Valentine Pillet

Basil Hallward, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

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« Isithere ? »

Ask the woman as she enters the narrow street. The sun slowly comes down. Around her, the people look like moving shadows. Twillight has this power.
The question stays in the air, captured by this moment.
On her left, two big shadows stay immobile. Her look is attracted by it. Staticity has this power. Two holes in a grey facade. She can feel the imposing powers of uniformity and anonymity.

« Isithere ? »

Probably not but there is an attraction. It is intriguing.
She starts going up the stairs, leaving the street far behind, and with it, the many shades of danger of the night to come.

Clac clac clac

She can hear the noise of her boots on the floor. The echo is her only companion. She is not sure of what she is doing. Her instinct drives her.

« Isithere ? »

Arriving up. Grass and trees. A garden. There is a higher building in the back. The woman can not escape the overwhelming effect that it has on her will.
Towers have this power.

« Isithere ? »

Trustful. Peaceful. Appealing. There is a way around the garden. It is enclosed by a massive stone construction, acting like a framework. The stones decide what she sees.

« Isithere ? »

Three benches, placed in front of the openings. Stay and contemplate says a voice in her head. But she feels she has to continue.
As her stroll leads her deeper, she feels more and more confident.

« Isithere ? »

Her heart starts beating loudly as she reaches the last corner. The tower.
It is made out of stones. A multitude of immobility.
No wind, no noise. Oppressive atmosphere. She brushes her hand against the surface.
The contrast between the coldness of the material and the warm humid air makes her feel better. This time, she knows.

« Itishere. »

While touching the tower, she starts her descend into the limbo. The small and narrow stairs allow her to always stay in contact of the stone.

They lead her to one single central room.

White. And pink.. Innocent but guilty. Like a naked truth.

The marble floor reflect the light. This brilliance is reinforced by the small water pond in the middle of the room.

Plouc Plouc Plouc

Small drops are falling from an opening in the reverse dome. The last ray of sunlight disapears. With the darkness go the shadows away.
The woman doesn’t see the strange silhouette standing in the gallery.

Pam Pam

The noise rip the air. Sudden and severe. She looks left, right, down. Surrounded by a curved wall. The only openings are above. It must have come from there.

As she raises her head, the only thing she perceives is a very long white tunnel with a light at the end. Appealing. Encouraging.

At peace. There are two red holes in her right side.