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Charles Hermans 1880 ____
8 Months later
CHAMPAGNE never tasted so bitter before. The taste and the bubbles burned her tongue as acid. The lights blinded her with an intense morbid glow. The crowd never felt so overhwelming, futile, and strange.
A small group of musicians played melodically into a sophisticated melody, precisely La Campanella by Paganini. It matched perfectly with the distinct conversations and spicy hostile stares spread into the european air of an exotic parisian evening.
The blue jewells followed precisely the moment the leather jacket lithuanian walled through the saloon holding a helmet in his right arm. The presence even more oustanding as when she met him. The hair longer with bangs slightly covering his auspicious eyes, as he distributed discrete smiles just like their time in the old Baltimore Opera.
It was odd. Weird, how she used to know that man so well, so precisely that she believed she could predict every step of his. When, deep inside, she only knew a fraction of his true figure, wich revealed the whole picture now, into that exuberant night perspective in a predatory outlaw hunt.
She walked with caution through the sea of well dressed bodies in her high louboutins, the short way hair precisely framing her delicate yet strong expression as she brushed by a man's shoulder delicately, splashing champagne into his shirt.
"Oh! Je suis désolé! (I'm sorry!)" She exclaimed quickly hushing to waiter to grab some napkins.
The tall bearded man, almost her height, observed her figure with attention, his eyes sliding through the tight and long black dress with subtle flower partterns, an elegant, luxurious sight that could take anyone's bresth away.
Her hands softly brushed against his chest abov ethe shirt, as he delicately held them to stop the action. "C'est bon, ne t'inquiète pas. (It's okay, don't worry.)" He replied as she stepped back, still a bit embarrassed. "C'était un accident, ne t'en fais pas. (It's was an accident, don't worry about it.)"
She didn't understand shit about what he said, but, by the kind expression and also hungry gaze at her cleveage, she could guess he didn't mind at all. "Merci Monsieur. (Thank you, sir)" She smiled softly, making his whole body jitter towards her image.
She was stunning, indeed, and the way she acted, so delicately, so sweet, almost as a goddess it was impossible not to be seducted by it.
"Puis-je connaître le nom de la dame? (May I know the lady's name?)" He tried to make his game towards her, even aware of the engagement ring on his hand.
She blinked clueless. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, je ne parle pas très bien le français. (Forgive me, sir, I don't speak french very well.)" She said the phrase sge decorated in front of the mirror so many times.
