#*ODETTEMILE / so i sing a song of love

[sordidery]

@woeist , emile & odette.

THE CANDLE LIGHT MAKES THE ROOM GLOW GOLD. the hum of chatter rises like smoke and suffocates just as effectively. dinner was served hours ago, long enough to no longer shield anyone from the effects of the excess of wine and champagne provided to them. she's feeling intoxicated as well, flushed pink and hair a bit wild at her perch in the center of the ballroom. her eyes catch on the open doors to a hall, where her eyes have naturally landed at any semblance of motion for the past half hour. this is part of the game, part of the thrill of the chase. experience tells her that the crimson liquid in her glass has stained her teeth an unflattering gray, and as she thoughtfully runs her tongue over her canines, odette auclaire longs for action.

she is moving the moment he enters the room ― a head above the crowd. her courteous " excuse me ” is thrown out without being directed to anyone in particular. a moth to a flame, the woman is drawn from the heart of the room to the fringes of the party. the feelings spread like wildfire. a stab of surprise, a flash of interest, a moment of doubt. unsurprisingly, or maybe entirely supringsingly, the vampire is quite pleased to see the reporter's face.

a glass shatters somewhere in the depths of the house, a lifetime away, and raucous laughter follows. the light is brighter on the outskirts. ❝ mr. blythe, ❞ her hand betrays her formality, brushing his forearm before withdrawing to her side. ❝ i'd hoped you'd grace us with another appearance. are you enjoying yourself? ❞

[sordidery]

AND WE SHALL GO AS FAR AS WE LIKE. . . the sly comment conjures up fantastic images. for a few small steps, she is all but sleepwalking, enraptured by a fantasy where the world and its wonders still inspired awe.

this expansive, carefully fabricated concept of a mystery sends her hurtling back towards the earth. suddenly engaged in a daring game of chess, mr. blythe has knocked one of her pawns away and set down an inquisitive piece of his own. his allusion to his ideas of what went on in her home gave her no reason to fret . . . but, his instinct for truth did. in his presence, lies were spotted before their images were fully constructed, and his insistence only proved that her half-truths were no less transparent. worse, in no small way, odette found herself disappointed it was only the mystery of THE MANOR he wished to discover.

his warmth sears where her flesh meets his. life teemed from him in a way that she, nor her betrothed, could ever again possess themselves. the last human to be so bold as to gain her affection had not met a pleasant end, though it was fascinating, enthralling, to have his attention. when had she last been challenged by someone who had not seen her down to her rotten core? when had she last been someone capable of being saved? 

abruptly, odette stops walking alongside him. though only a few moments stroll from the ballroom, the cacophonous sound of drunken partygoers had faded to something of a murmur. somewhere far away, katydids chirp. for a leisurely moment, she studies him brazen with the touch of her gaze where there is no one else to see it. the glint of his eyes, the pleasant curl at the end of his lips, the glimpse of uncovered skin below his jaw. he possesses a courage that is undoubtedly a serious threat, a weed that should be removed by the root. suspicions placed in the right head could topple her empire of pleasantries and glamour. the steady thrum of blood flowing through his veins awakens unwelcome instincts — something just below the surface of her skin that aimed to run free.  temptation nipped at her with a strength stronger than her own.  did the man know to what end he would chase the truth? could he possibly uncover a plot within the measly time he had to visit? surely not. he may offer a stiff opposition, but this is odette's game.

❝   i don't believe we could possibly have common troubles. especially not in any acquaintance we share. ❞  though she is firm in her tone, in the finality of her response, guilt for her dismissal of him begins to build itself a home in her chest. nothing about the inner workings of her life could be reduced into a palatable explanation — words did not exist for the type of accomplice she had found in the familiar emile eluded to. still, in spite of herself, odette wants him to know with as much sincerity as her position could allow.  ❝  there exists people who believe that adherence to the rules of the world will absolve them of their involvement in misconduct. but there are people, like myself, and i suspect like you, who do not require such rules to stay afloat. it is the confines of duty and respectability that i find burdensome. i have never wished to be considered a duck to be put in a row. . . that is all.  ❞

[sordidery]

woeist

THE CURIOUS MATTER of the auclaires and their endless share of extravagance had enticed emile blythe from a world away, and now a mere few fingertips, making small, simple talk that beguiled NO LESS in its subtlety .

" enjoying myself ? but of course, you've shown up, haven't you? "

something is hidden in her smile, and it warrants the impulse on his lips, too. he holds it; he's pleased to see her. not excited to talk about the house, or the secrets it holds- just to see her on her own, as she was, with hungering, hinting eyes and graciousness unhindered by glimpses of a lingering husband. maybe the spirits in her glass are making her feel the same way emile is feeling now. there is something in her unspoken absence during many of the hours of the day that makes seeing her emerge in the evenings all the more wonderful.

(poets prolific have pondered till death a face ten times the plainer.)

perhaps he was neglecting his work in abiding by assumptions, even though he had assembled them into something he thought sturdy enough to hold up against reasonable doubt. each furthering day seemed to take a share of his resolve, of attentiveness to the ambitious assignment at hand.

her hand has only grazed his coat, and he wonders if he shouldn't have caught it before it fell back. it isn't long on his mind- a voice as earnest as it is cunning tells him they'll be that close again.

it was to answer the question of the uncanny timing the parties bore in association to disappearances that darkened the calendar days of many months in a row, blots of ink as damning in those yet deemed deaths as they were in truth- or so emile had planned.

the glass in the distance provides a welcome opportunity; he glances back as if to try and identify the source of the budding pandemonium, then returns his address to the woman across from him with different intent, as the colours and the lights in the room seem to glow brighter in favour of his whim, of the idealistic and the bold.

"if it isn't too cold this time of night, i'd offer to take you on a walk away from all of the noise. you must tire of it now and again."

he takes his turn lifting his hand to her, dared by the closeness mrs auclaire had played at first.

THERE IT IS        —       HIS WONDROUS DEFIANCE.    it was his streak of boldness that was assured to threaten her and her husbands reputation. if the pair played their cards right, precaution would shield them from the worst emile blythe had to offer. but precaution was so dreadfully mundane. precaution robbed her of the joy of watching her new acquaintance expertly maneuver himself through a maze of flirtations and distractions. 

nevertheless, it seemed her husbands suspicions were rubbing off. she took a moment to turn her head and survey the room, to verify that no unwanted attention was directed towards her. they weren’t far from the nights end. the spell of her guest’s giddiness would soon give way to exhaustion. carriages would be called, rooms would empty. flame would meet the end of the wick and the light would die out. mr. auclaire would likely retire to bed, leaving his wife to hunger and crave, and inevitably visit the cellar, by herself. 

❝   it is certainly not the noise i tire of. still, a walk would be a welcome escape.  ❞  her comment was carefully crafted, an unbecoming amalgamation of complete sincerity and thoughtful deception. playing the part of a weary wife wasn’t difficult, and besides, what the journalist didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

without further consideration, she fit her palm into his. age had dulled the sensation of scandal for her, especially for something so simple as a joining of hands, but it was his excitement for his own brazenness that made his touch feel so much more thrilling. in his company, she felt as though the world was bigger, newer. boundaries were something to be pushed and tested, opportunity was something to be taken by force. 

❝  i would have thought a well traveled englishman such as yourself would be immune to these environments. are you so worried for my well-being, mr. blythe?  ❞