NEVERMORE : A twist to the tale

“So, what do you think?” I glanced back at Ajax with pride shimmering in my eyes.

He was squinting behind me, and the only thing he dared say was “How’s that thing still alive?”

I protected my computer in offense, hearing the motor wheels spinning and being careful not to unplug the power cord, or else it would shut down in shock, having no battery left. Admittedly, it was old but had survived for many years.

“Not the point, Ajax. Just don’t touch anything. We never know.”

“I don’t see the word with that big line in the middle of the screen.” Right. Sure, it might be ancient, but it still was working.

“It’s a ‘frustrated viper,’” I said with my biggest horror smile.

“I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only one who had a taste of your magnificent letters.” Ajax tilted his lips slowly. “I’m happy you did that. I’m sure he deserved it.”

Happy on Ajax’s face translated with a heavy frown.

Today, I had made the decision to stop writing for the company that was paying me lower than the minimum standards, and stopped being under the constant pressure of daddykink exploitation. So, that’s how I made the impulsive decision of writing a you made my life a living hell letter.

“You don’t think the writing in purple is too much?” I was provocative on purpose. “And what about the heart and rainbow emoji?”

I reread my masterpiece.

Dear Mr. Daddykink,

I’m enchanted to announce to you my resignation! I don’t have the strength to battle your dragon’s demands any longer for that low price. I’m wishing you, nevertheless, all the very best and hopefully to not turn into a frustrated viper—because that’s what this job does to you, and I doubt no frog can help break the curse. Writing should be creative, and it’s just painful with your company. Anyway, a new chapter is turning, one where I’m free of this consuming job. All my very magical best. Signed: not your little fairy hands.

“This is very you,” Ajax concluded. “What did he say?”

That was the moment that I wanted to shrink back in my chair and hide.

“That I was still under contract for the last short story and that after, he’d be glad to get rid of me because I was no fun and, frankly, terrible. And also, that my letter was probably the best writing I ever did, which wasn’t a compliment.” I laughed. “One week of torture and I’m done, and I have an outline for the fairy-tale story and a semblance of a beginning.”

His gaze dropped to the doc titled “messyfirstdraft-unknown.” “To celebrate, I’m inviting you out tonight. And before you ask any questions, it’s to get inspired.”

“Aren’t we supposed to work on your sketches?” My eyes opened wide. “If I recall correctly, our partnership contract ends tomorrow, and I’m not even sure you have a piece ready for Ever After.”

“I know.” That was the only thing he said as he exited my room. He returned with a package carefully wrapped that he placed on my bed. “For you, for tonight.”

Before I had the chance to follow after him, he was gone, and I fell onto the bed, excitement rushing through my core. I eagerly opened the package and read the writing on the card: “It’s time to make your entrance.”

Inside, I contemplated a midnight-black bustier dress with some crossover bands on the shoulders.

“Oh my god! It’s hers!” The way I screamed, I was sure Ajax had heard me from downstairs.

I pulled out the dress from the package to view it on top of me, heading in front of the mirror. It was exactly her. The dress I pictured for my evil queen, the main character of my fairy tale, and Ajax had found it. He did. He really did.

“I have goose bumps. I have freaking goose bumps!” I shrieked again.

The dress was long and hit my feet, tight around the hips and waist, and had an open slit on the side. There was a midnight satin fabric from dark purple to cheerful lavender to wear over the arms and deep black gloves. I jumped on the bed, snapping my legs in the air, feeling my chest contracting.

He understood me, and that’s why out of all my dresses, this was probably one of the most meaningful.

You know that moment where the heroine descends down the stairs under the desire-filled eyes of her date? The one that has your heart blossoming with new feelings?

Well, it wasn’t like that.

I was rushing to every corner of the room, having failed my eyeliner line, so I had to restart from scratch. This was what was happening in real life. You messed up your perfect night with the perfect dress. After the fourth try, I did it, my hands moist with anxiety and my eyes red and swollen. On the verge of a mental breakdown, I was ready to smash all the mirrors. Everything had to be perfect.

“Aurore, is everything okay?” Ajax was behind the door since I was late by twenty minutes, spending the last fifteen with that fucking eyeliner and the other five dying of anxiety and rethinking my life choices.

“Yes, yes I am.”

He didn’t believe me. The door was opening up. My mind processed these two pieces of information at full speed, and I aimed for the door and slammed it closed with my back. He’s gonna think I’m crazy.

“Aurore?”

“Can you wait by the car?” I asked, biting my inner cheek.

“Why? What’s wrong?” He didn’t make it easy for me.

I turned around, my lips brushing against the door. “I want to make an entrance. If you’re behind the door, it’ll ruin everything.”

My fairy-tale heart was already ruining everything, but Ajax didn’t insist and drifted away from the door. Now, this was the moment. I put on my heels and inhaled deeply, doing the final touch by tightening my hair with the bow.

I descended the stairs, watching carefully that he wasn’t hiding somewhere nearby. Through the doorway, I glanced at Ajax leaning on his Aston Martin, wearing a three-piece burgundy suit that screamed of elegance, and the coward in me begged to flee. Being the main character wasn’t as easy as it appeared. I would be fine battling any enemies or defending my friends, but when it was about me and love, I was a totally different person. One weak with trust issues.

I took a step forward, then another, until his gaze assessed me, and I stopped. His expression would be unreadable if it wasn’t for the way he gulped and the growing bulge in his trousers that he hid with his hands in a smooth maneuver.

I reeled with a doubtful raise of a brow to break the tension. “How do I look?”

“Like mine.” His answer was instantaneous, to the point his own possessiveness surprised him.

I felt the weight of his stare upon my lips. “Yours?”

“Yes,” he said, his mouth a thin line, before repeating, “My muse, and more if you let me.”

“Am I bringing you to your knees, Mr. Clemonte?” My voice was playful.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He wet his lips, and something throbbed inside of me. “I’ll kiss you the way you’ll have the taste of me for weeks before fucking you with adoration if you allow me. And then, when I get off by the sound of your racking orgasm and your legs shaking, Aurore, you’ll be as much mine as I’ll be yours.”

My mouth hung open.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Ajax Clemonte?” I was playing with fire, and I blamed it on the dress.

“What you made me.” His brow rose, and he opened the car door for me. “I may have listened to that audiobook of yours. Or should I say ‘spicy’ audiobook, as you guys say.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to hide, share my lists of books with him, or simply get spicy together. “So you switched from classical music to spicy steamy romance? Get any inspiration from it?”

Shut up. I didn’t say that. I did. I—

The corner of his lips lifted up. “This is not even a quarter of what I’ve been dying obsessively to do to you for the past weeks we’ve shared together, my muse.”

My clit throbbed, and I stepped—no, I rushed—inside his car, or else I’d do something I would most likely regret. I could apparently listen to smut with a straight cold bitch face, but I couldn’t listen to Ajax talking about smut without feeling a heated wave ravaging me from within. Ironic.

Ajax being Ajax thankfully didn’t insist, revving the engine and driving out of the city. He might be a gentleman, but I was certain he had evaluated the possibility of doing some things in the back seat of his car. Not that we could—he was too tall, too big, too—

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m just thinking about…” You, railing me. “Plot issues.”

“You can lay them on me if you want.”

Overthinking and sharing my useless thoughts, that I knew how to do, and this was the task to which I subscribed during the rest of the trip.

We arrived in a small traffic jam; there was a sort of event at an illuminated gallery in the middle of the closed shops. A crowd was waiting at the entrance, and the main poster displayed… Spectre’s latest artwork. The one with the man who had black lines instead of his brain, who was currently exhibiting here for this week only. It was opening night.

“Is this where you’re bringing me?”

“I could, but we’re not going there,” he said without taking his eyes off the road, and at the roundabout, he took the opposite direction of the gallery.

“Why? Aren’t you supposed to be there? You’re the artist, after all.”

“No one will ever know if I was here or not. I have better plans for tonight.”

One question went through my mind. Why would he not go to his own exposition for a date with me?

“I guess you won’t tell me where we’re going, right?”

“No. You’ll just have to wait, and if you ask too many questions, I’ll blindfold you until we’re there.”

I had no doubt I’d end up this way, the questions on the tip of my tongue.

Either way, it made my belly coil.

“We didn’t have to do this, you know,” I tried to bargain with my cold Greek warrior in a suit, his hand blindfolding me from the view in front. “Plus, it means I have to trust you, and I’m not one to be guided by—”

He scooped me up with one arm in a caveman move, walking on what seemed to be sand.

“Ajax, where are we?” I didn’t like his silence nor the feel of the last ray of sun leaving my skin for the night to rise.

He set me on the ground, his whisper behind my neck. “You can open your eyes now.”

I did, the view in front of me taking the shape of a fairy-tale castle.

“It’s the castle in the sand,” I dropped, goose bumps on my skin. “You remembered.”

“Of course, I did.”

Ajax continued on the path in the midst of the sandbanks leading to the gravity-defying, gothic-style Benedictine abbey held within the fortresses of the Mont.

“Why would you do that for me?” I beamed, the golden lights calling me to nestle with them.

“I told you I’d get you inspired.”

I made a mental note to snap some pictures to share everything with Luna later on. “My sister is gonna freak out!”

We visited the village that grew up in the shadow of the imposing walls. It was picturesque, almost deserted, animated with only a couple of shops open. A few people dressed in costumes like harlequins, and children held balloons running on the narrow cobbled streets. Harmonica music was playing in the back with the smell of burning wood like a campfire. The atmosphere was one of the summer nights with spectacles and traditional celebrations.

“This is beautiful!” I took the scenery in, walking in front of Ajax, turning in a circle.

“Let’s go to the top.” He laid an arm around my lower back, and we passed people dancing flamenco and eating grilled meat.

The dancer approached me with her hands outstretched, and I joined her for eight counts, no more, no less, dancing under the imperturbable gaze of Ajax.

We crossed a small park below the abbey to admire the night view of the bay of the sea from the balcony of the fortress. I leaned on the ramp, and just one firework rose up in the sky to mark the beginning of the festivities.

“You have to make a wish.” I pinched his arm. “And don’t ask why. It’s my tradition.”

“Why?” he obviously asked. “It’s just teenagers playing around, not a real firework.”

He was right. It stopped right away and vanished through the night into smoke.

“It doesn’t change anything. I used to believe fireworks were fairy dust, and so I’d make a wish. I’d imagine they’d carry it with them in the sky like a shooting star. I believed if my thoughts were strong enough, it’d come true,” I mused. “Ajax, can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

It was finally the right time. “At Les Beaux Arts, did we meet?”

“We did.” His voice was deep, serious. “But you don’t remember. I was invisible to you.”

“So, it was you.” It confirmed my suspicions. Everything made sense now. “The man in the storage room. The one who gave me back my journal.”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke for themselves.

“I—” I swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t thank you in person. I never saw you at the art classes.”

“You were busy.” His jaw clenched. “You were with Augustus, and I was the stray dog of the class, so I didn’t exactly want to be seen. I was far in the back, behind my canvas.”

“You’re not a stray dog, Ajax.”

“I was.” His face closed, the obscurity darkening his features. “The first night I came to Paris, I didn’t have any money or place to sleep, so I slept at the train station. I didn’t know where to find help. I had no family, and I didn’t exactly have tons of friends back home. I preferred to be alone. My bag of belongings was stolen. I lost everything except for my father’s pocket watch. I remembered feeling so dirty, like less than nothing. Some days later, I had the chance to find somewhere to work and met Isaac, who got kicked out of a bar for being drunk. Unexpectedly, he rented me his apartment.”

My hand gripped his, his gaze following the motion as if no one had ever taken his hand before. As if he didn’t know whether to be hostile or not, not trusting the meaning behind it.

Before I could think of what to say, the next words escaped my lips. “I think you’re incredible.”

His stare fired back to mine. “It’s humiliating, Aurore.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s brave. You’re brave.”

“I—” His mouth slapped shut, and he glanced away. He was opening up to me, and this time, I wouldn’t give up or let go. This was my last chance to discover the man behind Spectre.

“How did you get into Les Beaux Arts after that?” I obviously couldn’t take a delicate voice, so this sounded more like a police interview.

“It was some years later, during an open class, after I had saved enough money. I spent everything I had on Bernard’s class. Truth was, I didn’t like it. It was too scholarly for me, but when I saw you—” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and I felt his hand tightening under mine. “I was fascinated by you. You were the epitome of life, living in your world among people who were gray and placid. I wanted to find you again. I never heard your full name until you wrote to me on Instagram.”

“But I—Why me?”

“I remember that I felt something strong seeing you. I couldn’t describe it or tell you what it was, but it was good and raw. It was overwhelming. I remembered the man you were with. It twisted my stomach at the thought he didn’t deserve you.”

Destiny did exist after all, even if the choices were ours. “So it’s like we were connected by the stars.”

“I came back to the classes every day for you.” He shifted his body so he faced me, the dusky night reverberating in his irises. “Even though you were there only once a week, I came to all of them because I didn’t want to miss you. You inspired me.”

“Your paintings,” I whispered. “They all have veils, like my dresses. Is it because of me? Of the dresses I was wearing?” Again, his silence hid the truth underneath. “I wish I had known. I wish I had found you.”

“I didn’t want to be seen just like I didn’t want you to get to know me. I had nothing to offer you back then. I was nothing.”

“Your heart would have been enough, Ajax.” I took a shaky breath. “I wanted to see you, but you didn’t let me.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me his watch. “Open it.”

I did as he said only to see a clock ticking. “I don’t understand.”

“Open the hidden compartment below the clock.”

I did, and my eyes doubled in size at the sight of what was inside.

Phantom ants scattered through me.

My heart missed some beats.

I’d been blind. All this time.

“You found it,” I gasped.

I brushed the four-leaf clover with my fingertips. Ajax had found my letter all those years ago. He had kept my clover all this time.

“I didn’t forget what you did for me,” he said. “And you were right. My wish came true.”

I closed his watch and handed it back over to him with a shaking smile full of emotions. “You became Spectre.”

“No. I saw you again.”

I was his wish.

Oh, my heart.

My heart stopped.

I froze.

Breathing was hard.

Stupid tears threatened the corners of my eyes.

This feeling in my gut. I had to lay a hand on my stupid heart. I’d wanted to feel that my whole life, and now, I was freaking out.

This couldn’t be it, could it?

My heart wasn’t mine anymore.

A deep frown was on his forehead. “I hid some things from you.”

“You can tell me,” I somehow managed to reply, my body impossible to control or be tempered.

“Growing up, Archi and I were opposite. He was the rebellious, reckless kid who got himself into trouble, but I had problems identifying with emotions. I didn’t know how to express them, name them, nor feel any empathy. I was a void but very sensitive to my surroundings. My parents brought me to a shrink, who used the term alexithymia to define me. He told me to draw my feelings as psychotherapy, and starting that day, I painted to manage the unknown.”

I pinched my lips together, seeing the emotional blindness he went through.

“In your first letter, you called me a ghost, and you were right. That’s why I chose to be named Spectre. I stopped existing. When my mother developed her sickness, I promised myself I’d immortalize the memories of others who could feel. I studied their faces and their emotions I couldn’t describe or identify with. That’s why I don’t want to be visible to the world.”

Because Spectre was afraid to be seen. Afraid to deal with his emotions that were unknown to him and afraid of the meaning behind them. It was like being lost in the middle of a dark ocean without being able to see what was underneath or when the next waves would come to ravage you. And I wanted to be his boat or the light piercing through the clouds.

“You think this is a weakness,” I whispered.

He thought people would judge him for that, that he wouldn’t be understood.

“Just like you think showing your emotions is a weakness, but it’s not.”

For him, it was a strength because he couldn’t show them and wished he could. That was why he painted The Sad Girl. My pain was so strong it had gotten to him.

I made him feel.

I was the boat.

“Most of the time, I feel empty, and if I were to feel, I don’t express emotions the same way others would,” he continued. “I always isolated myself. It’s for the best. I never liked or sought contact with people.”

“Who cares?” I smiled. “It’s like those fairy tales that want to make us believe we belong to categories—the villain, the pauper, the princess—but we are all human. We’re all worthy of being the main character. You may not be exactly as people expect you to be, but you’re you. Someone unique, who feels in a unique way.”

He knitted his brows. “This doesn’t scare you?”

“No, just like it didn’t scare you the way I feel my emotions.” Which were a whole lot messier.

“With you, it’s different,” he said. “You have so many emotions in you that I understand them, I can feel them, even if sometimes I have trouble interpreting them. You create something in me, and that has never happened to me before.”

My heart was bursting in my chest. “Before me?”

“Yes, my muse.” He towered over me, a few centimeters separating us. “You’re the first person who made me feel something inside. I was a fucking void. I painted because I desperately wanted to feel. To be like the others. And when I saw you, you showed me how it felt to be alive.”

“You shouldn’t be scared to tell the world who you are. Because Spectre is a part of you—you’re both of them. The artist that I used to hate unfairly and the mysterious Ajax, a very good surprise.” I smiled, his soul speaking to mine.

I was his boat, rescuing him from the dark blindness he was lost in, and he was my fortress, sending me to the tops of colorful clouds in a magical universe instead of rotting on the sad, brown, and empty ground.

“Can you tell me more about how you feel now?”

I nodded and brought his hand to my collarbone. “I have goose bumps because I’m scared. I’m scared to stop hating you, and where that would bring us.” His fingers brushed over my heart. “My heart is beating really fast because of what could happen next. And then…” His hand traveled on my waist, pulling me closer to him. “I feel like I want you to sink me further with you and give in to this fairy tale, but…”

But he was dead set on leaving, and I was staying.

He was a man that couldn’t have a relationship because he was a phantom, and I was his Sad Girl.

“You’re overthinking.” A tight grin tilted his lips. “I never watched a fairy tale until I met you.”

And he’d done it for me.

“Which one did you watch?” My interest was at its peak.

“All of them. It was rather exhausting, and their way-too-happy, corny songs live rent-free in my head.”

“And do you feel right now?” My voice weak, I pushed myself closer to him so nothing would pass between our locked bodies. “Do you want to?”

“I have always wanted to. Now, no more words.”

His lips closed on mine, and this time, our kiss grew soft and slow. He was feeling, his body betraying the words he didn’t admit. I’d always called him cold and heartless, but I was wrong. He had been the opposite.

“I want you.” I let out a helpless moan.

We broke the kiss, and Ajax searched around him.

“Searching for a place for a quickie or something?” I joked, hiding my nervousness.

“It’s not a quick fuck between us, Aurore.” He seized my hand. “I’ll have you whole, slowly and painfully. It won’t be just a glance—I’ll show you how much I crave you because I’m fucking burning inside.”

“How?”

“Right now. We’re going home.”