The Paper Girl and the Stilt-Walker

The Mysterious Annabelle Lye

The parlor of the Richelieu Mansion was just as dark as it always was. On one side, gray rain-light streamed in and cast a sharp corner of the room in a dismal half-light. On the other side, the room was nearly pitch black, cold, silent. Richelieu occupied the low couch on that side, one leg crossed over the other as he casually lounged with his arm resting on the back. In the chilled rain-light, Mina sat at the opposite end of the room in her straight-backed chair, sitting up rigidly with her feet pressed together. She'd been forced into another semi-formal outfit—this one a crocheted dress with a black collar, the color of old parchment, and black leggings. The two of them—the red-haired orphan, and the insidious, debonair other—sat in silence in their own corners of the room, waiting for the other to speak. Of course, both of them knew that a palpable feeling of hatred hung in the air between them. But the tall gentleman politely waited for Mina to speak, and Mina glared expectantly at him. They stayed that way for a long time.

And then Richelieu smiled.

"So," he said, reaching for his glass of red liquid, still not taking his eyes off of Mina. "Christmas is just around the corner."

Mina didn't say anything. Her hands were curled into fists in her lap.

"I expect you've been working very hard," the man continued, taking a long, indulgent sip from his glass. "You know. With preparing the chocolates for my ball."

Mina was silent again, but not long. "You knew my mother," she said in an unreadable voice.

Richelieu raised his eyebrows, his lips barely touching the rim of his glass. He took another sip and sighed, looking away for a moment. "Annabelle Lye," he said, pronouncing the name with loving fragility. And then he left it there in his mouth, tasting it, maybe greedily. "Yes, I knew her. A small, fragile, beautiful thing she was. Always wearing that black coat...it made her hair look as red as fire. She was so vibrant, so innocent...but unpredictable. Very unpredictable."

"Is that why you killed her?" Mina asked.

Richelieu stopped in his tracks. His eyes locked onto Mina's, and she stared at him challengingly. Slowly, he set down his glass with a tap and uncrossed his legs, sitting up. "Have you ever heard the story of Giselle, Miss Spires?" he asked in that velvet voice.

Mina didn't answer. She just stared.

"It's about a beautiful, pure, but frail maiden who falls in love with a duke disguised as a commoner. The two are inseparable, but there is another commoner named Albrecht who is also in love with the pure maiden. When he selfishly reveals who the duke really is, Giselle is so distraught that she dies of a broken heart."

"You know that's not how it happened," Mina replied in a deadpan voice. "She was married to my father. You stole her away."

Richelieu smiled—this time a hateful, ominous smile. "I can't steal what's already mine," he insisted, leaning forward to lock his eyes with Mina's. "She was in my pocket the moment she laid eyes on me. And when she died, she chose to be my wife rather than move on. What love is stronger than that? It endured death...literally."

"She was the city's Angel of Death," Mina said, trying to control her voice. "You knew that before she did. So you stole her away and tried to keep her like a slave. And when she rebelled against you, after finding out what she was, you killed her. Love has nothing to do with it."

Richelieu's cold black eyes seemed to soften. "Is that what you think?" he asked, more quietly than before. He sat back on the couch, almost lost-looking. He drew in a deep breath and looked away, thinking. And then, in a spark of inspiration he called for a shadow-maid. "More of the O+, please," he said, trading his empty glass for a full one. "And something to warm up this charming young lady."