by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
I watched him work for a while, tinkling away at the keys, until I eventually dressed and informed Sylvester that I would be going out for a while for as entertaining as it was watching him play, I was in The City of Light and I intended to explore a little at least. As I walked down the narrow steps to the main door which would lead me to Rue de la Liberte, I realised how strange it’d be for me to go out in Paris without him for I didn’t know my way around in the slightest. I buttoned up my coat and stepped out of the property and onto a shockingly vibrant street. The cobblestones were being walked over by all manner of people and the street was lined with people with blank white canvases and colourful pots of paint and delicate brushes. This really was the artists’ district. I wasn’t sure how far from the brothel I was or rather how far from The Artists’ District it was, but I suppose even Camille was an artist in a way – for she was highly versed in the fine art of dominance and submission as I seemed to remember.
The bustling district seemed so alive with hope and promise it was not wonder to me why Sylvester had chosen to live here. Though the apartment was far less grand and luxurious than the old house on Old Oakbourne Street, I could see why this place was a better home. The winding streets were seemingly never ending with narrow passages and darkened alleys and twists and turns until I had almost forgotten where I had begun. As I turned to walk away from a dead end, I was whistled around by a voice calling me – the same voice that had called me the previous night – limited though my recollection was. “My dear!” it called “I was just coming to find you” I looked around hurried for the creator of the sound and my eyes were met with a rather dishevelled Marius. “My dear, I – I –“ he caught his breath “I have to tell you something terrible: I read Camille’s diary and she plans for her and Sylvester to run away together.” My heart stopped. “She wrote how she intends to leave this place with him and take him of her own”
“Does she know you’ve read this?” I responded.
“I do indeed believe that she left it specifically for me to read.” He closed his eyes. “I believe she wanted me to know.” A tear formed in my eye and cascaded down my cheek coldly and eventually was followed by a river.
“Marius, could you give her a note from Sylvester?”