I previously wrote this in French. But most of the people in here don’t read French, and Google Translate only can do so much (though I appreciate The Internets’ effort). So, with Colin’s help, I translated it to my best…

Here it is, for you to enjoy!

 

The winds had been blowing for several days already, shaking every window-frame in the manor, relentlessly. The storm raged furiously outside, but the real turmoil really took place inside the old mansion’s walls.

In her boudoir, sitting by the tall mirror, she was brushing her long hair in silence. Even these nights, when she didn’t expect a visit, she insisted in looking her best. In the middle of the room all tensed with somber draperies, she shone like a flame. Her crimson dress perfectly fitting the red on her lips, drew the candles’ light to her, in her retreat.

Her figure’s perfect curves had attracted her fair share of gentlemen, and she had sighed in the arms of many of them… But she was reserving herself now, and even if the sulphurous statements piled up on her bedside table, she hadn’t given a second thought to any of them.

She had opened each letter hastily, slipping the sharp blade of her paper knife. She was still smiling at the memory of seeing the same dagger guide some disappointing lover to his last breath. Funny way to drive him away, maybe. But no one knew just how to tame Miss Scarlett’s intensity.

He had known, but she had bitterly regretted it.

At each envelope, she went straight to the signature. Each missive signed by a name other than his, was thrown on the pile, not worthy of a second of her attention. The confessions of burning desires, which she had long collected, abandoned in the greatest indifference.

 -Still nothing, Miss Scarlett?

Scarlett had not heard the maid come in, lost in her thoughts …

-Blanche, I asked you a thousand times to call me Josephine.

The slightly subtle diversion said it all. He had not written to her yet, and she did not wish to dwell on the subject. To hide a tear, born inadvertently at the corner of her eye, she leaned to slide her gracious hands in the slit of her skirt, pretending to adjust her fishnet stockings, as black as the iris of her eyes.

– Maybe tomorrow, Miss?

The effort was commendable, but absolutely futile.

Scarlett picked up her elegant cigarette holder from the dressing table and leaned over the flame of a candle to take a first puff, her breath sounding more like a painfull long sigh. Her fingers skilfully playing with the long stick, she chased Blanche out of her thoughts.

Since his departure, she had developed this curious gift. Unexpectedly, she escaped well beyond the disappointing reality where she usually wandered.

Almost in a trance, she felt his presence becoming clearer. At first this male and musky smell she had chased for, so often on his skin. Then she could see him again. His silhouette first, in a corner of the room. His tall, broad shoulders were slowly forming, standing out of the dark tapestries, and she could quickly distinguish him as clearly as if he had stood in the flesh in front of her.

Suddenly overcome with an outburst of emotion, she whispered…

-Colonel, you ….

Repressing her first impulse, she kept herself from running to him, pressing herself to his chest showing a hint of despair. Instead, she rolled her hips, offering her best profile in the dim light, and not looking at him directly, glanced at the elephant gun he was still holding in his hand. The Colonel’s curled up fingers brushed the butt, reminding Scarlett of the sweetness of his caresses…

Slowly swaying towards him, she secretly hoped that he would welcome her into his arms. Bend over her ear to make a pale apology that she would accept like a schoolgirl, before letting him drag her into the adjoining room to take back their story where they had left it … But nothing was so simple with the famous Colonel Mustard.

His steel gaze, however, had not lost a single movement of the mysterious Miss Scarlett, and she almost allowed herself to see tenderness in his eyes. Now just a breath away from him, she threw her head back, her curls dancing on her shoulders, her purple lips offered like fresh petals of barely bloomed rose.

The Colonel was about to surrender to his found-again sweetheart’s stunning beauty, and just as he began to lean over her alabaster face, Scarlett pulled herself together.

Gripping the rifle from Colonel Mustard’s distracted hand, she took a step back and brandished the musket under his nose. With an agility that seized him, she revised the shot, and pointed the barrel on his throat.

Josephine’s chest heaved with every breath, the excitement of having the life of her old lover at the other end of the powerful weapon. Their story had always been one of paradoxical love-hate, constantly swaying between devouring lust and the animal need to kill each other.

-Did really think you could leave me without paying the price, dear Colonel?

The elephant gun still aimed and charged just under the chin, he smiled, a bit of pride sparkling in his eyes.

-My dearest, my sweet friend … You would not dare.

Her finger on the trigger, she hesitated.

A sound of thunder echoed in the room. Scarlett was instantly drawn from her reverie. The lightning had struck near the mansion, shaking the windows of the boudoir. Looking around the room where she was standing alone again, she noticed Blanche’s silhouette in the doorway.

-The dinner is served, Miss Josephine.

Scarlett put out her cigarette, and smoothed the velvet fabric of her dress before heading to the dining room …

 

 

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I would like to point out that this was inspired, and in some way a humble hommage to a series of posts published by Notthedane56 some time ago. Series that I absolutely loved.