“Oh my poor Mathilde. But mine was a fake.Why, at most it was worth five hundred Francs!”
Rage filled Mathilde. She was furious, livid, enraged. Nothing, not even receiving all the money back would cure her now. Mathilde was sick. Not ill, but sick. Disgusted by the pure fact that everything she had done, had been for nothing.
It was all Her fault. If she would have just told her the necklace wasn’t real, Mathilde wouldn't be in this position. She would have her house, her maid, her clothes, even those wretched curtains.
But looking back at it, that night, that one fabulous night, wasn’t worth five hundred francs. It was worth much, much more than that.She wished with all she had that that would be how her life was on a daily basis. And then reality gave her a harsh smack to the face.Brought back down to her own pitiful life.
“You,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re the one who did this to me.” Mathilde’s voice went an octave higher than usual, causing the veins in her neck to be more pronounced.
“Mathilde, dear, I-”
“Don’t interrupt me Mme. Forestier!” Mathilde seethed, poison soaking each word that fell from her tongue.
Mme. Forestier stood, aghast. The baby in her carriage had stated to wail. But it stopped just as Mathilde barked at the child to quiet down.
“It was you that put me in the position I am now. Penniless, hopeless, lifeless. It was all you. You deserve nothing you own. A piece of filth, that’s all you are.” Everything that had been bottled up in Mathilde was finally boiled over.
“Mme. Loisel, I assure you I had no idea.”
Mathilde quickly raised her left hand and struck it across Mme. Forestier’s cheek.It was left a crimson color, and pulsing with the rapidly increasing beats of her heart.
“I’ve told you not to interrupt,” she said, nostrils flaring.Mathilde reached into the folds of her shaw. Her fingers caught a cool, metal pocket knife her husband had given to her for protection when she would to go the market to “borrow” a loaf of bread or two.
Thoughts ran through Mathilde’s mind. Crazy thoughts, maniacal thoughts. Thoughts clouded by hate, jealousy.
Right then, Mathilde was as vindictive as they come. She slowly took out the pocket knife from the folds of her shawl and showed Mme. Forestier. The reflection in the metal was two fearful eyes starting back at Forestier herself.
Mathilde looked at the knife lovingly, caressing the it as if it were the necklace itself. “Lovely, isn’t it?” She said absentmindedly.
“This is madness. I must be off.” And just as Mme. Forestier was about to walk away, Mathilde did the unthinkable. She acted only on instinct and hatred, not logic. Driven by desire to be the beautiful, envy of all women like she was that night. It was an act of impulse. It was involuntary and wasn’t thought through.
Mathilde now towered over Mme. Forestier’s lifeless body. Her last breath drawn just as Mathilde reached down to grasp the real diamond necklace that put Mathilde though what she had been. The one that had caused Mme. Forestier to be in the state she was in now, dead. The necklace was the murderer, not Mathilde.
The necklace was ripped from her throat, clasp breaking into multiple pieces. The pocket knife, stained with crimson liquid, rested easily in Mathilde’s hand. The child, awakend by it’s mother’s scream, lay in the carriage as a orphan. The air, stale with silence. Her face, painted with a smirk. Her thoughts, were on how much she would get once she had sold the real necklace.