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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 7:11:08 GMT -5
*Philippe moved silently into the room and closed the door. Once he had he released a deep, long held breath. The girl had far more deeply that he had thought she could. He walked over to a large canvas in the centre of the room and pulled off the white sheet that was draped over it. The dark eyed woman gazed back at him, the rest of her face obsured by a black mask. Philippe shook his head and replaced the sheet. More calm now, he took out a paint brush and began to dab, more idly at a smaller painting of his sister and brother in their youth.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 7:38:08 GMT -5
((So when does Becca discover this North Wing? The dead of night all Jane-Eyre-style?
And I think I've gotta run for a bit. I'll be in and out all afternoon and then maybe home for a couple hours between 1 and 3 and then out for the evening but I'll be back home around 9.30 tonight.))
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 7:40:55 GMT -5
((Ok, I don't mind I'll send him out of the room.I'm at work tonight from about 5 til 11 but I should be around most of the afternoon.))
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 7:41:30 GMT -5
*After several hours had past Philippe put down his brush and left the room.*
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 10:54:25 GMT -5
*Rebecca had returned late in the day from her ride, soaked in a sheen of perspiration, windblown and ten times happier than she'd been when she set out. Following a long soak in a hot bath--riding did tend to make her somewhat saddle-sore--she changed into a plain white nightgown, with a high neck and long sleeves and sat before the fire to dry her long, dark hair, holding it near the heat while she brushed it out.
Then, she tried to sleep, but found no rest, tossing and turning.
Finally she gave up and got out of bed, wrapping a dark red shawl around her shoulders and putting on a pair of soft slippers on her bare feet, taking a candle with her to light her way as she crept through the dark and silent halls.
She wandered through several galleries, idly looking at paintings and wondering if she could try to find a library or something to read.
She checked several rooms which turned out to be boring parlours or disused storage places before coming to a heavy wooden door at the end of the long hallway. She pushed at it, and at first, she saw nothing but dark shapes shrouded in heavy clothes, and thought it just another room of abandoned furniture, but then she stopped. Something tickled at her nose.*
That smell...
Paint.
*Everything in her froze with sheer delight. She hadn't had anything to paint or draw in days, and it was beginning to ache--especially after all the beautiful countryside she'd seen on her ride that day. She ventured further into the room and set the candle down on a table, where it burned like a star and illuminated a small circle of golden light.
Paintings in various states of completion lay about the room, but her eye was drawn of course to the one large canvas in the middle of the room--it dominated everything else. Reaching up, she tugged away the cream-coloured cloth over it and stepped back, her hands filled with the cover material that pooled about her feet in heavy folds.
She met her own eyes gazing out at her from the canvas. The rest of the features were shrouded in a mask and darkness--but those eyes.
She grew numb with cold and the cloth slipped from her shaking hands as her arms dropped to her sides, her shawl sliding haphazardly to her elbows, and then to the floor.
As the dark silence of the house consumed her, she could barely force herself to breathe, much less to look away from the mesmerizing terror of her eyes, glassy and flat, oil paint upon canvas, as though she were looking into some hellish mirror.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 11:06:30 GMT -5
*Philippe roused himself from his sleep and pulled himself upright. Asleep at the desk again. He stood and walked out of the door. The sound of footsteps prompted him to change his direction, heading for the north wing. The sight that greeted him there, displeased him greatly.*
"Did your father never teach you that curiosity killed the cat?"
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 11:08:38 GMT -5
*Perhaps the Comte's chosen words to break the icy silence were not the wisest considering Rebecca's reliance upon Gothic novels for much of her opinions of the world, and for a fleeting instant, she seriously feared for her life as she whirled to meet Philippe's burning gaze.*
"I...I...I..."
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 11:11:57 GMT -5
*Philippe moved swiftly over to the canvas and replaced the cover. He then turned and studied the girls face.*
"Do not find what you do not wish to see."
*He softened as he realised how frightened she was.*
"You have nothing to fear from me... Rebecca."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 11:17:59 GMT -5
*Warmth returned to her flesh with a tingling rush as he spoke her name, seeming to shatter whatever spell fear had cast upon her to tie her tongue and leaden her limbs.*
"What am I supposed to think?" *she whispered.* "...who is she? She's not me...she cannot be me...and yet..." *she raised her eyes to meet his.*
"Why?"
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 11:38:00 GMT -5
"It is better to have your demons on canvas than in the mind."
*Philippe sighed.*
"It is your mother, you must know."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 11:44:33 GMT -5
"...she hurt you." *Rebecca stepped nearer and laid a hand gently on his arm.* "I'm sorry. I can tell you that I know she would never want to hurt anyone as she has hurt you...she's not that cruel. Truly."
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 11:57:42 GMT -5
*Philippe winced but did not step away.*
"I know, she is a good women.Your father is a good man. It was a tangle which I...
*He stopped abruptly.*
"Well, that is all you need to know. You should go back to bed."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 11:59:39 GMT -5
"...why can't you tell me? If it truly pains you to speak of it, why begin in the first place? What are you afraid of, Monsieur le Comte? The past cannot hurt you anymore. It is finished and gone." *She spoke gently, feeling overwhelmingly sorry for him.*
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Post by Philippe on Jan 26, 2008 12:04:07 GMT -5
*Philippe chuckled.*
"Yes quite, but you need to know a little. Your mother lost her memory when she was pregnant with your brothers, your father was away. I offered to marry her and we promptly did. Of course then your father returned and the whole sorry mess was solved."
*He swallowed.*
"Leaving me alo- returned to my position."
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Post by Rebecca on Jan 26, 2008 12:07:13 GMT -5
"...I think you were very noble and kind to her. Such a sacrifice to save her honour...shows a great strength of character."
*She spoke with the earnest naivete of her youth, meaning every word.*
((Gotta run. Back in...I dunno. Four? Five hours?))
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