Sissy Pantelis

Poisonous Sortilege

 

          A perfume is a weapon, my grandmother said. No matter how hard I tried, I could not understand what she meant by this.

          To me, a perfume was but a delight. Especially our traditional family perfume that my grand mother favored above all the others; the one my mum would wear with her fabulous dresses and beautiful jewels. In my little girl’s eyes, mom in her glamorous outfits was like one of the fairy queens in the fairy tales she was reading to me. The jewels sparkles were a wonder, akin to fireworks, and the scent of the perfume would fill my mind with all sorts of marvelous dreams.

          When I was five, I used to steal some of mom’s perfume when she was out. I did not mean ill; I just longed to sense fragrance-incited dream too.

          Not surprisingly, on my early teens, when I started going out, I would wear this perfume too. Like my grandmother, I loved changing perfumes; I was excited by the experience of a new scent on me. But mom’s perfume, the one that made me dream so much when I was a child, always remained my favorite. It was the perfume I wore for special occasions.

          I wore this fragrance on the evening of our first kiss.

          We had known each other ever since we were small children. We were neighbors and spent a lot of time together. We would read our favorite fairy tales; we played games that we invented. Later, we would take long walks in the woods and talk for hours, lost in our own dream world, inaccessible to anybody else. He was my bosom friend; both of us only children, he was like a brother to me. He was a part of me. I think I have always been in love with him, ignoring the young men interested in me and being jealous of the girls who came close to him. But I never told him; I was scared to lose him if he did not feel the same way about me.

          We went together to the student ball on spring. My heart fluttered in my chest when he invited me; I went to the best hairdresser in town to arrange my hair and I took about three hours deciding which dress I would wear. I finally chose a long blue dress in silk that resembled Cinderella’s gown. With trembling hands, I applied perfume on my neck and on my wrists. When he came to take me at home, he showed nothing more than a polite admiration. But at the ball, we danced, laughed, and spinning, we reached the cherry tree in the garden. He stopped and stared at me with an expression I had never seen before. “You are very beautiful,” he said, his voice quivering.

          “Really?” I smiled feigning to ignore the tension in the air. “More beautiful than your blonde fairy?” Taller than me, with waist-long blond hair, Julia looked indeed like a fairy. Lately, she was always following him like a shadow.

          He looked at me, lost, as if he did not understand what I talked about. “I don’t care about Julia. You are the most beautiful girl in school. And I love you,” he whispered lowering his eyes and biting his lips. I thought that I was going to faint.

          “I love you too.” I had to say it before I collapsed, but finally I didn’t pass out. Before I knew what happened, we were in each other’s arms and we kissed passionately under the cherry tree, a shower of cherry blossom petals whirling all around, as if nature gave her approval for our love.

“That perfume is divine on you! You have the scent of a fairy tale,” he whispered to my ear. I giggled, happy as if I was into the most beautiful fairy tale and we kissed again.

          Under the cherry tree, he proposed to me a few months later. The air was filled with flower scents, but my own perfume dominated them all. It had become the scent of our love; the heavenly fragrance of our own fairy tale, and it filled me with delight and promises of happily ever after.

          What a fool I was! I forgot that all fairy tales have a dark side. Or did a gloomy, obscure divinity take my excessive happiness for arrogance and decided to teach me a lesson, so as it happened in the ancient myths? Whatever the reason, the first shadows were cast on the resplendent garden of my joy, when he started offering me expensive gifts. At first, I did not react; I thought that his father gave him money and told him that he did not need to waste it on me. When he gave me the pendant – a butterfly-winged panther all made of precious gems, I became seriously upset.

          “How did you buy this?” Disconcerted, I gazed at the splendid jewel as though mesmerized. I knew how expensive it was; I had seen the pendant in the showcase of a jewel shop and I had asked for the price, just out of curiosity. There was no way we could afford it.

          Laughing at my dismay, he took me in his arms and told me that there was nothing to worry about. He had a new job he said casually – just a few commissions for a rich guy who paid him well for his services. We had no secrets for each other, so he told me the name of the man he worked for, but asked me to keep it a secret. Struck with terror, I gasped and covered my face with my hands.

          The man was a very dangerous individual, involved in all sorts of shady business. Without a second thought, I told my fiancé that I did not wish him to work for this individual. He opened his mouth to protest, but I did not let him speak. I told him dryly that I forbade him to keep doing those commissions.

          “God, why – don’t you trust me? I’m not involved in anything dirty or dishonest. I just thought it would be nice to have some money. Is that so wrong?” The distress in his voice made me feel like a monster for being angry at him and his eyes were so sad that I struggled to not bust into tears.

          “You don’t get it, do you?” I said in a trembling voice. “I’m scared for you. The idea alone that something could happen to you makes me sick. I don’t care about the money. We’re fine as we are. We’re young and healthy; we’ll work and get money. I just want to be with you – Damn the money!”

          He held me tight to his bosom and caressed my hair, whispering comforting words. I did not need to worry, he affirmed; he did nothing dangerous, he was not involved in messy business. Besides, the man for whom he worked was protecting him. Far from being reassured, I was even more worried at hearing this. What was he protecting him from if there was no danger?

For a while, I remained silent. I knew how important that money was to him. Their financial situation had been difficult since his father had lost his job. He would be happy to bring home some money. Also, I feared that if I insisted on convincing him to quit that cursed job, he would keep doing it without talking me about it. I did not want secrets between us and not knowing would only make things worse. I gave a deep sigh and I told him that it was fine, as long as he was careful. He promised he would and we kissed and all seemed to be settled.

          It wasn’t. I never stopped worrying, even though I never told him. Whenever he was out, late at night, for his “commissions”, I’d always sit beside the window and peer behind the half closed curtains to see if he was back. I always waited in silence, too anxious to read or to occupy myself with anything else. The stars and the moon – when visible – were my sole silent companions in those long hours. Sometimes, I’d mentally pray to the moon, asking her to protect him and to bring him safely back to me. Weird as it sounds, this was my only comfort too; I always had a special connection to the moon, something beyond rational understanding.

          Maybe it was not by chance that my fears materialized on a moonless night. It was almost dawn, but he had not shown up yet. I heard footsteps on the quiet alley and rushed to open the curtains.

          It was not him. Two policemen stepped to the door of our house and rang the bell. His father opened and I hurried to the entrance too, without covering myself, barefoot in my night gown.

          They were sorry, they said. It was an accident, there had been a fight with weapons and he, unarmed, was taken in the middle of it. He was shot on the chest and when the medics arrived, it was too late….

I gave a distressed shout, like a banshee’s cry and I did not hear more. I collapsed unconscious on the floor.

          When I opened my eyes, I was in my bed, with my family and his father staring at me with concern. It took me some time to remember what happened, but when I did, I broke into hysterics. The doctor came and injected me with tranquillizers. For some time, I spent more time asleep that awake.

          I could not escape in the dream realms forever. I sank into a complete apathy. Sitting in my bed all day, I would not speak or react to anything. My mother was beside me almost all the time, and she talked to me, trying to get my attention, but whatever she was saying did not reach my brain and I did not say a word to her. His father came to visit me. I locked my eyes into his, I held his hand, but I did not speak to him either.

          The only thing that made me react was the perfume. The bottle was on my night table. One day, I took it in my hands and I stared at it for a long while, then I smelled it.

          You smell like a fairytale.

          The sudden reminiscence of his words, brought to my memory by the scent, caused me such pain that I could not breathe. He would never say this to me again; he would never kiss me again. I would never see him again. I burst into tears and I sobbed until I struggled for air. The nurse rushed into the room and gave me tranquillizers. Once my senses recovered, I was more passive than previously, completely unconcerned by anything around me. Whatever faint part of my brain was still functioning, just hoped that I would soon die too.

          One day, a thought flashed into my mind. They kept all pills far from me, only giving me what was necessary for the treatment. I could not get my hands on my medicine, but a few tranquillizers and other pills were still left in my grandmother’s drawer. She had passed away some time ago, but her room was left just as it was when she lived there.

          Weak as I was, walking from my room to hers took a big effort. I finally arrived there, sat on her bed and opened the drawer where she used to keep her meds. I knew this as I was the one who gave her the pills whenever she forgot to take them.

          As I was rummaging in the drawer, my eye caught the green box, the cover of which was adorned with a sparkling red apple. It looked like a jewel coffer and had made a strong impression on me when I was a little girl. I always asked for the green box, but my grand mother would never allow me to play with it – I could not even touch it. Later, when I was older, she had explained what was in it. I had listened carefully, and never forgot her explanations.

          I grasped the box with great caution and opened it with the key hidden under the ruby apple on the lid. It contained a series of bottles; I took some time counting the bottles and muttering to myself what each of them contained. All bottles were intact, exactly as they were when grand mother had first shown them to me and explained about their contents.

          I closed the box, hid it under my large gown and returned to my bedroom as noiselessly as I could. Once in my bed, I stared at my perfume bottle. I caressed the box I had just found; then I opened the drawer with my personal stuff and hid it under my diary which was covered with a few scarves.

          For the first time since my beloved was gone, a sparkle of life flashed inside me as my mind worked on the seed of the idea that had just shaped in my brain. I would first need to recuperate my forces. Meanwhile, I had a lot of work to do.

          I took my laptop that stood abandoned on my work table, opened it and keyed in a few words. Soon, some photos appeared on the screen.

          I stared at them, bit my lips and kept typing, only stopping to glance at the perfume bottle on my night table.

          You smell like a fairy tale. The words flared up in my mind as though engraved there with a fiery dagger. My heart ached, but this time I did not cry.

          I had just decided that the fairy tale was not yet over.

 

          “The masked ball at the Count’s palazzo is fantastic! Why don’t you come too?”

          I did not answer immediately. In a way, the question was quite inappropriate. La signora Chiara knew how distressed I was – I had told her myself. Even though she was my mother’s friend, I had always liked her and confiding my troubles to her had been a relief. And I could hardly blame her for her suggestion; I had brought up the subject of the ball. Also, she had the decency to give me some time. She went to her bedroom to fetch the gown she would wear at the masked ball, tactfully leaving me a few moments on my own, to think before I accepted or declined her offer.

          I stood by the window and let my eyes wander over the canal. The water and the sky took on surreal saffron colors as the clouds reflected the fading sun’s red and orange hues. Wrapped in golden vibrant shades, the city looked as though it was invaded by angels. Shaped as luminous playful creatures, they danced in the sky, blending red to pink and peach; a few other inhabitants of the celestial realms, in bright-colored costumes, strolled throughout the central plaza and the narrow streets of the city. Under the winter sun, the carnival of Venice was like a playhouse in Heaven, featuring a fairy tale staged by angels.

          The sparkling magic of this phantasmagoria did not improve my mood. For a short while, a beautiful costume or a lovely place would distract my mind and make me forget my pain. But most of the time, I was like the little mermaid who gave up her fish-tail for feet. Light and graceful, her movements would make any dancer green with envy, but every step she took was like a bleeding tread upon sharp knives. In my case, the shining sun seemed to mock my sorrow and the bright colors of the costumes made my heart ache.

          My beloved and I had always dreamed about spending our honeymoon at this place during the carnival. I was here alone, his absence burdening my mind with heavy shadows. Heaven was not the right place for me at present.

          A soft rustle got me out of my sad reverie. Chiara was back in the luxury lounge.

          “I’m not sure that coming with you to the ball is a good idea,” I muttered. “In my unsociable mood, it’s probably better to avoid crowded events.”

          Light footed, she approached me noiselessly and caressed my hair. “I know how sad you are, tesoro. But you are also young and very beautiful. Your place is with the living, not with ghosts, my child. Yes, you need time. But the ball will take your mind off of your sad thoughts; it is good for you to be distracted. This is a first step to feeling better, tesoro. Your fiancé, who loved you so much, would not be happy to see you so sad, yes? Do it for him.”

          I stared at her without speaking.

          Do it for him. I took a deep breath.

          “Good,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll do as you say. But I have no dress to wear…”

          “This is no problem, tesoro. I have plenty of dresses in store; you can use anything you like. Or we can make a new one if you prefer. You just have to ask what you want.”

          “I do have an idea,” I said after some thought. “You see, when we spoke about spending our honeymoon here, we also talked about our disguises. I would love to wear the one we dreamed of, even if my fiancé will not be here to admire it.”

          “Very nice! Just describe me the dress so that I can tell my seamstress what to do.”

          I described the outfit as much in detail as I could; I even made a drawing. The seamstress was one of the best in town, so she worked fast and it was ready in a few days. When I saw it finished I was so enthusiastic that I wanted to kiss the seamstress. It was exactly what I wanted. Chiara asked her own hairdresser to take care of my hair and one of the best professionals was going to do our makeup. I had no doubt that all would be perfect; Chiara was, after all, one of the richest persons in the city and could afford the best professionals to satisfy her exquisite tastes.

          I had a few more preparations to do, but those were my own business.

          Before anything else, I needed to calm my spirit. I went by the Bridge of Sorrows, the only place where I fell at home, and I leaned against the cold wall. I wanted to let my pain out, but I could not cry. Maybe I had no more tears left.

          I heaved a deep sigh of misery. My eyes dry like the sand of the desert, my heart sore with melancholy as though a jailer was going to throw me into one of the cold cells under the Doge’s palace, I walked into the sun-bathed city to complete my preparations for the ball. 

 

          The evening of the ball was there, at last. On the way to the Count’s palazzo, I was suddenly overwhelmed with stress. My heart pounded in my chest and deep chills ran down my spine. I had been isolated for so long; the thought of being among so many people upset me. Seized by panic, I briefly thought to give everything up and return to the warm safety of the house of Lady Chiara.

          Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. The soft splash of the oar in the water soothed me, and the cool breeze filled my nose with an exquisite perfume – my own delightful fragrance. My senses mesmerized by the refreshing notes of lemon mixed to a few notes of coriander, I slowly relaxed and I started dreaming.

          I am in a fairy tale. I am Cinderella. My fairy godmother graciously wove her stick and fairy dust, sparkling in countless colors, came out and shaped into the gossamer dress I wear. A carriage would be of no use here, so my godmother threw a banana skin into the canal water and with her magic, turned the banana into a magnificent gondola. She also transformed a cat into a gondolier and a lizard into a valet that would accompany me.

          I smiled as a sweet music took me out of my reverie. Like a guardian angel, my beloved perfume had helped me to recover my self-composure. My fairy tale was not entirely the product of my imagination. La Signora Chiara had been like a godmother fairy to me. My gossamer dress of Snow Fairy Princess was the doing of her skilful seamstress. I wanted something original – not just a pompous white dress. My crushed velvet corset was designed in “icy” shades of blue, white and silver. The bodice was swathed in glittering crystals that looked like gems, and snowflakes made from sequins and white pearls. Layered in gauzy tulle and iridescent organza, the skirt was sharply cut into erratic points, the elegant movement of which, evoked the graceful fall of snow.

          Chiara had not used magic. Even though the gondola was not a magically-metamorphosed banana, it really was sumptuous. The gondolier wore a cat mask. Decked in a green velvet costume, the valet who accompanied me had a lizard mask on his face. He also was an excellent violin player as I was about to find out as he played an Italian song to entertain me during the journey on the canal.

          I had done a good job too. The perfume that the night breeze brought to my nose, the fragrance that gave me dreams of magic, was my own creation. I had worked hard to keep the top notes lasting and dominant. I also hoped that the scent would suit my outfit making of me some kind of a strange artwork, a tableau vivant the visual effect of which was paired to a matching fragrance.

          At the sign of the cat-masked gondolier, the lizard valet sprang gracefully out of the gondola and gave me his hand. Absorbed in day-dreaming, I had not noticed that we had arrived.

As I stepped out of the gondola, I stared at the palazzo. Bathed in multicolored lights, it seemed to float above the canal, and gave off the unearthly beauty of the fairy realms. I could not take my eyes off of it, as though I was bewitched. If only my magic could work as efficiently tonight, I wished silently. Staring straight in front of me and trying to look self-confident, I walked into the long corridor that led to the resplendent hall where the ball took place.

          Before I knew, I was surrounded by a dozen male and female guests. The men did not speak much, but behind my silver mask, I noticed their admiring gazes on me. The ladies were more talkative. Many praised my hairstyle and my gown and asked who had made it. Most were fascinated by my perfume. My aim had not been to attract so much attention, but be it as it was, I boldly conversed with everybody, skillfully concealing my shyness and taking courage at the thought, that at least, my hard work was paying off.

          “How did you manage to keep the top notes of the perfume going on for so long? Did you use hedione?”

          The question hit me like an electric current. Of course, among all those rich people, who spent so much time and money on fashion and perfumes, somebody was likely to know. It was all but pleasant, though. As if someone had sneaked to read my secret diary. Hidden behind the mask, the expression of my face could not be detected. With a considerable effort, I turned as quietly as I could toward the person who had asked the question – a young man in a jester’s costume with a golden mask.

          “I beg your pardon?” Feigning ignorance was the best attitude and the tone of my voice must have been quite convincing.

          “Please forgive me,” he said apologetically. “I am a perfume reviewer in various fashion magazines, and I always think that everybody knows as much about perfumes as I do….”

          I probably knew as much as he did or even more. I just smiled and let him go on with his explanations.

          “We describe perfumes in notes, like music, you see? The top notes are the first scent that you smell when you apply the perfume. The middle notes or “heart” are the essential part of the perfume. And then…”

          Then the base notes – they give solidity to the perfume and with the middle notes they constitute the main theme of the perfume. I had known this since I was a child; my grandmother talked me about perfumes as other grannies tell fairy tales.

          “Even though the most captivating part of the perfume, the top notes vanish fast. But you managed to keep them intact for so long; it is amazing! I was wondering if you used hedione.”

          I had. But I would not let him know. “Oh, no, I just used an odorless soap while bathing.” Plus hedione in solution and also a perfumed lotion before I applied the perfume. “A friend told me that it makes the fragrance last. I’m happy to find out that she was right.”

          “She was!” he said. “I am surprised you have achieved such an exquisite fragrance by using so few ingredients, though. Normally, this requires a lot of work.”

          Nobody knew this better than I. I had spent hours experimenting, dosing the ingredients, and trying to discover the combination that would give off the best fragrance. Having no other way to measure, I had used music – I decided that the best scent would be the one that would produce the exact sensation incited by my favorite music. Apparently, it worked, even by the standards of an expert’s demanding nose.

          “I think that the perfume suits my skin well,” I replied. “I did not know how lucky I was until our talk.”

          “I am happy to see you’re interested in perfumes. It is not just a job for me; it is my passion… Will you dance with me?”

          His eyes sparkled with intelligence behind the golden jester’s mask. He was certainly an interesting man and the fact that he had pierced my secret made him all the most fascinating.

          “My dear lady, will you honor me by opening the ball with me?” said another voice.

          He stood beside me, tall and graceful in his black velvet costume, long coat floating behind him, face hidden behind an intricate mask – probably a special command. Folding his coat, he bowed to me, offering a beautiful red rose. I bit my lips, embarrassed. “I am sorry, I was about to promise a dance to this gentleman.”

          He stared at the jester who was a perfume reviewer and gave a wide smile. “Happy to see you, mon cher de Saint Près! Please allow me to dance with this lady first. You see, this is a tradition – I always open the ball with the most beautiful woman. You will not be cross at me? I will return your lovely partner after the first waltz, you have my word!”

          “Oh, of course you can open the ball with the lady, cher Conte! You are our host; you take such good care of us. I will be happy to step aside for you, although knowing that you will not keep your word about returning the young princess to me.” He winked and they both laughed. The Count took my hand and we started dancing.

          We hardly exchanged a few words – he asked my name and I thanked him for the invitation and told him how much I enjoyed the ball. He looked pleased, but said no more. We kept dancing locking eyes most of the time. He had beautiful eyes, the blue of the ocean, sometimes changing to the grey of the angry sky on a tempest. I slowly forgot all around me, as though dancing on the clouds, feeling light-headed as if I had champagne. I had not drunk; dancing with him did this to me. I am not a stunning dancer; the delirious sensation, of my feet not touching the earth, certainly came from him. He was an extremely skilled dancer, his movements gracious and swift as a feline’s, and he led extremely well, passing the feeling of excellence to me.

          Keeping the fluidity of the moves and without a hesitant step, he whirled and took me in the garden. He paused under a beautiful Chinese lantern and stared at me. “I wish I could spend the whole evening alone with you,” he said in a low, sensual voice. “I cannot abandon my guests, though. This would be rude, even for those who know me.”

          I laughed. “Are you so rude, then, Count?” I said in a playful voice.

          “I’m afraid I am not always polite, my dear. I am quite impulsive, you see.” I shivered as he brushed my chin with the tip of his fingers.

          “Are you cold?” There was a genuine concern in the question and a strange intimacy in his tone.

          “No, I am just…”

          He caressed my lips with his fingers. “Take off your mask,” he whispered. I want to see your face.”

          I obeyed – with trembling hands, I pulled my mask off. For a while he remained silent.

          “You are very beautiful,” he whispered finally. “And your perfume is so lovely. You have the scent of a… a dream.” He approached his face to mine until our lips touched gently.

          “Will you also take off your mask?” I whispered, under my breath. “I want to see you too.”

          He complied without objections. To see his face took my breath away. God, he was handsome! And he had such charm that I cannot imagine any woman able to resist him. If I was not shielded by grief, I would probably be about to faint and after I had recovered my senses, I would not mind to be his slave and do everything he asked me.

          “I… I have to go now,” I muttered. “I was not going to stay late – I have not been out for a while, you know?”

          “I wish you could stay more,” he said without taking his eyes off of me. He took my hand and held it in his. “Will I see you again?”

          I locked my eyes on his. I knew that at that moment, he wanted me more than anything in the world. “Of course you will,” I answered in a playful voice.

          “How will we meet then? I only know your name, my little one.”

          I am not sure what happened in my head. It was as if, of a sudden, I became someone else. Playing seduction games was not like me, but, at that moment, it came naturally.

          “You will,” I said gently caressing his lips with my fingers. “If you really want to find me, I’m sure you will know what to do.”

          Turning my heels, I went away, as fast as the top notes of a perfume that are not prolonged by hedione, and without as much as a glance back to him. In a quick movement, I threw my handkerchief on the ground beside his feet. He would not forget me after he’d picked it up. Looking like silk, the handkerchief was actually made of a high quality synthetic material on which the perfume would linger a long while. I only hoped he would see the handkerchief.

          Back at the gondola, I risked a peep at the balcony. He stood still there, staring dreamingly at the canal, my perfumed handkerchief pressed against his lips.

          I bit my lips and hoped that the handkerchief would be as efficient as Cinderella’s shoe in the fairy tale.

         

          The first time he asked to see me, I politely declined the invitation. I sent a perfumed letter of apologies, where I informed him that I was unwell, but I hoped to meet him as soon as I was better. The scent I had put on the paper was a subtle variant of my fragrance on the night of the ball.

          A few days later, he invited la signora Chiara and me at the palazzo. I asked Chiara to transmit my best thoughts and also the message that I did not yet feel well enough to go out. She came back with a note from him attached to a gorgeous gardenia the heavily sensual scent of which filled the room. “I hope you will feel better soon. My thoughts are with you, and next time, I will not take no for an answer,” read the note in beautiful calligraphy style. I thought of my own messy handwriting and gave a faint smile. Of course, I accepted his third invitation.

          We had tea at a posh café, then we walked and he showed me the city. He escorted me back at home in a carriage. On the way, he started caressing me and kissing my neck. I abandoned myself to him, enjoying his caresses, my body invaded by lust, my head filled with the intoxicating jasmine scent of my perfume. The secret formula I had used, to enforce the heart notes, made the fragrance addictive. Unfortunately, the perfume had a powerful effect on me as well as on him. It was not just the effect of the perfume. I was not in love with him, but his charm captivated me and my body longed for his touch. Cursing myself mentally for my weakness, I recollected whatever I could of my self-control and asked him to stop.

          “I … I cannot do this,” I whispered panting. “I mean – I love what you do, but I… I wish to keep myself intact for my wedding night.”

          He stared at me surprised. “What…? You mean, you – you’ve never-?”

          “No. I know, it sounds old fashioned and stupid, but I’ve always thought that it was the right thing to do. It’s not out of religious belief. I just feel that it has to be so for me. I…I’m really sorry.” I lowered my eyes and bit my lips. I had probably ruined everything now. He had a reputation of loving women, but nothing of what I had heard about him hinted at a possible attraction to virgins.

          He remained silent, the expression on his face inscrutable. I spotted a sparkle in his eyes and a faint smile, but whether that was derision or just my idea, I could not say as uneasiness clouded my judgment.

          In the next days, my doubts vanished. We met almost every day and spent hours together, walking, talking and laughing like happy children, who enjoyed each other’s company. He did not touch me – he would just hold my hand, give me a chaste kiss on the front and stroke my hair – nothing more.

          After three weeks, he took me to a glamorous restaurant with a splendid view of the city. At the end of the dinner, he offered me a ring and proposed to me.

          I stared at the splendid diamond ring, tears welling up in my eyes. I remembered the night my beloved had proposed to me under the cherry tree. Swallowing my tears, I put the priceless ring on my finger. He kissed my hand and the ring; then he rose and led me to the veranda. The lights of the city glittering at our feet, the stars twinkling above us, he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me passionately.

          As we were kissing, fireworks flared up in the sky. I let myself go, quivering and burning with desire. My first kiss had been with an angel to whom my heart belonged. Now, I was kissed by a demon that blurred my mind and dominated my senses with lust. I did not know what I was. Neither angel nor demon, I was merely a wretched prisoner, enslaved to the whirlwind of my emotions and the firestorm of my passions.

          The fireworks went on. They were supposed to incite joy, but I was all but light-hearted at the outburst of dazzling lights that seemed to come directly from Hell.

          This was probably fine. The angel’s kiss was saluted by a shower of cherry petals. Hell celebrating the fiery kisses of a demon could be but a good omen for the future.

 

          “I am so sorry, tesoro. I was in Paris, but I came back as soon as I heard the news. I wanted to be with you…”

          I nodded absent-mindedly as Chiara caressed my hair. “Thank you so much. You are a wonderful friend.”

          “What happened exactly? There were no details in the news just a few lines in the obituary.”

          “A heart attack,” I muttered. “He had a heart attack. On our honey moon, it was… Oh, God!” I hid my face in my hands and burst into tears.

          “It must be horrible, tesoro. Especially for you as you have been through all this before…This is destiny, my child. You cannot change fate, you can only accept it. I will be beside you. You can stay with me as much as you like, you know this.”

          My dear Chiara was always kind as an angel to me. I would stay with her some time; I did not want to go back to the palazzo alone. My husband had many houses in different places in the world, but I was not yet ready to travel either. Chiara went to prepare my room and I stepped by the window. I stood there and stared at the canal, just as I had done a few months ago, before the ball.

          Strangely, my only reminiscence was of that masked ball. My preparations, my anxiety; the wonder at discovering the glorious palazzo when I first saw it. I recalled our dance and our conversation under the Chinese lantern that looked like an orange moon. The time we spent together after the ball was blurred in my mind; our sumptuous wedding just a ghostly succession of images. And the last night we spent together… I wish I could put it out of my mind, but this is impossible. I will always remember; it will always haunt me like a curse for the rest of my life.

          Chiara is not entirely right. It was not destiny that caused his death. I killed him.

          I feel guilty for having used Chiara in my scheming. She helped me to go to the ball – this was the only place where I could meet him. She was a messenger between us before we started dating. Of course, Chiara has no responsibility in what I did – she did not know. Even I had strong doubts that the whole thing would work. I managed to draw his attention at the ball and I had seduced him. Surrounded as he was by the most beautiful women, I was not sure that he would see me again. 

When I told him that I was a virgin, I seriously thought that he would lose interest in me. I had never anticipated that he would ask me to marry him. But he did and I accepted. On our honeymoon, I filled the room with my perfume, covering the scent of the poison I had rubbed onto his bath robe.

          He died quickly, my name being the last word that came out of his lips. I had only to replace the bath robe; his death left no room for suspicions, it looked like a heart attack. The poison I had used left no hints. My grandma had taught me well and I could not thank her enough for her lessons.

Perfumes were one of her passions. Poison collection and knowledge about toxic substances was the other. She had transmitted it to me with the green box that contained her collection of bottles filled with poison that I had found in her drawer. On that day, I decided that I would not die. I would rather kill the man who had caused the death of my only love.

          He was at the head of the organization that had employed my fiancé. He did not have a direct contact with the people who did small jobs for him, but he granted them protection via his numerous subordinates. He had not done a good job at protecting my fiancé… Also, his men incited fights between gangs to serve his interests. My poor fiancé was killed by accident in one of those fights.

          Even though knowing what he was, I fell under his charm and lusted after him. In spite of the blazing desire that consumed me, I had finally killed him. He had ruined my life; he had taken my love and my innocence away. He had to pay and my infernal passion for him could not save him.

          Now, I am a very rich woman. I never cared about money – I only wanted justice. But being his wife, I am also his lawful heiress. This might have been part of my revenge, but that part I had not planned. Maybe there is, in the universe, some force that punishes those who have wronged others. That force probably finds ways to help those who seek a rightful revenge.

          I am not sure what I will do with the money. First I will try to put an end to those illegal activities that cause the death of young men like my fiancé. No more young girls will grief for their beloved like I did.

          Maybe I will invest money in fragrances. I will ask Guillaume De Saint Près to help me. The young perfume reviewer, disguised as a jester that I had met at the ball, has many contacts in the perfume industry.

          I close my eyes and take a deep breath; I don’t want to think any more. I just need to lie down to sleep. Just before I leave the room, the air that comes from the open window brings to my nose some of my perfume.

          It is the same fragrance I wore at the ball; the same I wore on our dates and the one I filled the room with on our last night together. It does not smell the same, though. The top notes of cheer and dreaming seem to have evaporated; the heart notes, themed on jasmine that fueled lust and desire have vanished too. Only the base notes are left…

          You have the scent of a fairy tale, said my only love. But our fairy tale did not have a happy ending.

          You smell like a dream, said my husband when I first met him. But that dream had turned into a nightmare too.

          My eyes well up with tears as the perfume invades me. This is the scent of sorrow and solitude; a gloomy fragrance of burning tears and darkness.

          There are more notes in the perfume, though – something that my mind refuses to acknowledge at first.

          But the subtle fragrance lingers, tenacious, in the air until I can no longer ignore it. Spicy and intoxicating, it is far more addictive than all of the other perfumes.

          It is the scent of Power.

 

 

Many thanks to haute couture house INBAL DROR for allowing me to use one of their 2015 collection photos to illustrate this page.

The photo above belongs to INBAL DROR and can be found at their site: http://www.inbaldror.com/en