For a time during my natural age, I daresay I felt my spirit could get no lower. But this night had marked the beginnings of yet my greatest fall. The night when I wept a great fount of mortal tears.

And although I came to know the darkest dwellings of my mind, I, too, came to know my fiery spirit. I had discovered it flaming inside of me in a sudden. But what measure of horrors did it take for it to be so.

    Were it not for that smoldering flame that was mixed equally with an aching pain to see once again those eyes lay upon me very gently, I know not how I would have endured all of my eternal nights. 

    Life for me had changed drastically and totally. I no longer knew life of The Grand Tour where I had come to learn, finally, the world beyond a page. In sadness, I no longer knew that particular sound of the castrati singing in the bright air of the earth, nor the fresh faces of an intelligent mind exploring, as I was confined, finally and miserably, to the small measures of a room.

Thus, although I was free, I was not free. I fled one horrible fate only to be dealt another. What I came to hopelessly realize was that loneliness was tragically all I would ever come to know. And so a powerful sorrow fell upon me, one that felt at once endless and deathless.

    Peter was a kindly man that was connected to James to some degree, and as such, had provided me with a room in an attic, in which I was meant to be very quiet. But to be very quiet, as I have mentioned, I had such remarkable talent.

   I lived with the dust and darkness there, breathing in that particular smell. I was allotted a single candle to be used strictly by day, and I was to never open the small, narrow window so that I might draw in the light and the pleasant fanning air, or draw in the lovely hymns sung by the monastery, soft and echoing and unspeakably beautiful.

Quietly within myself, I hummed along.

    I was nothing at all steeled during these times. I missed James beyond all reason without question. Would that I had more strength, I would not have written after only three months. He had advised that I should not, lest I be found. Thus, they went unanswered, and I wept and wept.

I wrote if only to be safe with the knowledge that he was well and that his plotting had been left undiscovered. And, too, I wrote to know that I yet had some connection to the open world. A world beyond this tiny room, beyond the tiny pictures I drew of the delicate rose petals upon a stream floating down and down.

    James had secured the few things I needed. My morsels of books and paints and, of course, my writing desk.

    It was kept as a reminder of a time I knew precious freedom.

    It, too, had burned away along with all the rest.

    I cannot tell you how I smiled then.

    What a muddled mind I had become.

    But it was quite the affair with its golden nobs and carved legs of vines and budding roses. The days then were loud and vibrant, a waking dream. And, so, I kept that desk.

    All else, I left behind.

    But among my simple belongings, within a small wooden box, which was fashioned with a lid carved with a tiny finch, was there a bit of nosegay. James had this fixed within his pocket, always.

    Its perfume and fragile, purple petals faded already.

I thought marvelous much of the rich roses James would leave for me.

But no longer were there roses. No longer was there that pleasant smell, a preserving sweet, my mind and heart filled of flowers.

Only a wooden box with brittle pedals that I dare not hold, and a lid with a bird that would never sing.

But within that lid, folded with much care and very small was a note of thin parchment. One final gift. Such was his nature.

My dearest Lady,

Inside us all are a world of people. Some broken and strong all at once. Some gone mad when they have lost all presence of mind to bare things patiently. Some lonely and wating for death's release, feeling the empty space between those around, which is the very thing that makes us not alone. You are not alone, Vittoria. Within each of us there is struggle, but their is a lesson, the lesson of strength that we will overcome all that has befallen us, and that we have all been unfortunate in a great many things. Remember that when you hate everything.

Your Professor, Your Scholar, and all other titles you have generously given—

Tenderly, I folded small again his level words and tucked it in.

I put the box away.

He had gifted these contents to me to keep as a memory of better days, that those days were not altogether lost. That we would one day lay loving eyes and arms and the madness of words upon the other again.

    And I had such mad hope that it were true.

    Yet eight months had passed, and I still in this tiny room with no word from him. And how my spirits wained.

At 6 o'clock each evening, when Peter brought to me my super and drawing papers or other simple things I needed, I would look at him, that sweet, tattered face, and quietly and solemnly he would shake his head.

    Hope is a thing with feathers, it was written. And this was much true, for it is ever, ever fleeting.

    My final letter to James. I paid mind not to use names or obvious detail. But I was a child, and, well..

Dearest,

I beseech you, do me one last kindness and send me word. I beg that you tell me how it goes with you. I can no longer find sleep for all I dared to imagine. My mind is filled with the horror that you are dead. I am plagued by such wild visions; he bringing cruel and terrible death upon you, and you powerless. I well pictured you now still and rotting upon the earth, dried of blood, eyes sunken and unglazed and open to the weeping angels above. I wonder if they turned their faces from those unsavory scenes, or did they, in their poise and silent promise to be present, keep an unfaltering watch over them as the wickedness of the night desecrated the purity of untarnished souls. I know little of comfort, but it does make me feel it to fancy that they do. For what justice of death would there be if one should die alone?

    Oh, Sweet Heaven, My Gentle Hand, I am most unwell. Gift me your comfort. How I long to see you again. Your eyes as they looked unto me with such promise. Should I have made this trip at all? If there were a garden beyond all seeing eyes, I would meet you there. I would meet you there to brush our palms against the sweet, tall grass as you gently learn me things to keep in my heart.

     What was the name of that painting again? You know the one.

Your Lady of the Birds—

    Of course, it went unanswered and my heart hurt. I began fearing with such dread that he had been discovered and murdered in the most grotesque way. The thought haunted my sleep when I shut my eyes until I found myself hopelessly weeping the remainder of the night. Until I altogether could not sleep at all.

    I attempted to think of only good things. To bare mind the words, 'oh, come to me in my dreams, for they should more than pay the hopeless longing of the day.'

    If only.

    I sat and read, or stared, or prayed and prayed, but did not sleep. It was such that I was driven right out of my very reason, my mind starting its trickery again. Small movements were in my vision. Small sounds within my ears.

I held with a vice-like grip the arms of my chair like iron bands until I could feel my cold fingers no longer, that precious sanity of mine wearing thin.

Another sound.

I tilted my head.

    The knock on the door was very faint, as if it were not meant to be heard at all. It startled me that it was so utterly quiet, and so I questioned whether this sound had really happened at all.

    I turned a careful ear and waited if it would sound again. It did, and I rose with such haste that I knocked my book to the floor.

"Madame Victoria."

    Alas, it was James. And what joy did I know when I heard his voice beyond that door. And I recall saying something so simple, like, "Oui, come hence!"

    Slowly the door opened, and when his face shown beyond that entry, the soft glaze of his eyes, I at once launched myself to him and wrapped my arms about his neck as though it had been an age since last I'd seen him.

    He held me delicately then, his hands reaching to my hair, but did not hold to it. Only he let his fingers slip through to feel loosely the ends.

    I searched him in the face, the calm storm in his eyes, the lines of his lips as they pursed together.

    Then, the reason for his condition made itself plain to me as Phedré entered the room.

    I pulled away.

    James' expression then rested upon me with such uncharted remorse. Without words, he pleaded forgiveness, and without words, I granted, for it was my clumsiness alone that had brought this hideous trouble upon us both.

    Phedré rounded us. I was afraid but I could not let him see that I was. I stood tall and straight and tried to look every inch the brave woman.

    I knew not what he would do. His expression was listless and gave nothing away as he casually nosed through the titles of books upon a table, a drawing I did of the blossoms in the park, my hairbrushes and other simple things.

    He said nothing, made no sound but the easy footfalls upon the hardwood beneath him. I thought I'd die if he did not soon speak. And then he looked at me with such a look that I thought I might die right then instead.

For a long spell he regarded me, as if he were unconscious in that state, those flaming blue eyes unraveling me.

    And then, quite suddenly, he let out a small, short laugh and said finally, "I fear I am most awful dull, mon cher. I thought you fared well in our courtship?"

    I fumbled for a reply. "Yes, well-"

    He gestured slowly, deliberately, raising a single palm to me. "Do not speak."

    I felt horribly the tightness of my throat as he placed a stack of letters upon my writing desk; every letter I had written James.

Ai me, why had he kept them!

    "I haven't the strength to read them," he said. And then he smirked just a little. "How winded I should think them."

    I looked to James; his attention anchored to the ground. I wanted desperately to see him in the face, to look into his aching eyes. And I suffered because I could well see how he suffered from the deep furrow of his brow as he hung his head.

    "Look not at he!"

    His sudden outburst brought me around, his eyes that were red-rimmed and wide, two ruddy cylinders to cast upon me such a wild savagery.

He heaved a sigh with a great outrush of air, and then he, too, bowed his head.

I felt the bile rise as he again returned his attention to me, those crimson gems that were his eyes. "Let there be truth in your words now, Vittoria," he said to me, now without the slightest upset. "Do you love him?"

    I longed to lie. My eyes were bright with tears. "Yes," I told him.

    I heard James shift his weight. The low moan from Phedre as he stared at me. My pounding heart.

    It was a confession, finally. A confession to who God Himself I would never give utterance. And I was forced to give utterance to it now, in this dreadful manner.

And, finally, Phedré's lids had fallen shut with this blow, as though I had caused him a physical pain. It was such the odd sort to see him this way, to see a demon injured. My mind fought to refuse it. I could not conceive of it. And yet, as he opened his lids to me, I could well see the dolor, well see the blood that was now a fount streaming down his face.

    I gasped then. But now as I think on that splendid spill of color, how I ache.

    But at that moment it was altogether frightful as I felt something strange within me that I could not well define.

Then, my room was nothing but white. A sea of paper in the air, a pile of wood upon the floor as he began a wild assault upon my furnishings. The candle was now out with fine, lingering smoke. And his face, for all its human attributes, was now the countenance of a demon upon this earth I had thought him to be all along.

The shadows were menacing and crept his jaw that was rigid, his eyes that were filled with something of the devil.

And in that darkness, shouting with a shrillness I've not yet until this moment known from him, he said, "I have given you everything!"

I trembled and made a loud cry at this, which I silenced with both my hands.

    This would be it, then.

    I thought of the singing birds, the fresh, free wind.

    "Tell me true, why!" he demanded. "Why could I never reach you!"

     To his question, I promptly answered, gripping tightly to the folds of my dress to stay my hands.

"I wanted nothing to be turned. Nothing of all you have promised me. Nothing but your grant to study." I confessed this to him plainly. And I sobbed. I had no thought to well shape my words, as I had no thought to my placement upon the earth; that room.

But so softly did he sigh and say to me, "I know it."

My mind was clean amazed.

He sat and cupped his chin with a deadly, stone hand; a statue upon a bed. And yet he seemed without any strength at all, there where he sat in unbroken silence for much time.

    His gaze was far off, gone to a place where it seemed it would not return. His form was motionless, left hand slacken with fingers curled ever slightly. He seemed a body without purpose at all, without life, save those molten eyes that seemingly looked on to know all things. Eyes with half fallen lids that held definite intelligence, definite purpose, as it seemed what scarce light entered from beyond the garret window, enter solely to gather in their depths.

    All had become quiet, and I had imagined every horrid outcome of this night. But it seemed we were there, the three of us, for hours without a word. No sound but the endless pounding in my ears.

    Then, I was finally reaching for the tumbled candle and the tiny tinderbox.

    No one made a sound at this, nor the scarcest move. It was as if Phedré was not alive. And James, he would not look at me at all.

    I struck a match, and a warm glow swelled to fill the tiny room. Phedré lifted his head; how like death he looked, and along with soft shadow, hung there now about his mouth the most solemn look.

    "I should kill you both." The sound was but a breath to end his miserable silence.

And so softly did James say, "No. Me. It was all my doing." James had broken that long inward pause, broken his averted eyes from the ground.

    And Phedré was to him, gone from the bed, moved by some terrible power.

    "Oh, yes! Your death I shall grant you, but not before you fill your pants and left choking on your fluids! Not before you pray for Hell!"

    A spark in that frightful moment, and I had parted company with all better senses as I launched myself to his back, gathering within my fists the dark strands of his raven black hair.

    This only wounded Phedré further. And like a doll, I was tossed aside, thrown unto the bed.

    He then struck James with such a blow that I thought him surely dead as he lay there still upon the floor.

    To merely draw breath was difficult. My heart thundered in my ears. And I, kneeling upon the bed and crying, watched James helplessly, awaiting some sign that he was alive! And if not, I should want to follow him into the earth.

    He groaned just a little.

    Christ!

    Phedré loomed over me, his shadow falling about me—such a look he had. "Why do you loath me with such passion that you would treat him like an intimate!"

    I scowled at him. I hated him infinitely in that moment. And that spark gathered within me until it was a flame within my scorching heart. And all of that passionate and pulsing being, I screamed to him, "Villain!"

    He scoffed. "Oh, you! Misery!" 

    "Yes, misery! I have yet to accept that a fiend can exploit me, force upon me an existence that would see me cast properly from grace! James, in all his gentleness, could never do that!"

    "Dare you not say his name! Not in my hearing!"

"Because you view me as your property, and nothing more!" I continued.

"Non! I've never treated you thus! I've done you a kindness! I saw your coffers filled to the brim, made it so you could explore and go to the University! What of that?" He threw himself to his knees before me, his hand gesturing. "I'm not as evil as you paint me!"

    And through more tears, I asked, "And my mother?"

    At once his face hardened. "I knew nothing! I never gave that command!"

    I was enraged with a white-hot burning in my veins. "Lies!" The word trembled past my lips, barely escaping into sound upon a husk of breath.

    "You'll believe whatever you want to believe because you hate me beyond all reasonable thought! You refuse to believe that I could make you marry!"

    "And could you make marry a corps? For I shall end myself before you change me, even if it brings me rightfully to Hell! Or if not, I shall end you with the strength you have given, for God Himself could never condemn me for ridding the earth of its demons!"

    He stood and raised his hand to me and I cowered. And he closed his opened palm into a fist, his impossible eyes ruining me. "Temper your scorching tongue or by my word, I will have his powerless body drained of its blood!"

    James moaned as he attempted to move.

    I think I said something like, "No, please!"

    "You come with me now, then!"

    "No!" I pitched myself to the bed, buried my face within the linen and sobbed.

"Attend my words with care, Vittoria. I will kill him, bethink you!"

    And with movement I cannot well describe, except to say that in a sudden there was a great gust of air paired with that God-awful sound of bones cracking as Phedré held James pinned beneath his boot.

And James, well, his screams I will never forget.

    I let out a long, keening cry. So nearly did I vomit.

"Devil!" I screamed. "Dear God!" I called to Him.

I knew so fully then that in his jealousy of James, Phedré spoke the truth. That without remorse but with greatest pleasure, he would take his life, and not swiftly.

I suffered. Suffered the position put to me. I feared my life with Phedré, feared the damnation I would face, and even worse still, I feared a world where James no longer existed.

This is all it took. And so in this frightful moment, I promised the Devil my eternal soul and began to fall that awful fall.

    "Very well!" I didn't have tears enough for what I said. "I will do what you ask! But let him live, let him be free and no longer a servant to this hell! Do this, and I will go with you and be what you are," I offered him, and the words sounded terrible.

There was a change in the flecks of his eyes.

"But know this," I continued as I stood. "To me you are a blight in this world, and I shall hate you. I shall hate you past the end of time itself."

    Before I knew, he came upon me but a breaths space. It was as if his arms were locked around me, but in fact, he wasn't touching me at all. I was paralyzed, anchored to the ground by the mere piercing of his eyes.

And then he gave the most wicked grin of them all, and he said to me, "You will be bedded before eternity has ended."

I met my nails to mar his perfect cheek, but only glided over what seemed to be stone-like flesh. He locked me with a triumphant gaze, and he looked to me all of a Lucifer King.

Darkness consumed my vision, and like the snuffing of a fragile candle flame, I was out.

♱