As I perused the letter, mirth escaped me, replaced by laughter that echoed through the confines of the Chat Noir. Psyche, with her penchant for weaving tales of the extraordinary, had managed to entangle me in a narrative reminiscent of "penny dreadful" stories. My skepticism, a shield against the fantastical, prompted a response flavored with both laughter and a touch of condescension.
"Wake up, Psyche," I declared, my laughter lingering. "These are mere fairy tales. There's nothing akin to the modern Prometheus or the mad scientist defying logic. I've conducted similar experiments, yes, but they concluded imperfectly.
Viktor, indeed a practitioner of medicine, held no clandestine motives beyond his role as a physician. Following his demise, the contents unearthed within his laboratory proved to be of a scientific nature, intended solely for research and experimentation. Regrettably, society, steeped in misconceptions, cast these scholarly pursuits as acts of witchcraft, diabolical science, and a defiance of divine laws, among other unfounded allegations."
Her eyes, aglow with a mischievous gleam, bore a certainty that seemed unyielding. "Believe me, it is all true. My clients never lie. Plus, what are you gonna lose if we go and investigate the castle? You'll visit your childhood town, travel with a charming lady, and discover new things."
The term "charming lady" drew a sarcastic retort from me, a defense mechanism against the playfulness of Jeanne's teasing. "Who is this charming lady you're talking about?"
"Roro, stop teasing me, urgh," she retorted, using the nickname she insisted upon, much to my chagrin. She persistently addressed me as Roro, a diminutive derivative of Eros. Despite my aversion to the nickname, she remained steadfast in its usage, a matter to which I paid little heed.
"Anyway, Psyche, I'm interested in this voyage. We need to buy train tickets to Berlin as fast as possible before the end of the Christmas holidays because I have work to do."
"I have already bought the tickets. I knew you wouldn't say no, you curious animal. And I brought you a Christmas gift!"
"Thanks, Psyche, but you know I am not religious, so I don't celebrate such holidays."
"OPEN IT!" She demanded with a note of irritation.
"Alright, calm down, lady. I am going to open it right now."
The unwrapping of the gift, accompanied by a scrutinizing assessment of its weight and sound, was part of my investigative nature. As the box revealed its contents, a golden necklace, I glanced at Psyche. Her infectious smile fueled my curiosity, but what awaited me inside struck a more profound chord.
It was a pendant holding a photo from our childhood—my parents, Psyche, and me. Emotion swelled within me, an unexpected wave of nostalgia and sentimentality. Without a second thought, I embraced Psyche tightly, a spontaneous surge of genuine affection. The significance of this unexpected gift, a relic from our shared past, rendered me momentarily vulnerable.
"Roro, you're killing me. You're gonna break my bones," Jeanne quipped, her tone masking the depth of our shared moment.
I released her, holding her hands, and looked into her eyes. A gentle kiss on her forehead sealed our shared emotions. As we left the restaurant, the tendrils of nostalgia clung to us, weaving an unspoken understanding.
I sensed that she was equally moved, mirroring my own emotions. Undoubtedly, her countenance could be deemed one of the seven wonders of the world.
We departed from the restaurant and proceeded to my abode to prepare for our forthcoming investigation.
Upon our safe arrival, I conscientiously attended to our well-being, given our indulgence in drinking. Yielding to Psyche's fondness for spirits, particularly red wine, I found myself unable to decline her proffered libations.
Safe within the confines of my abode, a place where familiarity and comfort converged, we prepared for the journey ahead. In my somewhat drunk state, I attempted to inspect my wardrobe but quickly realized the extent of my intoxication.
In the haze of inebriation, the responsibilities of packing seemed insurmountable. Psyche, with a touch of practicality, had already arranged our belongings, underscoring her proactive nature.
Dizzied and incapacitated, I resolved to recline on the couch, opting for it as my reprieve, leaving the repose of my bed to Psyche. As darkness enveloped the room, I bid Psyche good night, succumbing to the encroaching numbness that rendered it arduous to keep my eyes ajar.
With a flicker, the lights dimmed, bidding the night farewell. In the ensuing silence, a subtle movement disrupted my descent into inebriated slumber. Psyche, with a confessed fear of the dark, sought solace in proximity. A moment of shared vulnerability unfolded—a quiet gaze exchanged for five minutes.
In the hushed ambiance, the distance between us dissolved. Unbridled emotions prompted an unforeseen intimacy. With a tender acknowledgment, I pressed my lips to hers, a seemingly innocent act that unraveled into a cascade of kisses, marking a departure from restraint into a realm of shared desires and the intoxicating allure of the night.