Tea Time.

Monsieur Mercier. ; Chapter Two.

A little longer than the previous.

It ended in a bit of a cliché, and for that I apologize. But despite that, I think it’s a pretty good chapter, considering it’s the beginning of a story. Here, you find out more about what she does, and who she is, I suppose. Look for the clues, but don’t delve too far.

Enjoy, m’dears.

        When we arrived at the automobile, Madame Victorie winked at me and opened the door to the front seat. She slid in and closed the door. Monsieur Gilles assisted me as I got inside the car. I found automobiles wretched; they were far less attractive and comfortable than the horse‒drawn carriages. That was one thing I hated about the beginning of the new century. At least it was a gorgeous day, I thought. My family was also fortunate enough to have the Peugeot Type 63, which was open and was the most comfortable automobile compared to the others.

        On the other side of the car, stood the one we had chosen. He was average in height, had jet black hair, a thin bear and piercing gray eyes. He was attractive, but he was not my type. I knew he was going to be delicious, though. He took my hand and kissed it sloppily. I ignored it and curtseyed politely.

        “Good afternoon, Monsieur,” I greeted him, purring sexily.

        I saw his snide smirk before he covered it with a pleasant smile.

        “The pleasure is all mine, my lovely lady,” he responded smoothly. “But if I may ask, of what use am I to a divine woman as you? Surely a beautiful creature like you must be married?”

        I chuckled silently. The fool was trying to make me swoon; it wasn’t working. I suppressed my scorn and smiled sweetly.

        “Oh good sir, I am not courted,” I replied innocently. “All I desire is to use your handsome features, Monsieur. I wish to paint you, if you find that acceptable. You can come to my home, have some tea, and be on your way. But please, Monsieur, I would love to paint your fetching looks.”

I batted my eyelashes several times and pouted as best as I could. He grinned excitedly and cleared his throat. I knew I had him.

        “A painter, are you? That is brilliant. Of course I will not deny your wishes, my lady. Let us be on our way, yes?” he responded. I could feel his excitement matching mine. Pity he had no idea what he was about to face. Monsieur Gilles started the car and we arrived home twenty minutes later.

        Monsieur Mercier, the chosen one, helped me out of the car instead of the usual Monsieur Gilles. I thanked him for being so courteous and escorted him inside. I had him wait in the West Sun Room while I sent Madame Victorie to my room. Whilst Madame Victorie was fetching my painting supplies, I informed Miss Cecilia about the upcoming occasion. She nodded happily and went to sort out some things.

        When I returned to the West Sun Room, I found Monsieur Mercier seated on the furniture very casually and comfortably.

        “Stay in that position, please. It brings out the best of your looks, Monsieur. Oh yes, you look very appealing in that position,” I spoke strongly, my more dominant side beginning to manifest.

        I closed the heavily draped curtains and lit the candles that were in the room. I preferred to paint in dim candle light rather than in the light of the newer electric devices. I was more of a Victorian Lady, than I was anything else. Firmly, I sat on a stool and began to paint.

        I soon finished the painting; Impressionist Art consisted of methods that were far quicker than others. I was entirely satisfied with the painting; its bright yellows, reds, and greens created sheer beauty. It was simply superb. I smiled at Monsieur Mercier, happy with my work.

        “Are we done?” he asked with a smile. I nodded and rose from my stool. I moved over to him and took his hand. A smile grew on his face as I showed him the painting.

        “Oh my dear, that is simply splendid. You’ve such a talent,” he complimented thoughtfully.

        “Why thank you, Monsieur,” I returned the smile. “Would you care for some tea and treats? Everything has been set up in the parlour. Please, Monsieur, do stay for some tea and treats.”

        He nodded happily and followed me as I walked into the parlour. We sat down at a table, lovely china in our hands. My impatience swelled as we discussed unimportant matters. I wanted him right then and there; I could not wait any longer. I waved at Miss Cecilia and whispered in her ear, “I think it is time. I do not want him in my bed. I want him now.”

         She nodded her head, excited, and went to tell Monsieur Gilles and Madame Victorie. They all returned with implements of death. I slowly pulled a knife out of my boot, focusing on Monsieur Mercier. It was time. I was eager to begin.

        Monsieur Mercier looked at me; worry and confusion were plastered on his face.

        “Ahem, what is going on?” he attempted to sound rough but his fear overwhelmed his voice. He looked around the room desperately, looking for a means of escape and also noticing the number of people coming towards him. He looked at Monsieur Gilles, he looked at Miss Cecilia, he looked to Madame Victorie, and finally he laid his eyes on me. I smiled deviously.

        “Today, Monsieur Mercier, you are going to pay for your sinful acts,” I spoke calmly, dominance radiating off of my voice. He looked at me with sincere confusion. I laughed; it reminded me of the looks the other victims wore. He looked frightened. He was uncertain of the meaning of his life in that moment. I took a mental picture of it, making sure I’d be able to depict every single detail on the canvas.

        I walked up to him and stroked his hair gently. The sweat from his scalp stuck onto my fingers. I looked into his grey eyes and indulged in the fear that lay in them. I stroked his face and felt him quivering underneath my touch. He looked at me, silently begging for mercy. I laughed evilly and moved my mouth to his ear.

        “Today, Monsieur,” I whispered. “You are going to die.”

"They ain't chicken bones. They're human fingers. I have a problem, I'm a cannibal."

- Stanely Dean Baker.