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Aren’t they gorgeous?
Each figure poses below a spotlight, frozen in time, her clothes arranged just so, the best decorations I could ever ask for. I really have to thank you, Chrysalis. I’ve longed for this for so many years. I’d never have been able to do it without your help.
It’s such a pity nobody but me will ever see them.
My dolls, my lovely dolls. My warehouse looks like a museum now, a museum of style, of femininity in its infinite variety. And they’re all so safe here! Safe from dirt, from aging, from the rain that beats its tune against the steel roof… safe from all of time’s disappointments.
The first doll has short dark hair and pale, pale skin; she’s wearing a long red skirt and a puce blouse. She looks startled, the way she was when I selected her. I could stroke her skin now; I could undress her and dress her again, move her anywhere, make her adopt any pose. Or the second doll, with dyed purple hair and dark skin and a peach suit. I could switch their clothes! Ooh, the third doll, she’s wearing a baby-pink headscarf; I wonder what her hair is like… and look at the others! I had no dolls before, and now I have so many!
Yes, yes, Chrysalis, I’ll go back out there in a few minutes. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise. You were right, you know. The heroes would never let me keep my dolls.
And won’t Ladybug look beautiful in my collection?
You don’t think so? Oh, what a shame. Your opinion doesn’t really matter, though. On matters of aesthetics, the beholder is always correct.
(The Beholder. That’s what I’ll call myself when the heroes face me.)
You think you’re prettier than Ladybug, Chrysalis? How can I tell? I don’t know what you look like –
Ah. Thank you. Your costume is interesting. It’s less practical than Ladybug’s, and in that it makes for a better decoration, though her face is the face of Paris, and that never fades. You never show your face, do you, Chrysalis? It’s a pity you hide away –
You want me to leave? All right, then. Out I will go. The skies over the 5th arrondissement are heavy tonight, not like the crisp, dry mornings and evenings when I chose my other dolls. Is this good hunting weather? Shall I hunt a Ladybug tonight, Chrysalis?
I bound across rooftops and swing down a drainpipe, the evening’s jetsam. Someone will see; someone will call out the heroes. That will keep you happy, won’t it? I’ve never liked it. I like being unseen. I like it when nobody pays attention to me. It’s so much easier to think about dolls when nobody else is looking.
My feet splash in the gutter. I smell more rain. I take a left turn and suddenly I’m nowhere, I’m no one. I’m just another citizen in a long black coat. I could be anybody. The heroes will never find me.
Steps lead downwards, below the soil. This is better. I’ve always loved the mine-shafts. Paris is such an interesting city, isn’t it?
I can see you…
Why, oh why, didn’t you realise you showed me where you were?
You’ll come and view my dolls now, won’t you, Chrysalis? You’ll agree that they’re the loveliest creatures in the world. And you helped me to create them.
Are you proud? You don’t look proud. You look – startled.
Just like all the others.
That’s disappointing.
Ah, well. Under your spotlight you’ll go.
Who’s next?