Escrita por: kohitsujichan39
The days went by and I, when Raphael simply we can't decipher the riddle of Heloïse. Their words still resonate in my mind.
“Paradise above, inferno below.
Singing arrows of joyful sorrow.
The heart's Ione isle, Lutetia's blood.
Heark reason, master the flood.”
— If it was so dangerous, why don't you destroyed, Heloïse?!
I was really exhausted. Was already up arguing with myself in the middle of the Office. Besides, I still had to revise an article for today. I looked at the clock on my desk and instinctively put my hand on the forehead to note that I only had 1 hour to finish the work.
— OK. I can do it.
But when I started reading the article.
"Why French women prefer tall men?"
WHAT KIND OF ARTICLE IS THIS?!
Who would read something so superficial like that?! More importantly, who wrote this?
It was when I read the name of the reporter at the end of the article, Marion Boulanger ... Marion ... How did you get that job writing like that? Not well written the article is. If he were still your first article poorly written I could let it go, but you always write things superficial or inappropriately for a reporter, it might be good for a blogger or a gossip Magazine columnist, but not to someone of a magazine so important as "City of Love".
Louise cannot see it. She would fire without thinking twice. Unfortunately, there was Louise, passing between the tables when she to look behind me and read the article, pounding on the table with violence, she looked incredulous and outraged with the quality of work.
— WHO WROTE THAT?!
I chose to remain silent, leaving it to complain to me. That's when she took me away from my desk and was reading the article that she saw the name at the bottom of the page. Angry, Louise calling Marion and began to ask what she was doing in a magazine as "City of Love" if she could only write articles and without superfluous content, she would have to think about to resign and start a blog on the Internet, where no one care if the article was badly written.
I really wanted to help her, but I didn't know how to ... Unless ...
— I can help you write another article for the magazine.
Louise gave me a look of disgust but smiled with an air of superiority.
— Very well. You have until tomorrow morning to bring me a new article and I want it to be so good that's going to make me give up the idea of firing the two!
— Thank you so much for having defended me at work, Helena.
— Marion, you don't need to thank me. Please, let's turn our attention to the new article I write, okay?
— How would you like to write an article about the Catacombs? I knew a lot of things happen there.
— Maybe. But you know how to walk down there without getting lost?
— But of course, I know! I used to walk by to see what the Parisians were outside the city lights.
— "The dark side of Paris".
It was very fun to be with Marion in a hunted, however, I had my own interests to resolve in the catacombs. And maybe, this new article will help you decipher the riddle of Heloïse. After all, she said the Essence was between heaven and hell and well, the Catacombs is a living hell below the paradise that is Paris. Also, the "blood of Lutetia" are the bones buried in this Parisian outdoor cemetery. Raphael said that these bones regulate age with the Charter and its writers.
So here we are, two American in this dark hole and morbid, being guided by the dubious experience of my co-worker, Ms. Boulanger.
— Marion ... We're lost, aren't we?
— What? Not ... Maybe ... A little.
She was so cute in that moment, she had no idea what to do. I was so vulnerable and insecure. But I didn't have time to think about taking advantage of that, we had a deadline to meet. I had to get a good story for Louise and there wasn't much time. I took my cell phone and I looked for a place that had telephone signal, calling for the ex-boyfriend of Kat, Tristan, he'd know how to get us out of there. Luckily we were close to the drawings that he had shown the other day, he would find us.
— Hi, Tristan. Can you help me? I'm in the catacombs with a co-worker and we got lost. Could you come and help us get out of here? We're a few meters after his drawings.
— Tristan ...? Is he your boyfriends?
Marion seemed very interested in my relationship with him, so I lied to her, just for fun. He said that he and I had a relationship, that he was in love with me, but I didn't give a lot of importance so he couldn't create false hope, but she just made me ask more about our relationship, which was starting to annoy me. Is she asking me more than necessary to be inconvenient. But thanks to God, Tristan was not long to get the Catacombs and even less to meet.
We were going out when we passed by a column and something caught my attention. It lasted only a few seconds, but I recognized the smell. Something so familiar, but it was impossible to be found in this country. But when another batch of the aroma hit me, I couldn't take it and go behind that familiar aroma of my mother's milk pudding. I thought I'd never feel this scent again, I had to find the place where the smell was coming!
— I don't believe that.
I go out looking for that smell without thinking twice and I know it was carelessness on my part.
— Don't believe you, kitten? Helena ...? HELENA?
Tristan looked around, worried I have left him, going behind me, followed by Marion.
— Helena, where are you going?!
Before I knew it, I was lost in the midst of that dark maze. Lost among the memories of my mother, who was Brazilian. I had missed that time.
A cold light blinded me for a few seconds and then some forms formed in front of me: put tables, people chatting while a man serving classic French dishes to some customers. He had olive skin, blue eyes and dark hair wore a "Pompadour" and wore a sweater "Ivory Fisherman's", slim jeans and a pair of "Reissue Flames Sneaker".
— A restaurant ... Down here? How? Why?
I just went up to the man and asked if he was serving milk pudding in the Brazilian style, after all, his smell was driving me crazy. The man smiled, showing me the sweet that was being displayed in a dish for cakes, wondering if I was French.
— Oh, no. I'm from the United States, Phoenix. My name is Helena.
— It's a pleasure to meet you, Helena, my name is Rene. And I must tell you that I almost didn't notice your accent. Are you living here long?
— Yes, I came here to work. Could you give me a slice of pudding? The smell made me have fond memories of my mother...
— But of course, Darling.
René cut a good slice of sweet, placing him in a beautiful porcelain dish, meanwhile, I sat in one of the banks that were in front of the bar table. The restaurant was actually a Food Truck parked in the middle of numerous tables and chairs, some fixtures connected the columns and the ceiling. It was a beautiful place indeed. It took a while until Tristan and Marion found me, but surprised them so much that they even remembered to tell me off.
— Bienvenue au Mirage.
Rene said with a big smile on her face. Tristan via something strange on the arm of René, asking what was that – no, he doesn't have any inconvenience – census, but René was a very kind man and did not feel offended by the question, showing us the mechanical arm that started soon after the Cubital Region.
– My God. How did this happen?
Now the inconvenience was Marion ... Great, two drawbacks which do not measure the ... Just what I needed.
Lucky for me, René just laughed and explained that he had lost his arm when he was a teenager, after a botched suicide attempt.
— I was a fool back then. I truly believed that my parents loved me. After all, I had nothing to ofertá them as my cousins. I was a little boy, weak, was not very clever, just arranged problems at school, it wasn't sociable.
René stopped to catch his breath, focusing on the look at your arm, what made him get a little more melancholy, but at the same time, happy. It was something interesting to see.
– Then one day, I ran out to the street, in the middle of the cars, planning to end my life miserable, when a bus hit me ... When I woke up, I was in a hospital and had lost a left arm and part of my right leg. I was lucky to have survived without further complications.
He explained that your father was a famous doctor and robotic parts of your body were made by him and his friend in Brazil that was a reference in mechanical prostheses. His work with implants prostheses in their neurotransmitters that interpreted their electrical impulses and the prosthesis moves like a normal arm, even with limitations to move, it provided a normal life for users.
His story was really interesting, so I decided to write the article and Marion on René and your restaurant. Louise received the article yet that night and the next day explained that that was the kind of story that Parisians would like to read.
– Nothing sells more than a good sad story, especially if this lead to an end to overcoming. It gives us hope and strength to move on.