The Empty Mirror
Chapter 26: The Marquise
In the shadows of lugubrious fashion, the yellow robe twists like a mass of decomposing pus. Its fabric, akin to the viscous consistency of an infection, adheres to the skin with repugnant affinity. Each thread seems to exude a bittersweet stench, saturating the air with a nauseating odor that conjures images of decay and decomposition. This nightmare garment, in its essence, embodies aesthetic horror in its most grotesque form, as if a glutton for pus had woven the threads of aberration on an infernal loom.
Meanwhile, I averted my gaze from the marquess's countenance, sensing that direct eye contact would unleash a repulsive metamorphosis, plunging me into a kind of madness in indescribable pus. I allowed myself only to contemplate the shadow unfolding on the arena sands, outlining the magnificence of torrential horns. The horror lay in the fact that the surrounding satellites eagerly sought to deposit their attention on that pulsating pus, generating a gelatinous mass resembling the grotesque makeup of a clown.
That woman, adorned with bull horns, did not share my bed, yet we wove a gruesome bond. However, I feared that the marquess's formidable power, capable of releasing me with a mere blink and snatching the coveted artifice for herself, might be a misguided omen. For something more horrendous lurked hidden in the clown's coffin, as I listened with a bowed head to the woman's narrative of the Ace of Wands.
"I, the Ace of Wands, emanate a fiery and powerful fire that fuels action and creativity, initiating a nascent path brimming with fervour and resolve. My mission is to inspire and encourage others, instilling passion and leadership in every endeavour I undertake. My presence embodies the courage to face challenges and the confidence to pursue dreams with vehemence. I am the flame that ignites the spark of change and innovation, always ready to unveil new horizons and explore limitless possibilities".
The noble Marquise, crowned with bull's horns entwined in braided viscera, deciphered the characters on that card, bearing the message of the Ace of Wands. On the stage depicted, the hoof of a cow, deformed like a hand eaten away by gangrene, slithers through the thick mud, resembling the torn appendages of some aberrant monster. From a firmament saturated with bile, it seems to expel an opportunity by clinging to the rod that emerges as a male member, an ever-rotting tumour. The card exhibits torn membranes floating in the pestilent wind, symbolising spiritual decay.
In the distance, to the left, lies a deformed castle, a chimerical illusion of opportunity disintegrating into a fleshy nightmare. The ground, riddled with pustules, is watered by the broth of germs and bacteria, transforming it into a bed of putrefaction conducive to the hatching of the most nauseating weeds.
"I wonder, with astonishment, what relation the Ace of Wands maintains with the forest that surrounds such a sinister castle" - I questioned the augur with perplexity.
"The representation of that deformity in the forest, its name, its end and its progenitor" - she replied as her countenance was hidden behind that witch's hat, which resembled a bitumen-like fluid writhing and splashing on the yellow robe like purulent lymph. Such a revelation revealed that the hat, instead of fading into a black hue, displayed its true colour palette: a yellow that evoked an oozing broth of pus. This hat revealed the horns, which were shedding a viscous black liquid, now impregnated with lactose-white, as if unpainted, nay, as if they were returning to their original hue.
"How did you unveil such a peculiar singularity in the forest?" - I inquired, delving into the Marquise's knowledge.
"Because once upon a time I was also a Kaiser of clubs" - she replied with a nostalgic tone that fluctuated, veiling her emotions. Unfathomable feelings that, when he tried to unravel them, unleashed a throbbing headache. But... But his words, too, what did he mean?
"Who is the Queen of Wands who gave birth to such an unusual anomaly? Who is this shameless, depraved woman who unleashed the Ace of Wands in the forest? What is her name?" - I asked with vigour and imperturbability.
"It's you, Giselle, it's you" - she replied to my questioning.
"I understand" - I sighed as my eyes rested on the clay floor with an unfathomable melancholy, and then asked: "How can I make amends for the affront of the Ace of Wands? What must I do to redeem my sin?
"Nothing, just do nothing and forget it. That is the simplest route: don't interfere and give it up. The second alternative is to remember it and accept it, but this path is more painful and difficult" - he instructed clearly.
"I don't want to follow either of those paths, I don't want to give up, but I don't want to remember either.... Is there another option?" - I asked without a hint of hesitation.
"Indeed, there is such a path, but then you will be transformed into Giselle, abandoning the naivety that initially entered the lush forest. If the easy path presents itself, its counterpart proves arduous. This is the most dreary and lonely path, where you are helpless, unaccompanied, while the vermin roam furtively, watching over their progenitor" - she said with a cadence in her voice.
"I do not long for solitude, I am gripped by fear, but I am also terrified of company. It frightens me, very much frightens me."
"It has been evident from the moment I crossed the threshold of this castle. Fear of youth, fear of existence, fear of pain, fear of joy. What are you afraid of, my child?" - he inquired affably.
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"I fear reality, for my heart longs for fantasy," I whispered with a shrug.
"Where dwells that Marquise of languid complexion? Not everything is revealed at the first glance, not even at the second, whether by looking fully or out of the corner of one's eye. That it is a delirium does not imply its lack of authenticity," he said, giving me a sympathetic glance.
"How can a world of chivalry and wanderings materialise?" - I asked, longingly.
"You know that more deeply than I, more than anyone; you are the architect of longing," he replied, possessing a vast understanding of my yearnings, and then added: "Often people are overwhelmed by various options and solutions to a dilemma. Despite having multiple alternatives, they tend to opt for the first one presented to them. Tell me, what is your original choice, what was the initial choice I offered you? - he questioned with an eloquent gesture of his hands.
"To be Giselle" - I replied, wrapped in a halo of indecision.
"Behold, all lies in perspective and inception. Dissonances always find their abode in the extremes, regardless of the corner of the universe" - he murmured in a voice of regret, as if purposely revealing his feelings.
"What entities are these dissonances?", I asked with fear and interest.
"It is not a matter we should broach in this reading, especially when we are the object of morbid gazes and darkness rules the world."
"Can't you unveil it to me, is it a matter of such gravity? And what about the cenotaph where I rest in lethargy?" - I inquired with renewed confidence.
"I have no power to express or perform any act, for the preservation of your welfare and the stability of your sanity. Moreover, he completely ignored the term 'cenotaph'. If it has anything to do with this reverie, I can't even glimpse it. To attempt to do so might transform me into a formless mass or a beast without discernment, deformed and repulsive. I cannot unveil or explore beyond what has already been mentioned" - he clarified, minimising my expectations.
"Can humans really endure so long without the sweet repose of night?" - I questioned with astonishment.
"I doubt that sleep deprivation can be prolonged, and even more so if there is the possibility of domination manifesting during the day if you give in to lethargy. Although rest would be the wisest option, it would only make you submissive" - he stressed before adding, "You are trapped in a nightmare because you lack limitations and reference points".
"What do you mean by limitations and benchmarks?" - I inquired at his singular assertion.
"Limitations, for you are granted absolute free will, but your freedom is rather a whim employed as a tool of excessive and lascivious debauchery. We lack reference points due to the absence of authenticity; it is a creation of your imagination, a clown named Giselle, a faded Marquise" - I explain, leaving more questions than answers.
"What do the pale horrors mean?" - I ask for the first time, directing my gaze towards that enigmatic description.
"They are what they indicate: pale horrors, grotesque albinos spawned by a courtesan. That's all I know; you know more about pale horrors than I do. Again, you know more than I do."
I questioned the illustrious Marquise about the Principality of Chimeria, longing to enrich the notes which Constance, in the course of our conversation, had barely hinted at.
"Spare me, good gentleman, your words and enquiries on subjects as broad as universal history; they are elementary knowledge which do not justify an explanation, at least not at the outset. As for Chimeria's lament, I have no erudition to back it up either. Such an enquiry would be like wasting a superfluous interrogation before a genie of the lamp; and in the second case, it would be tantamount to imploring the unattainable from a prophet," said the Marquise, leaving me absorbed in her words. If Constance regarded Chimeria as trivial, it should not be an enigma of importance. Besides, even the Marquise did not seem to possess any further information about the disaster alluded to.
"Intrigue my spirits, who is Constance indeed?" - I asked fervently.
"Constance is nothing but a circus doll. That is all she needs to know. She is insignificant; she personifies only the essence of misfortune," she replied imperturbably.
"And who is this diestro in the bullfighting of the fiesta brava?" - I inquired, guided by the intuition of a layman in such matters.
"He is a miserable beggar, a tortured soul, with lips soaked in vaginal fluids" - she expressed sternly, before adding: "Can't you already perceive the disparity between us? Between experience and the intuition of a layman? But rather than a difference, it is a disconnect that separates us."
"Are you a prophet?" I asked, undaunted and irreverent.
"No, I am not among the prophets. I have only the heavens beneath my feet. Prophets always meet their end in flaying or some other horrible fate" - he said with certainty in his words.
"Why does Constance call me 'little crab'?" - I inquired, distressed by the enigma.
"It's an outburst, an upside-down lobster, pale among the tangled seaweed. Grotesque dance, its shell, a banquet of chimeras. Defiant legs, like illusions of terror, in an ocean of darkness, where error is sovereign. Its claws torn, in a desperate effort to elude a cruel and violent destiny. Their shells sullied by hidden secrets, their legs twisted like tumultuous verses amidst dark fluids and despair".
"Am I, perchance, the living embodiment of vengeance for the bulls?" - I whispered, while my limbs trembled slightly, and my heart throbbed with fury and melancholy. The lady, invested as a Marquise, scowled disdainfully, barely distinguishable amidst the cloud of dust that rose in the atmosphere. Though she lacked tangible proof of my singular line of thought, I would assert without hesitation that, behind the veil of leaves and the hat that shaded her countenance, her eyes must have been filled with fear and despair at my accursed words. A spasm of revulsion at her yearnings and purpose of existence, yet despite my expressions and my agitated breathing, the lady seemed to struggle to maintain her composure, as if she would rather tear out her eardrums than face the grim reality of what the future held for her.
With an imperturbable and rigid attitude, the lady executed a refined hand gesture, offering once again the deck of tarot cards. The cards lay scattered on the table, most of them turned over, their symbols soiled by dust, with only one set breaking the pattern, revealing my destiny or perhaps a simple ruse intended to define my essence. The Hanged Man and the Ace of Wands stood before me. The Marquise continued: "It seems that we need not hide one of your cards any longer, so for my hand it will be turned over", then revealing the Two of Wands.
As a modest merchant, she lacked a keen discernment of the probabilities and meanings inherent in the tarot cards, as well as their intricate interweaving. Nevertheless, I clearly perceived the unusual succession of the cards as they were interpreted. I was particularly struck by the appearance of the Ace of Wands followed, in rapid sequence, by the Two of Wands. While not an impossible or even improbable phenomenon, it was certainly unusual. Perhaps a mere coincidence, but in this world, in this place, it seemed that no event or sequence was mere chance. This impression disturbed me, especially in relation to the last letter revealed.