Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

How should I describe Bellentrine? I saw her on numerous occasions, yet we rarely said anything to each other. It was almost as if after we had met, she was everywhere. She was very talented with disguises. She never came to a single party or theater show twice, at least not as the same character. She had plenty and they were all so well though off. At times I wondered if this was a game or the means to survive, but it doesn't matter anymore. Not after those few months.
I'm getting sidetracked right now. Back then, it was so many years ago I can't recall most names if any, I was a rather wealthy young man with a passion for culture, art and high society. I had an art gallery which gave me all the means to support both myself and my love affair with realistic portraits and abstract sceneries. It also gave me the right reasons to study foreign and domestic culture and a foothold to high society, without the constant demand for more money and better business. This was all I wanted from life at the time, save for one little matter. I was foolish enough to covet a timid young lady from a wealthy family to be my bride and open yet another door for success. The older ladies would have been more than delighted to assist me, but such patrons find new amusement too quickly. I didn't have any young ladies at my sights, I just waited for someone shy, quiet and cheap to keep. I wanted to keep collecting art after marriage, you see.
This is the setting where it all began: cocktail parties, opera evenings, theater plays, fancy dinners and serious lunches. To this shallow world of people pleasing Bellentrine literally waltzed in. It was at an after party of the seasons new opera premier. I was tired of German opera and Spanish sopranos when she caught my eye. She pretended to be a retired opera singer, a fat old lady in a tight dress and an oversize hat, so disappointed of the second aria of this so-called new talent. She wobbled around the hall with her wine glass always almost spilling on someones fancy new opera dress or suit. The air of our city wasn't good for her throat these days, this was her answer to all pleas for a demonstration of the fantastic voice of madam Cantalou. She wasn't staying for long and was returning to Venice, where she would have stayed the whole winter if not for dear Hubert, who was conveniently missing. No-one suspected a thing (one in five men there had the name Hubert somewhere in their calling cards.)
I offered to escort the old diva to her car before the night ended, I was so tired I hardly could keep myself from yawning. Right after we left the penthouse, Bellentrine just straightened her back and didn't look like an old fat lady in a tight dress but a rather young lady in a perfectly fitted Victorian evening dress. Yes, that's how good she was as a pretender.