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Above everything, she looked like death. I wasn't doing too well myself, but Miss de Merville's skin was glowing, icy, melting in the scarce light of my candle—and that candle, and the events behind it, was why I was in the mess I was. To lay it down straight, the month after prison ought to have been, strangely, among one of the best of my life; I had a room all to myself and my desires of shadow, decent work (even if it wasn't safe, but it never was before) and my freedom, of course.
It's mad to say it, but I was awfully lonely.
Before, I had a hard lust for vengeance that dulled the miseries of my life. That's not to say I was unfeeling, but fury was my mate, and it was what bound me to this world. Then came the lovely opportunity to destroy Adelbert — to ruin his darling face, that ruined me and so many women, and be locked up for my pains.
Don't think I wouldn't have done it again, given the chance.
But, revenge taken and sentence served, I had very little purpose. Life seemed a waking delusion, like a devillishly beautiful watercolour which was determined to drive me to Bedlam.
When Miss de Merville came through the night and rain to my door – as I continued to entertain her despite all reason - what more could I have done? Adelbert had taken his pleasure from my person, gouged out unknown corners of my flesh and I knew that Violet - she wouldn't make it any better, I'm not such a fool as that, but I trusted her to pile familiar tortures upon my heart, knew she would not fail me in this, so I could be her sailor, fighting for my life in her stinging waters, hardly noticing the flames of a shadowed sun.
There was a feverish smile on her marble face, with glass-eyes wide open and blue, half-drowned lips; she ran her icicle fingers through my hair- what else could I have done, but let Violet guide me down? We were both dead women, after all.