Paris: Bluebeard
"... How very avant-garde." Leon Mo regarded the newest tableu in distate.
The bloody key gives away what fairytale this was pertaining to.
Wolfe was still aggrieved and this did not help. He chuckled bitterly as he said the name of the fairytale from the placard.
"Bluebeard. I know this one."
Leon did not speak for a while and just helf him, letting him tell the story to himself as if some form of distraction. Or perhaps self-flagellation.
"A man with a blue beard marries beautiful young women, who all dies or disappears somehow. A new one married him, as he had riches beyond anyone could imagine."
His lips were chapped and cracked, and he picked on them. Leon, stopped his hand and kissed them gently, along with his dry lips.
Wolfe closed his eyes hard when Leon kissed him, as if flinching. But he didn't push him back, just seeming to be.... Afraid.
He opened them once more and faltered. "I..."