poise as his metalic lenses examined her. Her visage was slender and tapered, finite with refined edges as a well-bred bird. Her heart beats accelerated, feeling his eyes on her, sounding like a drum in her auditory system.
— „ I am a student of Saint Christopher's Academy. I was heading to classes when I c-cought glance of your Cafe, sir. ‟
Rosy were Evette's high crafted cheeks as she answered the man with her low voice, sounding more like tiny bells hitting eachother in harmony. It was a strange sensation, fear and something else. It was him of course, embarrassment took over her, this was the first time she had spoke with a man other than her own father. It felt wrong.
— „ Ah, you are not far. ‟ the corners of the man would lift, offering her a bright smile.
— „ Yes. ‟ she answered right away, politly as her mother teached her, offering him a clumsy mechanical smile, without changeing her gloomy-dreamy expression much.
He seemed cultured and charming, quick with a smile. His lenses, though intelligent, were generally soft and warm. He was not shy with his boundaries and can touch even strangers quite openly, as she noticed, when he grabed her palm in his, pulling her inside the Cafe.
— „ As an apollogy, I will treat you with something good. ‟ a quick smile appeard on his face, just like before. Bright. Who knows, perhaps it was an excuse 'cause of her gloomy expression, but she was more concerned of her morning classes than anything else.
— „ I-I can not, s-sir! ‟ her voice, melodious and silky, ringing through the Cafe's air, as sweet as the freshly baked scent of mini-cakes. With a deep carmine-red colour staining her cheeks, Evette tried to place her delicate pale palm on his back, pushing him away, escaping. It was useless, his muscles rippled beneath his shirt, she could feel it, he was a man after all, his musculature was far more developed than her and he was older. Unfair.
— „ Why is that.? ‟ He questioned her as soon as they reached the table. It was in the back, in the corner, somewhere more private than the others were sitted, openly, placed by the windows.
— „ And please stop calling me sir, I am not that old.! If you want to call me something, call me Adam. ‟ realeasing her palm he turned, his visage incredibly close of her own, as if he was studying her next facial expression in excitment.
— „ I-I have classes, A-Ad...Adam. ‟ he called him by his given name as he released her hand and she took notice of his closeness. Wow... He is even better looking up close... Once again, the palness in her cheeks vanished leaving place for a coral pigmentation to take it's place. Her own poisonous thoughts made her that way. What was she thinking, he was not much older, but still, he was a stranger.
— „ You still have time. Just one tea, I promise. ‟ Adam replied delighted, his usual bright smile re-appearing on his facade as his auditory system caught his name. She called him by his name, it was a good start.
Evette hesitated but eventually succumb to the temptations of different scents that invaded her nostrils, she was nodding her crown in approval. Temptation. Every human would fall for that trick. Wasn't it also a sin? Evette was the religious type, she truly believed in eerie spirits, and she truly knew how weak she had been, to succumb to such miserable tricks. But, who could blame her? There were sweets after all. She carried the soft appearance of tempered glass, the look of being breakable by the softest of blows, her delicated form was blessed with mile-long legs who helped her slide swiftly towards the chair, each shift of the tidal sinew caught up in an aura of unadulterated innocence.
Couples of moments flew by, lost in time, and Adam returned to her side with a silver tray in his hands. She had been expecting a tea bag stewed in a mug, but instead he brought out an old porcelain white teapot with gold gilding around the lid and spout. The rose decorations on the side caught your eyes in an instant.
— „ Earl Grey Tea, for the Mademoiselle². ‟ deep baritones rolled out of his mouth, placing the teapot in front of Evette, with his usual charming smile still present on his acutely handsome facade. The scent invaded her nostrils, the enchanting aroma of the Earl Grey tea, picked early in the spring and dried quickly over a smoldering fire of cheerywood.
— „ Thank you, A-Adam. ‟ The girl replied, the name of the man still rolling off her tongue with a somewhat difficulty, but she made improvements since the last time. Pale, finite fingers wondered, lifting the cup up to her chin, sipping from the tea Adam so charmly offered her. Delicious. The aroma explode in her pretty mouth before it runned down her throat, warming her from inside and out. Time flew once again right before her, the Cafe became crowded, What did you expect? It is famous after all. Before Evette even noticed, Adam left her side, he was a waiter, offering his bright smile to other costumers was his profession after all. Without a word the porcelain doll would rise, leaving the beautifully crafted cup upon the table and left the Cafe in high spirits while pale fingertips rolled her woolen hat back on her ears.
Saint Christopher's Academy was not far, Evette's mile-long legs left marks behind her in the purity of snow covering the terrain like a blanket of frost. The grim and gloomy building that appeard right before her was the worst excuse for a Academy she'd ever seen, it was more like a long-abandoned prison or insane asylum rather than a once prestigious school. Long legs like pillars carried the fragile frame of the girl inside the campus where the doors and windows were covered with a thick layer dust that looked like it has been untouched for years. The windows of the "school" looked back at her like the eyes of an empty soul, along with the grand door at the entryway that seemed to give her the impression it was a gateway to hell.
But after all, the facade of the building was not the most terrible part of the Academy. It was the inside. It was the dank, humid hallways, for one thing, the bad odor of the school was strongest there; and for another thing, she did not like the white fungous growths which occasionally sprang up from the lockers. Reaching her classroom the rotting wooden door creaked slowly open and her echoing footsteps invaded the noise of her classmates. A thick carpet of dust clung to every object, the rays of light shining through the shattered windows catching on the particles suspended in the stagnant air. Evette moved deliberately to her place, dust billowing into petite clouds as she passed. The bell rang. Every single individual remained quite as the wooden door creaked open once again; silver hair, their homeroom teacher, Mister Evans. An ol' famous pervert who sometimes accepted students school fees in carnal pleasures.
— „ Listen up, you runts,a new history teacher will arive today since Madame³ Emillia had a terrible accident, you can still visit her at the morgue. ‟ his rigid, hoarse escaped his almost toothless mouth, spitting small traits of saliva as the words leacked off ringing through the class.
The Devil himself, stepped upon earth... Bring chaos with his arrival..
Author Notes:
¹ An open public area in a town or city that is usually surrounded by buildings.
² A french diminutive of "Madame" ; the term of "Mademoiselle" means "My little lady". it once was used to signify an unmarried woman, but concidering that it is a diminutive of "Madame", not it is just used for girls and young women.
³ A married Frenchwoman: usually used as a title equivalent to Mrs, and sometimes extended to older unmarried women to show respect and to women of other nationalities
IN THE MEDIA PANNEL, IN THE RIGHT, YOU CAN SEE ADAM'S APPARENCE!