A text message from Peter:
It’s 1783 and you are a young French nobleman. Lucky to be insulated from the bloody revolution at home, you have joined a swath of other semi-royals on a partially inhabited French island territory deep in the Caribbean. There you are deemed the poet laureate and are counted on to immortalize and romanticize the island under French sovereignty. Weekly there are balls at the mansion of the general who first colonized the land in 1755. One evening you are introduced to his niece, a French-Swiss student at Oxford who has come to visit her uncle for a year. Slender Anaïs is at first shy, truly a mannered young woman, but as you begin to dance and converse on topics ranging from Greek scholars to international trade relations between the colonies you are struck by her acute and poignant wit. You dance with her in the main hall, under the light of a thousand candles, and then gracefully she leads you onto the tiered balconies that overlook the jungle and further, shimmering black coves echoing with the calls of tropical birds. Now, you lead her down to the woodland path that traces among moist roots and floral bramble until you find yourselves standing along the crown of a cove. You longingly diagram the reflection of stars in her eyes, but with a coy laugh she breaks gaze and dives into the water in full fancy dress. You follow suit and live for an eternal moment in the warm, dark water, enveloped in her gown, and illuminated by the moon.
Oh, and the whole time this song is playing: