Chapter XV: Mon Cher
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Fidèle pulled out a chair at the end of the table across from Poète.
Poète gently slid a white china tea cup across the table to her, the steaming golden liquid sloshing just below the brim of the cup.
“Thank you.”
She said, cradling the cup in her hands.
Just before her lips touched the brim of the cup she glanced up in confusion as Poète placed two more cups in front of the dusty chairs.
“Who are those for?”
Poète chuckled as he picked up his own cup.
“Vide and Personne of course! Who else would it be for?"
Fidèle let out a forced chuckle into her tea, her voice jumping an octave.
“Never mind…!”
She let out another uncomfortable chuckle, quieter and to herself this time, staring at the bottom of the cup with wide eyes.
“Oh dear Lord…”
Poète folded himself into the chair across from Fidèle, crossing his legs into an X shape as Vide pulled out a chair and Personne trotted into the room.
“So, how is everything down in France? I haven’t been home in ages.”
Fidèle froze and lowered her cup, avoiding eye contact.
Vide raised an eyebrow mid sip and Personne tilted his head as he drummed his fingers on the table top.
Poète tilted his head.
“Oh dear… what’s the matter?”
He asked, placing his cup down with both hands.
“Oh… Poe… you have… no idea. Do you?”
Vide placed down her cup and watched both of them with interest, her hands folded in her lap.
Poète’s smile faltered.
“Oh dear… what do you mean, Fidèle…?!”
“Everything is very bad, Poète.”
“In what ways?!”
“Hervè hasn’t spoken in ages and…”
She inhaled sharply, pursing her lips.
“I’m a widow.”
Poète blinked for a moment, his smile buckling more and then unbuckling.
“W-Widow…?”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJtG1RSAbVK
He echoed in a hoarse whisper.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his already rigid posture.
“O-Oh dear… to wh-whom may I ask?”
He said, his voice cracking into a squeak.
“Frèdèric…”
Fidèle’s voice dropped to a mumble.
“And… you could be a suspect in his disappearance.”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYKvMuAFvX1
“How?!”
Poète cried.
“You moved to London two and a half weeks after Frèdèric was reported missing!”
Fidèle responded, her voice rising as her head snapped up to look at him.
Personne gripped his cup with both hands, his eyes wide as he stared at the bottom of the cup, sipping aggressively.
Poète sighed.
“Oh dear… how dreadfully… tragic… it seems… I’ve lived long enough to become the villain.”
“What happened to you?!”10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwiSEhbLhwt
“I am the monster you and your… beloved husband created, mon cher.”
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and then Add to home screen.