介绍:
（下拉有中英对照文本）
The pistol went off, the noise surprisingly shocking. He saw the flame from the gunpowder, the bullet graceful in its slow arc across the room toward him, trailing smoke as it went.
It had taken years for this bullet to find him. He reached out for it with his mind, tried to catch it in his hand. It scorched his flesh before piercing through his skin and lodging in his shoulder. Pain flooded him like water from a dam; He slumped down by the workbench. Milkeye was now coming toward him, the pistol reloaded, his finger on the trigger.
Yann felt the folds of a taffeta skirt fall around him as one of them bent over to take the bullet in her back. Her stiff and dusty hair had fallen in his face. Her blazing eyes looked straight at him.
“We,” she said, “are the Seven Sisters Macabre. One of our party is missing. What is your name?”
“Yann Margoza,” he managed to say, as blood - black curtains threatened to close in front of him.
“Calico and corpses,” she said, and her graveyard breath brought him to his senses.
Once more he experienced the feeling of leaving his body, as he had done before in the forest. Now he stood in the middle of the room, a puppet-master of the threads of light.
Milkeye扣动手枪，手枪发出了很大声音。Yann看到了火药燃烧发出的火焰，子弹划出了一道弧线，冒着浓烟射向他。
过了这么多年，这颗子弹终于还是射向他了。Yann想要用手抓住子弹，然而子弹烧焦了Yann的肉，刺穿了皮肤和肩膀。Yann瞬间痛苦万分；瘫倒在了工作台上。Milkeye正朝他走来，又把手枪上了膛，手指放在扳机上。
Yann感到触碰到了褶皱的裙子，那颗子弹打在了她背上。她干燥、灰突突的头发扫过了他的脸，亮晶晶的眼睛直视着他。
“我们，”她说，“有七个姐妹。其中一个人失踪了。你叫什么名字?”
“Yann Margoza，”血黑色的帘子慢慢笼罩Yann，他艰难的开口说。
“印花棉布和尸体，”她说，死人般的呼吸让他恢复了知觉。
他又一次体会到了灵魂离开自己身体，就像以前在森林里体会到的。现在，他站在房间的中央，感到木偶发出了光线。
At his command, the Sisters Macabre began to walk toward Milkeye, the dusty taffeta of their skirts trailing behind them like waves upon a shore. Milkeye loaded his pistol for the third time and fired at the oncoming automata. I t did not stop them.
Yann dragged himself up near the workbench, feeling that he was ten feet tall and invincible. He pulled at the threads of light, lifted a chair, and brought it down on Milkeye’s head, then picked up another chair and another, until Milkeye let out a grunt and collapsed on the floor.
Yann felt a cold wax hand touch his face, and with a start became conscious of one of the Sisters Macabre standing next to him.
Yann发出了命令，姐妹俩开始走向Milkeye，满是尘土的塔夫绸裙子，就像岸边的海浪。Milkeye第三次把手枪装上子弹，瞄向接近的物体。这并没有阻止她们。
Yann设法靠近工作台，觉得自己身高有十英尺，而且战无不胜。他拉动了控制灯的线，拿起一把椅子，砸向了Milkeye的头，然后又拿起另一把椅子，直到Milkeye发出咕噜声，瘫倒在地板上。
Yann感到有一双冰冷的蜡手摸着他的脸，开始意识到Macabre站在他旁边。
“We are his experiments. He believes that in us he can find the secret of perpetual youth. He believes he can hold time back for himself. We have been robbed of our lives. We have been robbed of our rest. What is it you want of us?”
“Letters, love letters written by Armand . . .” The name, what was the name? Why couldn’t he remember . . . “de . . .”
“Villeduval,” said all the Sisters together. “All you had to do was ask.”
If only the pain would stop, thought Yann, I could think straight.
“Is this what you came for?” asked a Sister.
The fabric of her dress tore apart, and where the womb should have been two doors sprang open to reveal a blood red empty chamber. She reached in with her white wax hands and handed Yann a bundle of letters.
A second Sister pulled out a blood red drawer from where her stomach should have been, and handed him a black book.
“This is for you. I t is the Book of T ears. I t is bound with our flesh.”
“He stole our lives.
He stole our hearts.
He stole our deaths,”
“我们是他的实验品。他相信在我们身上能找到永葆青春的秘密，能为自己留住时间。我们被剥夺了生命，剥夺了一切。你想要我们做什么?”
“Armand写的信、情书……”“名字，名字是什么?”为什么不记得他的了…？”
“Villeduval，”所有姐妹们一起说道。“你所要做的就是问问题。”
Yann想，如果不疼的话，我可以想到。
“这就是你来的目的吗?”一个人问道。
她衣服上的布料破了，这里本来应该有两扇门，通往血红色的空房间。她的白蜡手伸过去，递给了Yann一叠信。
另一个人从她肚子处抽出一个血红色的抽屉，递给他一本黑色的书。
“这是给你的。这是一本血泪史。和我们密切相关。”
“他偷了我们的生活。
他偷了我们的心。
他偷了我们的死亡，”
whispered the Sisters Macabre together as they gathered around Yann, making sure that the letters and the book were safely in his coat pocket before they lined up once more against the back wall, their eyes closing, their mouths whispering.
“Velvet and violence.
Brocade and blood.
Damask and death.”
Yann was still clinging to the bench when he became aware of the grisly contents of the jars. They were filled with parts of bodies: in one, a head; in another, limbs; in another, a stack of hearts.
Yann’s shirt was wet and he wondered why it was red.
The room was spinning again and into this unsettling scene came Milkeye. Like some monster he had grown more arms and legs, all trying to get him. Yann kicked out desperately, but still those hands kept coming.
He staggered and sank to his knees. Someone should warn Têtu that Kalliovski can work the threads of light, he thought, as the curtains of his mind, blood - black, treacle-thick, came down for good: the show well and truly over, the end of the performance.
姐妹俩聚集在Yann周围，低声说着，确保他外套口袋里的信件和书已经安全了，然后又在后墙上排起了队，闭着眼睛，窃窃私语。
“天鹅绒和暴力。
锦缎和血液。
花缎和死亡。”
Yann意识到罐子有可怕的东西，仍然紧紧抓住凳子。罐子里满是肢体:一个里面有一个脑袋;另一个里面是四肢;另一个里面，是一堆心。
Yann的衬衫湿了，他想知道这为什么会变成红色。
房间再次旋转，Milkeye进入了这个场景中。就像某个怪物，胳膊和腿越来越长，想要抓住Yann。Yann绝望地踢了一脚，但这些手仍然越伸越长。
他摇摇晃晃地跪了下来。有人应该警告Têtu，他认为Kalliovski也可以在光线下工作，就像他思想的帘子，黑色的血液，浓郁的蜜糖，为了更好；节目很好，但真的结束了，演出结束了。
----每周一/三/五晚更----
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