Chapter 22 JEOPARDY
NARRATIVE POINT OF VIEW
Viscount Claude sat beside the trembling woman, he held her hands and eyed her with sincerity “I perhaps… acted obnoxiously” his words emitted warmth, but her mind tells her another. She cannot process what she’s hearing as the image of the night before her fainting came rushing in.
His tight grasp, the bloody fox, and the way he flanged her back inside caused recurring trauma. “Agatha… listen-“
“No!”
Her loud scream rendered him stunned. Eyes tearing with displease, her obvious nettle blared.
“Why...” she sobbed, breathing loudly, almost passing out of fatigue. “Why don’t you just kill me?!”
Viscount Claude froze with low spirits, his eyes were fixated on the mark he inked by her neck. “If you know it’s a pseud… you could’ve just killed me and end my suffering… Why would you choose to keep me captive?!” her squeal echoed across the room, every word gliding with deep consuming frustration. It pierced his non-beating heart. The fervent emotion she had imploded made him weak.
He leaned closer, holding her hands in a tight grasp to stop her from shaking. With solemn intention, he met her tight-knit lips.
A record played, claiming the halls with a resounding romantic music composed by a man named Rossini. She grew feverish. The heat he brought made her halt. She tried to push him, but she’s no match for his strength. He pulled his tongue out, entering her unsuspecting mouth without hassle. Inching even closer, he slid his hands across her cheeks, away from the tight grasp on her wrist.
The world slowed, as the lovesick vampire attempts to get her in his way. Deceitful and manipulative, but warm and melancholic. Agatha began to get calm, her heart beats slower enabling his left hand to slide behind her back and into a tight embrace. He inched away, meeting her closed eyes as he brushed it open.
“Agatha…”
Seeing him wear such face tranquilized her, she gaped a little, mildly stunned with his actions. The tone he used to call her name never ceased to daze her foreboding inclination. “I, by no means are planning to kill you…”
She didn’t react. None of his words seemed real to her but the sincerity in his eyes tells the truth “I want you to be mine”
Bearing the heat of her body, Agatha looked away with uncertainty. “Don’t dupe me…” she said weakly, “I’m tired of it” Her strong answer made him boil, but more than that, he cannot help but to feel dejected. All he wanted was honesty, and that’s what he got.
Viscount Claude however, took it with a grain of salt. He clasped her cheeks, making her face his way “Thank you for being truthful… but I am not lying, all I wanted is to hear you answer.” He smiled, “Agatha… let’s stop playing and be honest with our feelings.”
She heaved “w-what?”
“May I court you?”
She shook her head with squinting eyes. She cannot fathom his words “What are your reasons?! Why me? There are a lot of ladies far better than I am…”
He eyed her with assurance, “I’m not interested in them…” he held her chin, “Agatha…”
He closed his eyes and her image flashed, 'Emily…' he called at the back of his head before opening it again. The very same image of the woman he used to love greeted him. The resemblance is uncanny. Her features, voice and poignance are the spitting image of the Bridgeton Queen one hundred years ago. He cannot bear to let go. He ought to indulge himself in this feeling. The only thing different is the name, time and disposition. But her blood tastes the same, Agatha is indeed a royal.
“because you’re different” he said, going in for another kiss, this time, a passionate one. With her in his mind.
Every time a civilian comes, the merchants’ race to call their attention. It’s a technique used and popularized by the street children, so as to bring the people to notice them. Perhaps adapting it can be the perfect choice for the struggling sellers, as they almost have the same price for the goods they are selling.
The night is young, the kids are out and it’s the perfect time to stroll around the market. Hundreds of people flock around, it’s a bustle as they struggle to hear one another.
One kid named Salvador sat by the edge of the railings, swinging his feet a few meters away from the coldness of the ocean. He eyed the docking ship, several fishermen emerging from their respective vessels looking worn out walked out the wharf. Salvador furrowed his undeveloped brows. Strangely enough, every time they step, the platform flutters creating a rigid effect. He eyed the market; everyone seems to not notice but they are standing in thick cuts of woods pieced together using timber hitch. It is indeed fully furnished, but the support is quite unsteady.
He gazed beneath the water once more, this time he noticed it. His feet got closer, the water was almost touching his sole. His eyes widened, “Papa-“
By then, a loud crash clamored the entirety of the district. Even residents living across the porch heard it. With no time to react, the people standing atop the platform dwelled, succumbing to the freezing cold water unknowingly. Several gigantic waves clamored as the ear-piercing screams drowned the city. Countless lives lost at sea, the dock which stood for two weeks, collapsed along with forty-three lives.
