Chapter XVI: Poetry
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That evening, at six fifty two, Fidèle stood in front of the only closed door in Poète’s house.
The door was in the back wall of the sitting room and was the farthest door on the left, next to two open doors that lead to two bedrooms she could only assume were guest rooms.
She raised her fist to knock and let out a sigh.
She blinked slowly, rapping on the door with a few flicks of her wrist.
“Poe? Are you there? I’ve come to…”
She inhaled sharply and swallowed, tilting her head back slightly, her hand on the doorknob as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Apologize… for my… behavior… earlier today.”
There was no response, only the sound of shuffling papers.
“Does he seriously have the audacity-”
She grumbled to herself, turning the knob and shouldering the door open.
The room was dimly lit by the few rays of sunlight streaming through the ash grey curtains that wouldn’t quite close properly.
Dozens of papers and notebooks hung from the walls and ceiling, drawing attention away from the few articles of furniture which included a bed, wardrobe, desk and chair.
Poète himself sat crosslegged on the floor in the center of the room on an inkstained rug with even more papers and pens strewn around him, staring vacantly up at Fidèle.
He stretched a smile across his face after a long moment.
“What on earth are you doing…?!”
She said, her voice cracking as she stared down at him like a mother catching her child in a cabinet they should not be in.
Poète stood up, smoothing some of the wrinkles out of his trousers.
“Poetry.”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFyfKn3VfuC
He replied.
Fidèle stepped forward.
He inhaled sharply and quickly grabbed her wrist before she could step on a paper, his smile melting off his face.
She let out a startled squeak and stumbled backward slightly, grimacing up at him.
“Do not step on those.”
He hissed, his eyes wide as they flicked over her face.
“If you insist.”
She huffed, pulling his fingers off her forearm.
She sighed, carefully smoothing her skirt.
“Now….”
She said, her voice suddenly silky.
“What is all this?”
She gestured at the walls and ceiling with her right hand, her left on her hip.
His smile softened slightly as he crossed his right leg over the left as he stepped in front of her and into the small circle of papers where she found him.
“My poetry, Fidèle.”
“This can’t be all of it!”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwpGAI7w8bl
He let out a gravelly chuckle, his voice cracking into a slight squeak at the end.
“Well… most of it at least.”
He whispered, striding over to a small box sitting on a shelf on the left wall.
A chill ran up his spine as Vide appeared behind him.
“Psst… what’re you doing, Petit Shakespeare?”
She murmured into his ear.
Fidèle raised an eyebrow as Poète’s head twitched towards Vide.
“Nothing, Vide.”
He replied in a mumble.
“You were going to show her… the book. Weren’t you?!”
Her eyes narrowed as Poète turned his face away from her.
Fidèle stepped closer, making sure to avoid the papers on the floor.
“Poe? Is everything alright?”
She asked, lacing her fingers together as her voice rose an octave.
“It’s fine, Fidèle-”
Poète said, turning his head slightly to look at her.
“Don’t you remember what she did to you?! She left you there!”
Vide growled, biting her bottom lip and flashing him a sharp look.
“We romanticize the stars, but forget it is the dark that makes them visible. Don’t forget that, Vide.”
He hissed in response, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a small, bronze key and turning it in the box’s keyhole, unlocking it with a subtle click.
“Indeed… but, who betrays you one time shall betray you a thousand more, Poète. You don’t need to drink the whole sea to realize it’s salty.”
Vide breathed, drifting out of the room, sending another shudder through Poète’s body.
He carefully lifted a small book out of the box.
He turned on his heel and walked over to her.
His name was scratched in clumsy, angular letters on the front of the worn leather cover that looked as if it was ripped apart and then sewed back together but the stitches were not supposed to be seen.
She reached out her hand to touch it but he caught her wrist, chuckling slightly.
“Don’t touch.”
He said, pulling the dilapidated notebook away slightly.
“Then why did you bring it over?!”
She half laughed, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk.
“Oh dear! I assumed you would just look! Like you would in a museum!”
Personne giggled and clapped his hands together.
“Oh goodnesses! They’re getting along again.”
He chirped, peering into the room.
Poète peered over his shoulder at Personne.
“Oh, hush, Personne!”
He turned back to Fidèle.
“Oh dear, please excuse them. We can’t remember the last time we had visitors so our manners are a bit rusty.”
He explained, gesturing at Vide and Personne’s bedroom doors in the other room.
Vide’s door creaked open a crack, just wide enough for her to stick her head though and raise an eyebrow.
“Excuse you, Petit Shakespeare. I believe my manners are perfectly adequate!”
She snapped, promptly closing the door again.
Poète chuckled, shaking his head.
“Oh, Vide…”
Fidèle laughed stiffly.
“You’ve always told such… strange jokes, Poe.”
He tilted his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Well… Vide and Personne… you said they were your friends.”
His smile twitched downward slightly, his eyes widening.
“Yes…?”
He replied skeptically as Vide joined Personne in the doorway.
Personne leaned over to Vide and whispered to her, though he was much shorter than her and his face was at the level of her shoulder.
“Oh goodnesses! Does she need glasses…? She seems to have a hard time seeing us.”
Vide nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest as she exhaled.
“Indeed… the fall from that tree when she was a child must have tampered with her eyesight.”
“Oh goodnesses! How dreadfully tragic!”
Personne remarked, placing a hand on his chest in dismay.
“Tragic indeed.”
Vide agreed, nodding once and turning her head to look down at him.
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