l place," he assured, his soft, powerful hand caressing her head.
"And the others, they are different. You must learn to perceive people differently. That is the order of the world, my little Fiona - or what you may call the arrangement of destiny."
Fiona fell into silence. The Marquis''s words reminded her of her real father, who had also spoken of order. But all that remained in her mind were vague fragments of his words - old order, new order, revenge, death, and rebirth.
She didn''t mention these thoughts to the Marquis, for her mother had told her they were nothing more than drunken ramblings. Besides, that man had become a villain by now.
"Must it be this way, Monsieur the Marquis?" she simply asked.
"Yes, it must be," the Marquis replied, narrowing his dark eyes to conceal a glimmer of sharpness. "Times have changed, and the natural, ancient privileges are being eroded. The inferior have replaced their ugly envy with new terms like liberty and equality. And some foolish aristocrats have also fallen for these fabricated so-called virtues, allowing their minds to be numbed by self-proclaimed noble illusions."
"Yet these people will soon find their ridiculous imaginations shattered. Society is akin to an orchestra. If every instrument plays with equal volume, the performance would descend into chaos, a laughable and pitiful farce," the man pointed to his heart with his pale, slender fingers. "There must always be a theme, a dominant note that rises above all others. That is us."
Fiona dejectedly lowered her head. "But I have never attended a concert, Father."
The Marquis smiled and crouched down, planting a kiss on her cheek. "You don''t need to understand all of this, my angel. You are still too young. And truth be told, you never really have to comprehend it. Your beautiful little head is not meant for philosophical contemplations; it should only be adorned with all kinds of roses and lilies. Just remember my love for you, Miss Fiona. That will never ever change."
Fiona extended her tiny finger, gently tracing along his dark beard that she had grown so fond of. She indeed couldn''t grasp that enigmatic philosophy of the Marquis''s.
Yet Monsieur the Marquis possessed such a gr