Entertainment | Marquis De Gramont

Flashback

The Marquis could remember when he was no one other than Vincent Bisset. At the time, he was a lowly assassin, earning nothing but what he could.

No family, no real place to call home, not knowing how to make life better for himself. Until an opportunity knocked on his door.

Well, called him to America.

A private contract that a big name mob boss wanted done quickly and violently. When Vincent  got that call, he was laying in a crusty old bed in a small Paris studio. Two days later, he was staying at The Continental, courtesy of his temporary boss. If he pulled this off, he could make a name for himself.

The money alone could have him living in a decent place instead of a moldy small apartment. Vincent was elated, determined, but not naive. This wouldn't be easy, but it would be worth it.
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The performance started with her blindfolded. She knew where she was on the stage, she knew the stage by heart, she would not fall off.

On this day, she wasn't supposed to perform, no one was, but she had broken the rules. She knew she shouldn't have tried to look at her file, but she needed to know, not that she got to look, but now she knows the director is hiding something from her.

From a young age, she had  noted her facial similarities she had with The Director. Were they related? She had a sneaking suspicion when she heard some of The Director's more trusted men talk about her, treat her differently.

She knew for sure her file had to have some answers. One problem. Her file was not in that room, and from what she could tell, every other girl's file was.
The Ruska Roma did not take kindly to broken rules, no matter who it was.  So she was made to perform on this stage blind folded, until she collapsed, or the sun rose the next day.

The last girl almost died, but she was determined to dance as long as they wanted, out of nothing but spite.

That's when he saw her, right after his job was done, and he was walking away in victory, his new life would begi-

Through the small window near the ceiling of the Opera House, he saw someone, and he could not believe his eyes. A woman, a beautiful woman, dancing ballet? Blindfolded? What if she falls off of the stage? Who is that?

He decided to chance a closer look, finding a way to sneak into the building, like the rat he no longer was.

Undetected, he finds a seat in the very corner of the Opera House, and he watches her, now able to watch the people watching her too.

A Woman with tattoos is in the middle of the audience, people surrounding her. Now he realized who he was in the presence of. The Ruska Roma.

He watched for hours, realizing as time went on, the dancer was tired, but she kept dancing, sweating, looking miserable, about to collapse, you would think.

But she kept going, and he realized then, she was being punished, she must be. She did something they didn't like, so they gave her an ultimatum. Dance or die, maybe?

Vincent admired her resilience, smiling at her gritting teeth in frustration when a random body part would give out.

Suddenly, the music stopped as she collapsed in agony. It had been hours, how many? He didn't know. But as soon as she collapsed, she shot right back up, the music started again, and so did she.

He looked on in wonder at the girl as she kept going and going. Only when the sun rose the next morning did she stop. The music came to an end, and the director stood up.

"Novalie Watson," That was her name.

"Don't you ever disobey The Ruska Roma again." And she left. But the director may as well have been talking to a wall, as Novalie had already collapsed again, this time, unconscious