And now, dear patient reader, we arrive at the sacred Cathedral of Notre Dame, on that day belonging to the Blessed Magadalene, la Madeleine, the Lady of Ste. Baume...
....not a good day for a grail gestapo wedding, perhaps, yet a wonderful time to set an old wrong right, Miss Olivia silently mused. Positioned in a dark corner situated in a still darker recess of the Cathedral's vast infrastructure, the Peyton lass lit a clove cigarette as she watched Ms. Maddie adjust her bridal train, assisted by a rather clumsy bridesmaid whose features were most jackal-like in their proportions.
"Does this gown make me look fat? Tell me the truth, Carlotta."
"You look good to me, Toots..." a man's voice answered as Olivia choked back a guffaw, dragged on her cigarette and was entertained with, "...and you aren't married yet - how about a quickie for old times' sake?"
"NO!" Maddie screamed in frustration. "There are NO old times...Versailles does not count and in one-half hour, I am going to be a PRINCESS, you JACKASS!! Now, SHUT UP! And put out that cigarette..."
"I didn't light a cigarette...and this dress sucks...pink is NOT my color, you Leo show-off...what a stupid idea, to hide my gun under this gown. You're right though," the Jackal sniffed the air with caution, "I do smell cloves..." whereupon the unlikely confederates eyed each other most suspiciously.
"I'm your huckleberry," a solemn tone decreed from the inner twilight.
