Amor Fati

A mistress and a butler

How does a demon without a contract spend his days?

...

"It stings!"

He hissed through gritted teeth; as he hastily ducked his chin into his delicately knitted woollen muffler, wrapped loosely around the velvet burgundy collar of his trendy over-coat.

The raging wind bringing down the cold big flakes from the upper skies to slap him across the face was a typical way for another merciless winter to bid him farewell in the city of Westminster London.

A young man muttered a quick "Pardon me" as he bumped into him in the incredibly crowded Trafalgar Square. For People to massively come out in weather like this was something quite puzzling to him. They should be cuddling with their cats and pillows near their fireplaces instead, shouldn't they?

Well, it's not like everybody had cozy houses to go back to, in this glamorous city, the beating heart of the world's greatest empire, "The British Empire". Even if the sun was to never set on it, there are obviously many places on which it never shone in the first place, he thought, remembering the woman he saw on his way here, in rags under the Waterloo Bridge, hugging a newborn into her chest as his cries filled the moistly spot they were occupying there.

Maybe the Bridge of Sighs -as poet Thomas Hood named it- was a home to that woman and her baby, and maybe she chose that place for later, it'll be easier for her to put an end to her misery in the muddy waters of the Thames, just like her fellow single mothers did before.

Sighs, a lot of sighs filled this filthy city, coming from East End and never heard by the residents of the west, Westminster, Kensington, Chelsea and all the royal boroughs.

What about the people who actually had houses to go back to?

They were out, most probably, to earn money for their food.

Food was everybody's first preoccupation and he was no exception.

He brought his hands out of his pockets and tugged his muffler down a bit, revealing more of his flawless features as he got nearer to Nelson's Column at the center of the Square. His eyes were focused on the granite monument standing few meters away from him, just like a giant Egyptians obelisk towering over the city. Erected there to intimidate the foreign visitors and remind the natives to hold their heads up high, for they won the first prize in the lottery of life the moment they were born into this great nation.

He snickered, brushing those ideas off quickly when his eyes fell on her.

He walked over to where she was sitting with unwavering swagger, a smile able to melt the snow around them dancing on his thin lips.

«You called for me my lady? » he said, casually taking a seat near her, not too close or too far.

The middle aged woman eyed the young man in surprise, was he talking to her? Looking around, the closest breathing-being was sitting near the other bronze lion statue, occupying the southern corner of the huge pedestal of the column, of which she and this stranger occupied the eastern corner. There was no mistake; this stranger was addressing her. «N-No...you must be mistaken sir. » and she turned her face the other way.

«Yes you did. » He said with a smile. His confidence, sweetened by the playfulness of his voice, melted like pieces of sugar in the cup of curiosity he was offering her.

And the strong drink did the trick, as usual.

He picked up when she finally turned to face him, confusion and a hint of distrust clouding her puffy eyes. «You did... yesterday night, in the attic of your house, when you were reading that passionate love letter you found in your husband's pocket. »