Devorah parts two pinkish lips to speak. The syllables uttered are measured with the fragrance within the room. For the fragrance, and the melodies of her voice are both equal in strength for the effort to seduce.
Her fears are voided. The sound of laughter appears both exquisite, and hideous. It is the contrast between the songbird, and the common ghoul. She begins to speak, merciless in character. “I am enthralled at your ideals,” she begins, “a woman should know how men must behave, before the object of their instincts. And, a woman should behave most appropriately, to the desires that Nature commands men to satisfy. I willfully offer myself to Antoine in whatever motives his mind is contriving.”
“I do wonder what you’re noticing right now,” says Bertrand.
An adorable laugh erupts from Devorah’s lips. It lifts the shadows from the room, into waters of bliss. The laughter had been light, and resonated one deafening pitch to Antoine’s ears. Next, she says, “I am noticing his eyes lingering over the hand between my legs. It has given me another motive. I will allow him to pry his gaze further once you have left this room.” A second laugh is expelled, and Devorah even shudders.
She sends her own dark stare to Bertrand, causing him to take a step towards the door.
“I am powerless,” says Bertrand. “But Antoine, do take caution. The story between us is a feeble one, and must not be relived for any other. For you, it would spell your downfall.”
He leaves the room.
Antoine suddenly feels ashamed. His face twists into the embodiment of anguish, easily recognized by Devorah. He averts his gaze from what the sin of lust fueled.
He looks to the window. He sees his reflection. So, he averts his gaze from that, as well.
Then, resolving to stare at the corner. In fact, he motions himself to this corner, which is at the furthest end of the room. He stares into this corner, as though he is peering into a black abyss.
Behind, he can still hear Devorah’s laughter. Its sound is almost maddening.
One question surfaces itself. “Just how old are you?” asks Antoine.
“Not much younger than you,” she responds.
“I am twenty-three,” says Antoine.
“Then, I am nineteen,” says Devorah. “I won’t torment you, if that is how you feel. My body is concealed on the stage, though the purpose for this is the presentment of modesty in an art form. What you witnessed in the hallway, is only a direct side of me.”
“Just how direct are you willing to go?” asks Antoine.
“For not much longer. You may look at me now. The modesty has returned.”
Antoine turns his head to face Devorah.
Among the noticeable changes, is the black cloth which wraps itself in coils around her waist. It curls over the groin, and whirls across the legs. It stops four inches above the knee, in a knot. Though, something else which piques Antoine to return the mode of attraction to his sensibility, is Devorah hair. It has not been described.
These tresses are dark, as is the usual sight of the French woman.
But unlike the ordinary French woman whose hair is brown with notations of lighter locks, Devorah’s hair is the darkest of brown. It makes itself resemble an oak tree, after a tempest had drowned the wood into a dark shade by the stain of water.
Antoine notices the hair tied up into a careless bun, with its strands thrashed around the ears. The hair does not fall in cascades of black, as the neck is shown in the lightest of tints, for the skin is as fair as summer clouds.
The only imperfection is a mole upon the area of the neck where the right lymph node makes its impression. Still, her gaze is hurled at Antoine, while her head remains slightly tilted towards the floor.
“Why are you standing so far away?” she asks.
Indeed, he is standing nearly across the room. Antoine cannot answer the offered question. Yet, for him to remain in stagnant observation of Devorah’s form, takes a toll on his mind, raising confusion to new levels.
Within this garden of carnal attractions, are the many serpents raised high on their coiling bodies, with eyes that muse on the prey’s vulnerabilities.
So many flowers bud between these two figures.
Devorah, at once, begins to approach Antoine. She raises the left foot before the right. Then, the right foot before the left. It is the elegant steps of a feline.
She lays a hand on his shoulder.
Immediately, the tension of this untamed beast is tamed.