If you must know, the head belongs to James R. Blackmoore. The third.
There’s nothing special about being the third. No achievement at all, it’s like a participation trophy, darling. Congrats you’re being born! Haha…
He looks now much older than he truly is. Don’t let it fool you! You can easily mistake it for ancient! That distinguished expression he has, that little smile… It makes my knees go jello!
Doesn’t he look noble? I really like how he turned out. I put a lot of effort in him, you know. Preserving it so well! I usually don’t like to praise, but I surpassed myself. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m the modest type. No compliments! That’s my policy. No undeserved words. I’m just not the type for them, but this time… I did awfully good.
It comes near perfection, the whole mummification process, and it is not easy to find all ingredients in Modern Age. Exquisite oils have their price, and Mr. Blackmoore is by far the cheapest ingredient of all.
And my, did he put up a fight! So ungrateful to what I’m offering him… Can you answer me a question? You are a man, so you should know.
If your fairy godmother came your way, and she gave you the chance to get famous, you’d take it, wouldn’t you?
How can someone – a man – not be flattered by going down in history? Even a good-for-nothing of his puny caliber has to be grateful, that somebody remembers him by name. If not by his trivial deeds…
Pfff, ghost hunter! Don’t make me laugh! No such things as ghosts and demons existing on the face of earth. No monsters – except for humans. You agree? So convenient, being on the same side, aren’t we?
He is drop dead beautiful, don’t you think? I might have a little crush on Mr. Blackmoore! A little treasured obsession with his face. It’s a nice touch. So smooth with ageless loveliness, dried up like a raisin.
Oh, I hate raisins! I gag, when I find one in my brioche. That’s where you come in, darling. Nothing worse then starting a day, with a tainted brioche and cold coffee instead of warm tea! You know, you truly ruined a gorgeous day with your impertinent assurance!
Which brings us back to my lovely tea party. You and me; we have a bone to pick!
Stop whining! I’ll beat your face to pulp, if you don’t pull yourself together. I won’t repeat! I can make it a lot worse, you know. You will be begging me to release you from the pain. Stop crying! Theres nothing you could meow that could stop me.
…Don’t worry, darling. You’ll do just fine! I still need a special sugar dispenser. You are capable of that, I know it. I have faith in your abilities!
A mummified head lies on its accustomed place on the coffee table. Over it a handmade tablecloth draped casually. Underneath the snow-white laced fabric the contours of sugar cubes poke through. The five o’clock tea is nearly ready. The liquid in the small flower patterned porcelain pot scents the air in the room.