LIKE BUTTER IN THE HEAT

Chapter Three: Uncanny encounter

Next came the unpacking and the expectation of being in Paris. Molly wanted to experience art and gain inspiration for her craft, try out her passion for writing, eat the world's best cuisines, and maybe find love. Maybe.

The thought of ‘love’ carved a grim churn in her gut; her breath went taut as she struggled to free herself from the suffocating knot clenching her chest tightly. “What does it really mean to love?” Rubbing her chest to ease the stiflement, Molly muttered absentmindedly under her breath.

Molly, after settling and completely condensing with her new home, she chose to scour the island to find somewhere she could have a lovely dinner. Choosing to ignore the Vesper, Molly indulged in the long-lasting tradition of Île Saint-Louis: taking strolls around the city. Limiting herself to Quai d'Orleans with the main aim of finding a good dinner spot, Molly traversed on foot. The Island was small, even though Molly had limited her movement to the confines of her vicinity, she still found herself nearing the end of her journey in a short time. Going past the Polish library had her eyes gleaming, and after taking a mental note and making a list of activities she would engage in here, she went on ahead in search of a good diner.

“Hark! Hear the bells. Sweet silver bells…” A familiar tone fell into Molly’s ears the moment she paddled her feet away from the library.

“Carol of the bells?” Molly whispered lightly. The song seemed like a bit of a blaring contrast, considering the season.

Following the chords led by her ears, Molly’s eyes settled on a group of four street performers: a lead singer, one playing a piano, the other two on a viola and a violin, each with their bow as they worked their way into a perfect collage of vocals, strings, and keys.

“All seem to say, throw cares away.” The lead raved on with melodies that sent delight rushing down the spines of the crowd congregating, “Ding dong, ding dong…” It was at this point that the lead ceased with the lyrics and the instrumentals droning in as they stoke the chords of Shchedryk, the classic of Carol of the Bells. The lead hummed the tone, feeding to it an occasional run and riff that supported the instruments. Midway through the music piece, the band made a sharp pivot, the violinist leading with the notes for für Elise. The lead dove in splendidly with the chorus, singing Faouzia's version of für Elise. “So play me like my name is für Elise. Lie to me and say you’ll never leave. Drown me in your twisted melodies. I’ll pretend you wrote 'em all for me...”

These lines had Molly sinking into the grips of damp memories, her eyes slightly moist and her mood heavy. Immediately casting it aside, the band immediately shuffled past für Elise, their fingers and vocals in perfect symphony as the tones for Franz Liszt began to ring. At this point, Molly immediately understood that they were simply playing famous classical music pieces, one she was accustomed to due to her former partner being an adept lover of classical music. Bitterness rose in her heart causing her to shiver with lines of tears tracing down her cheeks. ‘Once upon a December’ from Anastasia was in play, and the beauty and virility of the song singled Molly out, her emotions unchecked, and the sores she had hidden were immediately ripped open. Soaking in a deep breath of air, Molly simply closed her eyes, casting aside the aching memories as she allowed the music to flow through her heart like a cleansing stream. After digesting it, she opened her eyes and a gentle smile made her way across her lips. The band came to a stop too, and Molly was able to identify more than half the crowd who had been moved to tears. Following the group and their resounding solemn applause, Molly made her way forward and dropped a few tips.

Immediately Molly was back on her quest of finding the perfect spot for dinner.

“Closed? I wonder why.” Molly silently mused as she walked past a restaurant that seemed to be out of operation, feeling quite disappointed. With a map in hand, she made her way to the next.

A few moments later, another restaurant came into view. Bundled within a row of other shops, Les Fous de l'Ile stuck out in its uncandid sage-blue hue. From the glass walls, Molly could spot a pastry fountain with each layer housing scones, muffins, cups, and slices of cake. It was at this moment the sun had begun a new onslaught in a distant land, and in its absence was the purview of the descent of the lightless monarch.

Like a world-ending curtain, Nyx brought within her wings the discarnate and wailful; a plightful presence and a somber beauty, one Molly reveled in. Pausing a moment to watch the setting sun, Molly smiled as her heart glittered. She loved these simple moments where there were no burdens, no feeling of constriction as though your chest and heart were squeezing out every last ounce of love therein. This sight felt fleeting as it immediately became vapor, all Molly could do was seal her lids and savor what she could remember, hoping to gain the miraging enlightening that would set her heart at ease.

“Beauty in the mundane, uh?” A voice came from behind, breaking Molly out of her reverie. She turned to meet a young man walking out of the restaurant, his dark skin and brown eyes accentuating the black apron he wore and the napkin he cleaned his hands with, which had Molly guessing what his identity was. The young man walked up to Molly, stood beside her, and looked up into the same sky, his gaze gentle as he imprinted the burning ball of vermillion slowly sinking into the earth. Having retracted her gaze from him, Molly watched the sun setting in the distance. They both stood there until the full cascade of the night sky which equally forced their heads tilting upward. Spreading like a scroll, a canvas of ebony and flickering lights painted an unmatchable elegance in the sky.

“The moon is asleep tonight, the stars can finally reign in the sky.” The man muttered slowly and softly, as though being careful not to ruin the etherealness of the beyond mounted before them. To Molly, his voice was picturesque, an entity she felt dwelt with the abode of stars. The sound and the words he spoke were enchanting to her, forcing her face to meet his. Noticing Molly’s gaze, a charming and warm smile draped the young man’s face.

“Hi, I’m Corey.” He said. “Nice to meet you, madame.”

Molly watched the young man smile, he stood beside her oozing a natural state of warmth and comfort, one she barely held herself back from falling into his embrace and making that sense of warmth hers. She reciprocated his courtesy by smiling back before offering a response. “I’m Molly,” she said, a hint of shyness crossing her throat and a slight redness pushing to the surface of her cheeks. “I’m new to Paris.”