The evening was upon me as I settled into the chariot, the rain pattering softly against the windows.
The rain-kissed streets of London set the stage for a clandestine encounter, and as the chariot meandered through the wet cobblestone paths.
My destination was clear - the Chat Noir restaurant, where my dear friend Psyche Lamperouge awaited me. As we made our way through the streets of London, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be transported by the sounds and smells of the city. The sweet scent of freshly baked croissants from Charles' bakery mingled with the strains of beautiful melodies from the nearby opera house. A tantalizing prelude to the flavors that adorned London's nocturnal atmosphere. The journey was a sensory exploration, guided by the rhythmic cadence of raindrops and the distant strains of an operatic masterpiece.
"Sir, we arrived at our destination," announced the chariot's owner, jolting me from my contemplative state.
"Thank you, have a good night," he replied, stepping into the rain-soaked night, opening my umbrella, and making my way inside the restaurant.
Guided by Jeanne's enigmatic note, I entered the "Chat Noir" restaurant. The ambiance was alive with the murmurs of patrons, and as I scanned the room, a familiar voice cut through the symphony.
"I am here, handsome!" echoed Psyche, and in an instant, she enveloped me in a warm embrace. Despite my reserved nature, Psyche had a knack for coaxing genuine smiles from me. Her beauty, akin to a raven's allure, captivated me—a sentiment she effortlessly reciprocated.
"Salut, Eros!"
"Jeanne, I know you enjoy speaking French, but we're here for business, aren't we?" I replied with a hint of playfulness in my voice.
"Come on, Eros, do not ruin the happy vibe around us. How are you? Tell me everything!" she implored, her eyes reflecting mischief.
"Always playful, aren't you, Psyche? Sit, and I will tell you everything."
As we sat, my eyes fell upon the stunning necklace adorning her neck, fashioned from a vibrant, crimson stone.
"I must say, little devil, that such a piece of jewelry is quite remarkable. Pray tell, how did you come to acquire it?"
Her response was nonchalant, "Oh, darling, it was merely a gift from a former lover, one who failed to excite me. Do not be jealous, my sweet Eros, for you are the one who holds my heart."
I could not help but interject, "Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but it appears to me that it was more than just a gift, more like theft. And let us not forget, we are but friends, with benefits, I presume."
Her reaction was dramatic and playful on purpose, "You have wounded me, sir! How could you say such a thing?"
Attempting to change the subject, she inquired about my own affairs.
"Life has been treating me well. I have been gainfully employed at the university and my skills as a surgeon are highly sought after by the aristocracy. What about you? Is life treating you well? Still working as a private investigator?"
The conversation shifted, and her eyes gleamed with mischief as she unveiled a letter. "As a matter of fact, I have been delving into a most intriguing topic, one that pertains to your own pursuits."
I leaned in closer and whispered, "Pray tell, what is this topic?"
"Immortality," she uttered, her smile brimming with cunning charm.
"Pray, how did you come by this knowledge? My research is of the utmost secrecy. Have you been snooping in my laboratory?" I inquired.
"Ah, my darling, do you not recall the evening we spent together? You were quite drunk and began spilling your own secrets. It was rather endearing. But fret not, my lips are sealed.
Now do read what this letter contains," she purred, her voice a melody both whimsical and mysterious.
The contents bore an intriguing revelation: "HESSE, GERMANY. FRANKENSTEIN IS STILL ALIVE." The revelation hung in the air, ushering in a new chapter in the enigmatic dance between Eros and Psyche.
"Frankenstein lives, Eros," she declared, her voice a crescendo of revelation. "Not as a mere whisper in the annals of history, but as a spectral architect of life, weaving flesh and ambition in the shadows."
The room, suspended in the breath between revelation and comprehension, held the weight of a truth that transcended mortal understanding. Psyche, my dear feline, the harbinger of secrets, had unfurled a tale that now lingered in the air like the fragrance of forgotten blooms.