New Orleans, 1766
~ ~ ~
She walked into the smoky tavern, her skirts draping about her angelic form, a sight making the coldest of men stagger in awe. Her long, reddish hair hung to her waist, full and straight, but with the sides bound up into pretty coils at the top of her head, framing her delicate face. The face of an angel. Her skin was a clean white, akin only to that of the finest marble. She could have been just that, a statue of marble, had it not been for the two, gleaming, green eyes that peered from beneath long lashes with a quiet arrogance, but at the same time, a sort of indestinguishable longing. And longing for what was the question that lingered on the minds of all that gazed upon her as she stood there, a slight breeze from the street ruffling her gown. Aware of but undaunted by the stares, she walked toward the table where he sat. He was the only one who had not become aware of her presence at entrance, as he was enticed by the other women, those of the professional nature. He felt her draw near, though, and when she was no more than three feet from him, he froze cold. At this time, the entire room had fallen to a dead silence, save for the giggles of the girls on his lap, and even these had become hushed as they saw her. She cast her penetrating gaze upon them, sending the girls to wander across the room to the wall, where they were left to merely stare in return. She then returned her eyes to the man at the table, who was now looking up at her through his long, mussed blonde hair.
"Bonsoir. Je suis Coletta de Fantaine. Je suis la femme de la famille Fantaine. Je suis le peu de cinq enfants (catorce fils et moi), mais il n'ai pas d'important. . ."
The words flowed off of her soft lips and he absorbed every one. She continued in her soft, antiqued French, until she caught the puzzlement in his eyes.
"Oh, my apologies, Monsieur. Allow me to begin again. . . my name is Coletta de Fantaine. Perhaps you would like to come with me."
He looked her up and down. Had the whiskey on his brain not clouded his judgement, he may have argued otherwise, or even seen what she was. But the situation being as it was, he eagerly arose and followed her, exchanging knowing looks with the other men of the establishment. She led him out into the street.
"What is your name?" she asked him as they continued further from the tavern. Her fingertips guided themselved smoothly across his opened shirt, causing his voice to faulter at first.
"C. . . ahem. . . Claude," he said, resting his hand over hers and pressing it closer to his chest, "Now where might I take you, Mademoiselle."
She looked at him. The whiskey had begun to sing him to sleep. She knew that she had to work before it got the best of him. Quickening her step, she led him to a cab that sat at a nearby curb, as if it had been waiting all eternity for that moment then. She allowed him to help her into the cab, and gave the driver a nod. Once the two were into the carriage, he cracked the horses across the back and they rode off into the night.
". . . Good a place as any. . ." the man muttered and began to paw his way toward her in the dim lighting. She submitted to some, but then, gently but firmly, bid him rest. "You will have yours," she assured.
In moments, they were outside of her estate, a lovely flat on the outskirts of the city. No sooner were they out of the carriage than did the driver speed away. The man watched him go, but as he left, the man's nerves replaced the driver's presence. All too late. For soon as he began to wonder the motive of the mysterious beauty who had brought him to this place, she had clamped to him, and his last breaths were being spent.
~ ~ ~
[Le Commence][La Femme][Elle Adore][Elle Professeur][Elle Vive Avant de Change][Elle Parle][C'est Ci Bon][Toi Parle]