Silence followed Monsieur’s death. A week had passed in light muse and continuous brooding over my situation, encompassed by his outdated wallpaper and polished furniture that stood silent and held its breath in undeserved mourning. Despite strange foreign herbs and scented candles that lit with no flame, the stench of dried blood and decay continued to waft around his temperamental tomb. I Circled his carcass in sauntered steps, regarding his newly deformed limbs that had set stiff in deaths grip. Upon his face lay a multitude of perplexed emotions, parched lips that tensed with a formidable smeer of pain, brows stretched high in remorse, and eyes that gleamed mirth of his misfortune.
Long i stared at the murder that laid between each of my fingers, undisturbed as Mademoiselle was absent. She had taken a trip to Paris with vein intentions of introducing her two spoilt daughters into society. I had never been fond of Mademoiselle, yet her return was greatly anticipated for humiliation was due. With pitiful desperation she had decided to comply with the current Parisian fashion, which consisted of a series of medical examinations that confirms a woman’s untampered sex. To be known to hold such a certificate is such as holding an instant key to a wealthy marriage. To be known of failing this examination is cankered amongst society with such pace as an infectious disease. Madmoiselle is yet to find that the blind eye she so coldly turned away from Monsieur’s pleasures should have kept sight on her beloved spoilt maidens.
Pah! A fresh lump of spit blessed the pigs forehead.
