Chapter 3 What manner of charm is this

"Mademoiselle, qu'est-ce que tu fais ?" he exclaimed, the words escaping his lips in a mix of concern and astonishment. As he briskly approached her, his mind raced with disbelief. Could it be possible? Was she contemplating taking a leap into the unknown? Was this captivating woman, the embodiment of his deepest desires, truly seeking to end her own life?

Her exquisite face turned towards him, radiating a beauty that seemed to illuminate the very heavens above. It was as if a divine light was shining down upon them, enveloping their encounter in an ethereal aura.

Oh, mon amour...

How had this enigmatic woman managed to seize his heart and sanity in a mere instant? Doubt began to seep into his thoughts, questioning his own sanity. There could be no other explanation for his current state of bewilderment. Why else would he find himself standing here, unable to form a coherent thought, completely captivated by the vision of loveliness before him?

She's mine. My love. My heart. Ma trésor.

She suddenly frowned at him. She snapped out quite rudely then in a spread-out, open voweled accent of no exact origin except for American.

"What?! Sorry fucktwat, I have no idea what you just said."

Oh no. No, no, no, no....fucktwat?

His eyes widened in shock. Biting back the expression of confusion that threatened to loom across his face, he gazed at her quietly. How could his angel speak to him so? Yes, he did not know her, yes he was a complete stranger approaching her alone at night, but she was the one on the precipice of jumping off a ledge into the river...why was she calling him the fucktwat?

Speaking plainly in English, he chose his words carefully.

"You're American. I see. Are you perhaps wanting to take a swim in zee Seine? I wouldn't recommend it. Zee water is too dirty, and too cold. Not a pleasant experience, I assure you."

"What? I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying to me right now."

He frowned. Was his accent that heavy? He didn't think it was...maybe she was just ignorantly deaf to anything other than american accents. He tried again, summing up all the patience he possessed, which in that moment was very little...but for her? He would do or say anything to get her to climb down from that wretched edge.

"What are you doing up there, Madamoiselle...or Madam?" He corrected himself, once again taking note of the wedding dress adorning her exquisite body. Was it terribly awful that he hoped she was in fact not married? Was that why she was up there? Realization dawned on him then.

Why else would she be up there?

"None of your damn business, French Fry. Just keep walking!" She snapped.

So racist...mon Dieu!

"Ha..haha. Zat is very funny. But no. I am not walking away. You are about to kill yourself, yes? I think I will stay here and try to convince you not to do so, because zat is a very terrible idea."

She shot her gaze to his and he nearly smiled at the unusual violet coloring of her eyes. She was so strikingly beautiful in a classical sort of way, especially when she wasn't speaking.

"You don't even know me, dude."

With a disdainful flick of her veil, she made a comment about his alcohol-infused breath. Observing her reaction, he couldn't help but chuckle, finding her unawareness quite amusing. In his mind, she had unknowingly given him a perfect opportunity to prove her wrong in a satisfying manner.

"Dood..." he repeated playfully, his amusement evident as he narrowed his eyes and gazed at her. He found the word she used to describe his condition rather unattractive.

"I may not be acquainted with you personally, but I can draw conclusions based on what I perceive," he replied, accompanied by a mischievous smile. "The dress you're wearing is incredibly beautiful-a dress intended for love, promising eternal affection and companionship. Yet, here you stand, all alone. Desperately yearning for connection, devoid of love."

"Pardon me?" she interjected, taken aback.

"I haven't finished," he retorted, continuing with his statement. You are considering your final chances. He does not love me, you sink...think. Zis dress is a nightmare now. I want to end my life and drown in the depths of despair. My love has been turned over, tainted like a dark shadow over my heart. There iz nothing left to live for."

"Are you done now?!"

"No. You sink, what is waiting for me beyond zis horrible night? What calls beyond the blessed temptation of death? Mon amour, the sweet beginnings of life are waiting for you. There iz so much more beyond zis black, dirty river waiting for you to discover. If you do not come down from that ledge, then I will hop onto it beside you and kiss you senseless until you remember that there is so much more to life waiting for you to discover."Concluding his statement, he locked eyes with her in a stoic gaze, silently challenging her to put his resolve to the test. In response, she merely glared back, her defiance evident.

"Who on earth are you?" she demanded sharply, not offering the response he had anticipated. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast, unwilling to yield.

Undeterred, he swiftly leaped onto the ledge beside her, deftly catching her waist and the fabric of her dress in his arms, causing her to stumble in surprise. Seizing her hand, he pressed a gentle kiss on its surface before grinning down at her, his eyes filled with anticipation.

"Ton destin," he murmured, leaving her no room to utter further words. And before she could react, he lowered his face and firmly sealed his lips onto hers, a kiss brimming with promises of profound love that she was about to embark upon, an adventure yet to unfold.