eugène found this young lady in the window of a london's soho shop. her lost eyes and her sad red lips, give her face a stroke of melancholy that could easily kill him. her perfect nose, her glowing hair and her very adventurous way of dressing remind him of aeon flux, motoko kusanagi and other famous manga actresses with whom he had platonically fallen in love. but this one could not possibly be a famous actress, he remarked, the scars on her face indicate how hard her life really is. his first reaction was to draw a sword to challenge to duel the miserable owner of the establishment who no one knows for how long has kept her a captive (may be he just wanted to replace the miserable, in a proustian sense). but in any case there was no question about the duel, would he have died, he says, his death would at least have had some dignity as an attempt to free her; would he have won, his life would finally have had a purpose. with as much care as pygmaleon's, using the finest plaster, brushes and colours he would have treated her wounds, and afterwards, would have she considered it acceptable, he would have put himself totally at her disposal, from that moment and forever; he would have built the most beautiful house in the universe for her to live. but some distrust in the world restrained him from action, somehow he knew that such an act would most surely be received with mockery, her laugh being the loudest. then he felt bad, what an unlucky vice this one i carry congenitally!, eugène thought, which makes me deep inside, blindly believe in dulcinea.

m is for maniquí

maniquí: 1.dummy; mannequin 2.model