Love, Life, and Jewellery

Prologue: The turning point

Paris, October 1756

Droplets of rain hit the man like a shower of miniature arrows; but even the wrath of heaven could not smother a glowing flame within him. Each thought fuelled its growth. It expanded with momentum, feeding on every new idea that crossed his mind. Burning through his veins, it intoxicated his limbs and quickened his pace. It engulfed his every feature and every mannerism. There was but one name for this feeling: it was the feeling of excitement.

The man turned a final corner and entered the street where he lived, or at least had lived until that night. For the last time he passed the dark concrete buildings that crowded the cobblestone pavements and encased the street oppressively. For the last time he walked through the stench of general waste and sewerage. For the last time he overlooked the unmoving masses on the footpath that represented the homeless. For the last time, still intoxicated with excitement, the man approached his simple dwelling and placed his hand on the brass doorknob. With the crossing of the threshold however his features took on a stern, almost hostile composure.

Sitting on a chair by the small dining table, was his wife. "How was your walk? I hope you're not too wet from the rain," she said icily, peering at him through the dimly lit kitchen. On the table beside her was a single candle. It's light barely covered her face, illuminating her cheekbones but causing her eyes to appear as black sockets.

The man ignored her probing comment. he crossed the room and walked up the stairs to the single bedroom on the second floor. From inside a closet he retrieved a simple bag made from rough-hewn cloth and began filling it with his various possessions. He could hear his wife's voice travelling up the stairs from the kitchen.

"You know I don't like it when you go for walks late at night! This is Paris! It's dangerous at this hour." The tone of her voice however indicated more than this statement. The man knew she distrusted him and suspected his actions to have a more sinister motive.

The truth was, he had always felt trapped; trapped within his life that could not be expanded or improved; a life where his ambitions could not be fulfilled.

"What are you doing?" His wife's demanding voice still carried up to the second floor.

Grabbing the last of his things, he left the room and ran down the stairs. Hoping for a quick escape, he scurried across the kitchen to the front door and donned his coat.

"Where are you going?" His wife hissed, now standing and glaring at him from across the room.

For the last time, the man looked at the plain face of his wife. Freckles dotted her nose and limp strands of brown hair hung by her ears. She turned her head slightly and her watery eyes, now filling with tears, reflected the light of the single candle. The man placed his hand on the brass doorknob.

"Why are you doing this?" She began to walk towards him."Why are you leaving me? Don't torture me with this silence!" She whimpered as she flung herself towards him.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" the man roared. He brought his sack of belongings between them and pushed her away like a disgusting insect. She was thrown backwards into the dining table, her back hitting it with a sickly crack.

The man turned his back on the soft sobs of the crumpled figure. For the last time, he turned the doorknob and crossed the threshold. He stepped once again onto the dark, wet street. The fire within him that had lain dormant while inside the house, now sprung to life again and burned brighter than before. Thunder grumbled with discontent and anger above him, the rain still digging at his flesh like a thousand miniature arrows.

The man smiled. He was free. Free to follow his destiny.