Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on May 29, 2008 3:39:03 GMT -5
The dark richness of the empty box was legendary. No one dared step foot in the cursed box five unless they had to. Last time someone had sat in the box uninvited a chandelier had fallen and a diva started to sing like a frog. Last time someone dared sit in that box the opera house, with all its beauty and wonder was destroyed. This time, however, Celeste doubted it would be so. Perhaps a woman would die today in this box, but she sincerely hoped it was not so since it was her neck that would be broken as it was she who had entered the opera ghost’s personal box. She was sure it would be and part of her hoped so. She loved music. She loved dance. She had poured herself into both since the demand had been made of her three weeks ago, and now the time was drawing near to her trial. She wanted so badly to be on that stage, but the need for some sort of contact with someone was killing her slowly and silently. She needed to speak. She needed to know she had improved. She needed to know that she might be spared; because for the first time in her life, Celeste was feeling doubt in both herself and her abilities.
The man had excellent taste. Celeste would grant him that if nothing else. The whole box was luxurious as any other and everything in the house, even the other boxes, could be seen from this particular seat. All the gold was polished, all the material clean of any dust or dirt of any kind despite the fact that no opera loomed near enough in the future for any box to be this meticulous. Celeste knew for a fact that the cleaning staff of the opera house cleaned to show respect for the phantom and perhaps avoid being killed by him someday. It was their homage to the mysterious ghost just as it was the dance of the ballet girls or the sincerest tries of the chorus to please him in song and dance it was the way of the opera’s servants to keep his box constantly clean should he wish to occupy it.
Only Celeste’s intentions were different in this hallowed place. She intended to find the Phantom, to speak to him. She knew not what she would say; only that she had to do something. It had been weeks since the flawed incident in the chapel. It had been three long weeks since he had come to her demanded she sing for him and him only. Of course, he saw it as a chance of a lifetime and she felt trapped, tricked, abused, and used. She had called for him because she didn’t think anything would happen. She had called to him for she had not believed the same thing could happen twice. For these pass three weeks she had shown her passion through her dance. She had danced far more diligently than ever. She had spoken to no man, not even in passing; and every night, without fail, Celeste ventured down the dark steps to the colored glass windows and altar of the chapel to sing to God for aide and for the angels for protection. Her task was near impossible after all: take an untrained voice and an untrained her and teach it to be the perfect Juliette in three weeks with a Romeo she had never practiced with much less seen up close and completely isolated.
Now, she had become impatient. She would keep that up for as long as she had to, but now, she wished to seek him out. It seemed unfair that she could only wait and he could watch. She knew she could not watch, but she could certainly find ways of getting his attention. It was foolish of course; every one knew the whims of the ghost could not be controlled. Any sane person knew to enter this box was a declaration of death, but Celeste was not everyone. She already knew as she entered that she would rather die than live in this silence, unknowing. Even the fear, the way he made her blood pump in dread. The way her heart froze was better than this foreboding. She was willing to give him anything for just one show that she had a chance at life, at living through this hell: most anything else she had to offer on the table; even her heart if he wanted that though she doubted he could take it and she certainly knew not how to give it. Love, after all, was not her way.
She supposed there was a man to trap her somewhere out there in the world. But as Celeste sat solitary in this box today, she sincerely doubted he would find her or her him. Somehow, Celeste was glad of that. Love was not for her. Love to her was just a children’s game that people used to get what they wanted. She certainly could appreciate the skills some men had with words. She knew it was foolish to venture in anything other than words. She had only ever been kissed once, and that was not of her own will. Kissing after all was too personal. Words were not. Anything she said to most men was a lie. She enjoyed those games. She enjoyed the power and the challenge. She could appreciate her sparring partners such as the patron Angel or the stagehands she used to speak with, but none ever could she be said to love and this, well, it was made very clear that night in the chapel from the way his eyes took her soul from her body and his hand gripped her wrist that this was far from a game. This had never been child’s play. If he wanted love there was going to be hell to pay because she would have to deal with his disfigurement. Celeste may be desperate but she wasn’t sure she could do that. She had never been truly drawn to other men before even physically yes but for no other reason.
She was attracted to several men but it was purely physical and Celeste knew from the mistakes of the other opera girls who now did not perform due to…certain physical and shameful conditions that those attractions were not to be listened to ever. If she had she would not pick a patron. She deserved more than being shoved in a corner. She could not endure someone with little wit and few manners so the stagehands were out of the question. She supposed she needed a man who was not afraid of her, one that could keep her interested and intrigued every day. She needed a man to beguile her, to charm her. Somehow she doubted one existed. She had seen every trick of men when it came to women after all and knew how to defend herself. Not even the phantom could charm her she imagined. Of course, his voice was a different matter, but with words, with something other than song, she doubted it. Especially remembering how cold he was with her. That had haunted her dreams all these weeks. She was starting to grow a little paler and her features were a little darker from the lack of sleep. Every time she closed her eyes all she could see after all was death. Ropes, bodies swinging from the flies, and blood. God there was so much blood. The sewers of Paris ran with the blood dripping from his cane, his gloves, his boots…
God did his voice haunt her. It was ever where she turned. She could not escape it even if she tried. She knew she couldn’t. It was impossible. Even for the current diva it had been. Why had she thought she was so strong? Damn her for that. Damn her for her greed her lust for success. What was she thinking? She was already damned. She was in his hell now. She was the very Mistress of Satan; held captive to be his songbird or face the fires of the deepest rings of the inferno. There was no help for her. She had resigned herself to that. She just wished he could make it bearable. Try to at least make her feel wanted, give her a little reassurance so she didn’t feel like a whore to his needs that were so undefined. She wanted to call out for help, but to whom?
She couldn’t call for Angel. She couldn’t go to him like this, she couldn’t tell him what happened. He wouldn’t believe her and what was he to do against a ghost? The managers would scoff. No one would take her seriously for they all thought the man was dead! She could always look for the mysterious man from the ball, he had believed in the creature. His name had been Erik, but that was all she knew of him. She knew that. She knew that he was one of the few men she couldn’t read. She knew he had been a challenge and she could tell that he was charming and possibly quite rich to own such well tailored clothes and gain access to an event such as this. She had never seen him, she had never even heard a voice like his before in the opera house after all and she was familiar with all the voices in this house from the lowliest stable hand to the phantom himself.
With a deep sigh Celeste relaxed in the cushioned chair and closed her eyes realizing how foolish it was to even think of rescue from her personal cage as the songbird of hell while resting her head against the soft red velvet. Perhaps she would die in this chair today. Somehow she was sure the price of a life was reasonable to him for any misdemeanor. In this state though she could imagine her death; her blood dripping down, tarnishing the bright gold trimmings, her neck severed from her head, rolled across the box. She could see the poor soul who came in to clean it and finding blood all over the carpet. She could only imagine the screams that would once again fill the opera house and she wondered why she even dared here. It was a question she could not answer. She just knew she had to come. She just knew she needed something from him that she could not explain.
Perhaps it was that voice that had called her name the first time she sang for him? It had been beautiful. The voice of an angel, of God himself reaching down to her. She didn’t know what had happened. For all she knew she stopped breathing when he had said her name. It had just been a name, but what was in that name. The care, the tenderness in that one word. She could imagine the voice of the phantom himself praising her song if she were to succeed. His voice in the dream was warm and so familiar. It sounded like the warm caress of a lover that she had felt a thousand times and would never forget for as long as she lived. Perhaps even beyond her life. It had been purity that she would have not fathomed from the dark depths of his soul, but why had it seemed so familiar and why could she not place it? It was not the voice of any man she worked with. Everyone knew the phantom was disfigured and she would have noticed someone with a mask….
Slowly, Celeste’s lips curled into a precious smile. The masquerade, he must have been there and seen her. He must have noticed her there. Perhaps he was the mysterious man she had danced with; Erik. He had known so much of the Phantom. He had been interested in her, he had even drawn away from her as the Phantom did. With these precious thoughts and dreams in mind Celeste let her lips curl into a small peaceful smile. She took in the air of this solitary place as she rested, and waited for what was to come if anything did for that matter, and sighed. In that one sigh a single name came out in the sweetest of soft whispers, “Erik.” It was a dangerous choice, but she would explain herself if she must. For in her heart she knew that she was right for this one time in her life. She knew that this man and the Phantom were one in the same and if she was to obtain nothing but the cold kiss of death for her choice for this utterance so let it be. She welcomed death now. This was after all a dangerous game; dangerous and unknown, and addicting.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Jun 9, 2008 3:44:36 GMT -5
Three weeks had been devoted to the moment where he would test the girl whom had so called forth the Angel in Hell. She had roused his anger, his hatred, for those who had done him wrong, who had taken his life so readily without thought to him. For the people that had broken him, shattered him down to the very core of himself. Christine, was at the forefront of all of these persons, not only her but her Vicomte! They had torn him in two, leaving him bereft with his madness alone to keep him company in the silence. Each hammering had been his hour-glass to when he could rise above them all. To take back the Populaire, and Celeste Gerras had been his awakening.
Before she'd seemed an intellectual creature, filled with grace; with eyes sparkling for something more than just a dance. How she'd danced like an angel, barely gracing the waters with her dainty feet. Erik could almost recall: No he could recall the warmth of her hand seeping through the leather of his gloved hand. Making the contact of another human body so much more intense that he had been in euphoria even with her active gaze watching his every breath. Never escaping her scrutiny he'd twirled her about the room as 'Erik', only as Erik and perhaps a part of him had wished in the moment to be just Erik. With her.
Then he'd left her, unable to let a simple dancer to get too close for comfort. A curse that was more than just his facial dis-figuration he could never become close. Christine had sliced his heart to leave as black a void within his chest as though she'd killed him and she had as good as done as much. Until now. With the constant replay of Celeste Gerras in his mind where she knelt in the chapel, singing God's praise asking for more than just a miracle but for eternal Damnation to become part of him. Erik had answered, answered readily, truly, betrayed when she tried to save the life the stagehand. Succeeding in finding the pit of where his mercy lay for as long as she appeased him.
Raven locks that fell in loose curls called to him in his dreams, her voice filling the theater of his mind as she would play Juliette and every lead after so long as he permitted. He'd watched her in the darkness during rehearsals, pleased when she never batted a lash or a brow in a males way. Devoting herself to her goal and perhaps he had found a rightful pupil worthy of his guidance, his insanity, his murderous hands. No. As much as he willed to touch her, there was no way he could sully his master-piece in the process.
Today was a quiet day in the Populaire rehearsals had been finished early and quite simply the silence filled the emptiness. Soon bodies would warm the audience with their perfumes, colognes, a hint of cigar smoke clinging to gentleman's shirts following. He had every reason to discontinue his post and leave Celeste to her vices but he could not. Could not chance that she'd run off as soon as she felt he was not looking. Erik had to be a constant ghost, noose hanging about her neck and watching her ascend to the Box-seats entering his own little bit of Heaven. He breathed against the panel across the wall, gazing upon her from the veiled area of the heavy crimson curtain.
Her beauty could not be compared, raven wings for her silky hair tumbling just beckoning for his gloved hands to stroke the tips. Forever impersonal with his caresses, Damned never to feel the soft strands under his fingers. Alabaster skin stood out so flawless except for tell-tale sun-spots, moles that only added to her unique character. Upturned nose at the tip making her regal, with a heart shaped face so well and delicately sculpted she was like porcelain. Corseted dress, and skirts hugging her and he hated the fabric for having such a liberty!
In his chair she sat, her eyes closing allowing thick lashes to splay upon her high-cheek bones. Pink lips parting invitingly before they curved up into a smile. What was she thinking of? WHO was she thinking of? Anger flared him, barely tamed by the fact that it was not his concern as of yet, but it was! Who..WHO..Tell me WHO. Erik snarled silently commanded, wanting to know who earned that sweet, secret smile. Did she have a love? Lied to him and he readily took the falsehood? She inhaled, filling herself with oxygen, dispelling it time and time again releasing a little sigh, a sigh the became a name and his heart stopped.
"Erik." He couldn't breathe. Oh God. His name on her lips it was enough to bring him to his knees. Instead it called him from his hiding place. Slipping out silent as death itself he came upon her, looming over her with a momentary expression of adoration on his better side of his face. That she smiled of him, for him, for Erik. Shakily he came to stand behind her, a hand reaching forward ever so slowly, trembling he swallowed. Singing her name softly, as she'd just opened the door to a world where he was in turmoil and unknowingly made his claim on her stronger by saying his name with a angelic smile.
"Celeste...." As he sang his gloved hand came forward to brush through her silky hair, bypassing that to gently reach the column of her neck. Caressing the flesh there just against her jaw and the side slope of her swan-like neck. Pale skin ivory in comparison to the black leather. How could he be angry of her for calling upon..Erik?...Upon him?
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Jun 9, 2008 7:01:09 GMT -5
Insanity was a funny thing. Even the person everyone thought to be the most grounded in a society could succumb to it. A person could fall prey to the disease without even guessing it themselves. A person could think they were well balanced, and brilliant, witty even, but in truth, in simple reality they could just be foolish in the most plain and simplistic of senses. The worse of it was, insanity could kill. Celeste should know. Here, in this very box, she was starting to doubt her sanity; every last bit of it. She had been insane to call for him that night after all. She had been fooling herself to think she was doing something else down there. It had been what she truely wanted. She wanted a challange that would bring her rewards. She got it at the price of her freedom, her life, sleep, everything. And yet, and yet Celeste had a feeling that either the best, or the worst was yet to come, she did not know which. She only knew her insanity had gotten her this far, it had kept her alive that night, so now, she would follow it again.
This time the strange illness had led her here, to the cursed box with its rich velvets of seductive texture so bright and smooth they were positively sinful. The mere touch of the back of the velvet covered golden throne of the Phantom against her bare ivory arm was enough to make Celeste wish she would have a whole bed of velvet to lay in. Then again, being in here was a plea for a velvet bed. That velvet bed however would be in a coffin if she was caught here by the phantom. He would not be pleased after all that she had searched him out before the time had come. He would also not be happy that she had chosen to do it in such a place where others might see so easily. Oh well, if he was not pleased she would have her velvet bed, and it would bring her a sleep so deep not even the nightmares would distrurb her as they had as of late.
It took most of Celeste's power to drive off the nightmares now. Especially here, in this place, where it would be so easy to make it happen, so simple to kill her. God. Night and day she could see her body twitching from a noose made by his hand because she missed one note, or she had said one wrong word. Now she had given him a true reason, trespassing, and for once Celeste did not much care. She had cared so much about living after all that she hardly had been living lately. She had talked to almost no one, not Angel, not Madame Giry, not stagehands, not other girls in the ballet. She was alone. Not even her jailer to talk to. So why not live this last moment! Why not defy him!?
Perhaps that is why she had voiced her suspicions, pretending to be asleep as she whispered the name so innocently into the air. Let him come. Let the noose come for her pretty little neck. She knew he would do it if she was wrong. Perhaps if she was right too. She knew the secret of his real name after all. Only Christine knew that. Her and her husband she supposed. Then again, perhaps not. That would certaintly be a reason to kill her. Even that thought made Celeste smile. She truely was insane. To do this. To dare him. Then again, that was how she won him out into the open to begin with. She had dared him to come answer her prayers. She had dared him to take her up and he had...in a way, no matter how twisted it was. He was twisted. It fit if one really thought about it. Then again, it fit in more than one way. She was starting to think that she was just as twisted as he was. Perhaps not a murderer, but twisted with her passions, with her need for success at any cost...even that of her own life.
It seemed though, that perhaps today was not the day her life was to be demanded. His voice had drifted through the air once again. His voice, so sweet and soft, smooth and rich as the velvet that warmed her arms as she sat, feigning sleep in this chair. It was just as sinful, inspired that same desire to be wrapped in it, to die in it. Just to feel it against her skin, echoing through her head moment after moment that one singular word, Celeste. She hated that he could do that to her. She hated that he could cause her to think such things desite the fact that she knew she did not love him. No one did. Who could love a murderer that took their freedom and caused them nothing but fear. And yet, there was that passion that caused her to want him to keep saying her name, that desire to have his voice embrace her.
Through all this though, Celeste kept still. She sat as if dead in her coffin; her pale skin the same ivory pallor, her eyes closed peacefully, and her lips parted slightly as if she were caught by death in the very act of her taking her final breath in silent undistrubed slumber. In this sweet death, this false mockery to that final phase of life, she felt a hand brush through her dark raven curls. The mysterious fingers swept through her locks as if treasureing the very movement of them just to reach her neck. Perhaps this was wrong. Perhaps she had been wrong. She had been wrong last time and it had cost her dearly. This time perhaps the Angel of Death truely had come to her. Perhaps there was no noose intended for her dainty neck, no, perhaps only the contrast of a hand cloked in black leather to end her life. Perhaps that is what he intended.
Celeste stayed silent in fear, calm, despite her heart beating faster and faster inside her chest, but the grip of the ice hands of death never came. There was nothing but the feeling of warming leather as it strayed across her jaw, moving down the side of her pretty pale neck. He was not going to kill her? He was not going to punish her for not practicing in the chapel today? Her neck was not going to snap for speaking his name? It was a shock. Being alive was after all preferable so she would not dispute it, but it was a shock none the less. If she had not been masquerading sleep she would have laughed fearlessly, but she knew better. No, she had better stay like this. Respond subtly, carefully.
She had to respond after all. No man touched a woman like that, spoke to a woman like that, without a care for a response. Part of her couldn't help but wish to respond. He was suprisingly gentle after all. She never would have suspected it. After all the killing, the way he had caused a bruise to cover her wrist in a rich purple after their last encounter. She would have never thought his touch to be so careful, so tender. It was not the caress of a madman, not the cold hands of a killer. The leather was warm against her skin, soft as it ran down her neck. She knew he was that madman, that demon that haunted this place, but that touch, that voice...
Taking a deep breath through her parted rose lips, Celeste let her lips turn up slightly in her tender smile. She let out a soft hum, the slightest sound of pleasure at his touch and leaned her neck toward his warm hands slightly, hoping they would remain gentle as her eyes fluttered open and her lips took in a new breath. As the breath settled in her body however, her eyes fully open, she did not look back, nor did she pull away from his touch. She merely leaned her head back up, eyes calmly staring straight ahead at the stage, allowing his hand to stay where it was. Only her lips stayed the same, maintaining that sweet knowing smile as she tempted death with the sharpest of teasing phrases, as serious as it was playful, just as her voice was sweet as honey as it teased, "You are not going to bruise me this time Erik...?"
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Jun 9, 2008 23:17:17 GMT -5
How impersonal his hand was as it ghosted along the ivory column of her neck, this girl this budding woman who had been the unfortunate to call for his attention. Never asking for more than what he could offer no doubt, the lime-light. Would she like Christine betray him? Perhaps. His name uttered on her rosy pink lips, the upper slightly thinned as compared to the full pout of the bottom that demanded attention. Attention from lips that were not his own and he hated it, the inferno within him boiled until the lava ran through his veins like molten fire. That he could never, could never taste the delicacy, the forbidden fruit that was Celeste Gerras.
No. Her lips, her voice, her song, were all to music:His music. Yet...With his touch she did not stir, could it be that she truly slept on, dreamt of him in her little cocoon of bliss and hell combined? Dreaming of him...The Angel in Hell. Monster, Demon, and God knew what else had been dubbed him. His eyes a silent sea of emotion, her serene face in death's embrace lay there before him so inviting. She'd be beautiful in death, in her last moment of life. That final inhalation would be glorious and he could forever keep her locked like this in his minds eye. To not know how she'd age into her mature beauty, then slowly each petal would wither until death stole her entirely.
That was life but he'd not have that, no she'd be forever youthful even in death. How would she look with a crimson necklace about her flawless neck, the slender, elegance of it broken once the noose had been tightened. Draining the life from her, but no he'd want something so much more, he'd want to feel it all of it. To draw her back against his body, enthralling her until it was too late and then he'd strike. Gloveless hands to her neck, flesh to flesh, his fingers squeezing the life from her body. Feeling it all, seeing it all, while cooing into her ear.
To have her bucking against him as he took her from this world into the next. Her hands trying pathetically to remove his iron grip while he continued to sooth her. Singing her name, whispering that she let it happen, just not to fight it would be better this way. Until the last moment where she went slack in his arms, her dark hair splayed upon his chest and he'd continue to sing, and cradle her until the warmth from her body had gone. Then he would rest her in her bed, leave a final rose of his pleasure, and close off himself from the world of the Opera Populaire to let the living find the dead. While he held her life in his hands, forever replayed inside his mind.
Erik shuddered at the thoughts, terrifying thoughts and perfectly befitting her if she so crossed him. His angel stirred then, inhaling as he'd pictured her final breath. Thick lashes fluttering as he'd sung her name unable to withstand the need, the desire to do so. Fluttering like butterflies wings her lashes wafted up revealing her striking gaze that never looked to him, only forward to the stage. That hand continuing to gently stroke the silk of her, imagining her flesh against his own in the most innocent touch of his hand in her own. Pink petals curved into a smile, and he forgot to breathe when she spoke.
"You are not going to bruise me this time Erik..?" Her honey turned to venom and his hand stilled immediately. Drawing away from her, taking the warmth along with him. As a Phantom might do, he dissolved into the darkness of the curtains with a growl. Holding his hand against his chest as though she'd bitten him. Let her stare off into the abyss of the Populaire! Growling low, almost feral. he responded.
"Erik did not bruise you my misguided little dove. I doubt he could do such a thing, I however am most capable. You have not practiced today, you have not pleased me. You shall never be Juliette if you are so idle! Wagging your tongue rather than learning, should I displace you Mamsel Gerras?" Erik threatened, while continuing to caress his warm hand against himself in his little niche of the panel and Celeste.
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Jun 10, 2008 0:54:14 GMT -5
It may have been silly of her, foolish really, but Celeste almost laughed when he backed away growling after she spoke. She knew he was not frightened of her. She knew he was not intimidated by her as many men were. It was a fair playing ground then. She was not scared of him. Not anymore. She knew what life would be like under his rule. She knew that she would have none, so she had nothing to fear of the death he held over her head. Yes, she still wanted to be the diva of this opera house. Yes, she wanted to sing on that stage, to have all eyes on her, and to be known by the world. She wanted all of that, but she was not willing to give her pride to do it. He would have to leave her that. If he wanted that, he would have to win it of her and not by the means he was trying with now.
It was funny really. For someone who thought he had so much experience with women thanks to his dear Comtess, he really had no idea. If he did, he would have laughed and taken her little joke for just that. If he did, he would have spoken to her without her calling. If he did, he would catch her with honey, not venom. Even she witheld her venom on occasion. He needed to learn how to do the same if he wanted more of her. She knew he did too. His very touch stated that. Celeste couldn't blame him. He was a man. He was just as all other men, he just lacked what he needed to fulfill his needs. So, he resorted to this; this hunting and his music.
Still, she had to pity him for that even if she didn't show it. For now, as he growled in some forbbiden hiding place in the walls of this box she had to cut back on her poision and lure him back again with honey. She would still keep her prideful attitude. She would still hold her head high and regal, still keep that teasing smile on her lips, pleasent and rosey as any more simple girl's lips would be. The only differences were that she was not simple, and he was threatening to dispose of her as she smiled. Somehow, Celeste knew that despite that she would sleep easy tonight. The nightmares would not have hold over her now that she knew who he was. Now that, as he admitted through clenched teeth, a part of him, the part of him that was simply a man, could not kill her. That part of him, Erik, could not even bruise her.
This, however, was not Erik. The animalistic growl. The way he himself acknowleged it. His need to hide in the dark and his demand for he voice rather than a tender touch, this was certaintly not Erik. This was the Phantom of the Opera, and Celeste wanted that stage. If Celeste ever wanted a chance at continuing this dangerous game, she would have to tread lightly and think quickly without giving up her sharp tongue, or the spark of life that beat within her. To loose her personality, to become scared, would make her no more than Daae was to him and she was not here to become another scared trembling ballet girl made Diva. She was here to prove she could truely be the Diva in all aspects. He would have to learn to respect that about her. As she knew she would have to learn to hold her tongue a little more carefully around him.
In the spirit of this care, while giving all outward signs of pride and confidence, Celeste's voice spoke out calmly, with all peace and sweetness in it. She would use her reason once again to calm this beast and perhaps to draw out Erik once again. As he was more temperate in his anger he would help her best Christine completely and help her refine her voice before loyalty was even completely proved. To her it was proved. To Erik her speaking his very name was proof, but to the phantom there would never be enough proof after what that stupid git Daae had done.
But now reason would be the sweet honeyed voice that would leak from her lips. Pride and poison would be reserved for later. Celeste sighed and shook her head. "I promise you Monsieur Phantom that my purposes in coming here were not idle. I came with questions regaurding your wishes, and knowing better than to call for you, I waited for you as I knew would please you best. Do I have your permission to ask my questions or should I practice my arias once again?"
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Jun 14, 2008 2:05:31 GMT -5
She'd be beautiful there, dead in her falsehood of slumber and he'd fallen for it so easily, crumbled like an idiot. Damn her, damn him, damn Daae, damn them all! Celeste had managed to crawl inside somewhere and grip the hand of the man that let him both be sane and insane. Erik was his fine line, his balance between complete murderer and man that longed to be normal, longed for the things he could never have. A harsh realization if he could ever decipher between the two, but right now was not time for that. Right now his gloved hand tingled with her warmth and Erik didn't want to let it go, as for the rest of him, he was bristling with anger.
The nectar of her voice wafted from her seated position, like a soothing balm to the frantic man inside. Nearly working on the agitated animal that had been kept under much control, caged even. Until she'd set the bolt loose allowing the animal to slam hard against his internal cage of restraint. Almost bringing on her demise while Erik battled for the touch, the warmth, ultimately bringing him here in his hiding place. Holding himself close like a child, would in have done, as he had always done. To keep the memory alive.
"I promise you Monsieur Phantom that my purposes in coming here were not idle. I came with questions regarding your wishes, and knowing better than to call for you, I waited for you as I knew would please you best. Do I have your permission to ask my questions or should I practice my arias once again?" Celeste questioned of him, and Erik crumpled inwardly drawing his hand to his face where he covered the mask now. Holding it securely almost waiting for her to rip it from his face even though she didn't know where he'd disappeared to. Constantly waiting for his nightmares of Christine to replay themselves like a broken record.
Snarling the Phantom answered hardly tempered.
"Your promise Mamsel was to practice and not question your Master! I call on you when I feel you are worth my calling. You do not seek me out, nor wait here in my private box as though it is for a strumpet of your simple status to claim a perch. You....you..." He was wanting to insult further, lash her for her words and yet Erik tempered his darkness. Inhaling deeply, loudly as he leaned against the wall, placing his good cheek against the cold surface. A gloved hand stroking the flat length pretending it was the soft silk of her neck he touched.
Sighing on a loud exhale he spoke then, calmer now, gentler, the changes were easily distinguished.
"What.....what do you wish to know?"
[ooc: omg so bad I'm sorry I just had to put a filler]
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Jun 15, 2008 1:37:16 GMT -5
She must have lost her mind. She really must have! This ghost or this man, one of the two was so much like a child! He was nothing but a big misunderstood child that threw dangerous tantrums every time he did not get his way. Honestly he was! Grant you she may be the bully that teased him now, but she was almost sure that eventually the day would come when he would truely fight her back and possibly kill her for going too far. Until that day came however, she would continue to smile at that. It almost calmed her fears of him a little more. Soon, she would find enough faults in this phantom to make her fearless. She had too or it would be her death. Then again, it might be her death either way. But at least, with these little private secrets she would die camly and bravely rather than die the death of a poor innocent lamb led to slaughter, bleating and kicking the whole way! She had promised herself a long time ago she would never be that girl; not even for the mighty phantom.
Surely not for him not that she discovered his true child like self. How he raged now from his little hidden place. She was sure he was watching her, holding his hand like some wounded dog from his corner in this box. She would be money that as he ranted at her, calling her a wonton strumpet and a fool he would be caressing the hand that had been fortunate enough to grace her neck for the briefest moment, resisting her voice, resisting her calm to keep his rage. He would be battling for control over himself. She knew because her temper was much the same way. She had just been fotunate enough to learn to control it. She had to be for she was not about to murder as he did.
Her control was well present now for example. She stood from her chair in the center of the box. She did not search around the area, but merely faced the door from the back of the chair she had been relaxing in as if speaking to the empty box. Her tone was restrained and respectful as she requested and then as she was berated she stood and took it despite her wish to shout back that she was no such thing and any man in this opera house could well tell him that if he had even the slightest wish to ask them! It was true after all. No one could ever accuse her of being loose! A tease maybe. A temptress perhaps, but never loose!
Still, he amended as she could have predicted he would. He was a child, but eventually, if a child liked a person enough, the guilt for a tantrum would be presented later and sure enough, his voice softened. Erik was back. She could tell in the calm of the voice, the ammended gentleness and understanding in the voice. She knew it was Erik. Now that she had captured his interest again she could get away with a bit more, ask her question, perhaps even finally get the help she wished for rather than being forced to grant his request without any help. Perhaps she would finally get something besides nightmares and worry out of this with him here.
Matching the deep breath she had heard preceded to Erik's return, Celeste took one herself and then camly stared ahead into the empty room as if he had never berated her for her actions. Her voice was just as calm and just as sweet, after all, Erik had never hurt her, only the phantom. She had to be sweet. The way to Erik was to be someone he could worship not only with his voice, but with every other part of him. With whatever was left of his blackened soul if need be. She had to be that girl. "I wished to know how you wished me to practice the duets if I do not have a partner. I know that you do not wish me to speak with anyone, much less sing with anyone until the time comes but I know I too must practice. I do believe my arias are improving a bit, though I know I cannot yet match the Contess. I wish to know what you would have me do. How you would have me practice or improve if I have been using all my knowlege and still am so far away from being where I can truely be called the best. A title worthy of your diva and student."
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Jun 15, 2008 2:35:49 GMT -5
Wounded as he was, Erik clutched at his hand wanting to savor it all, never to sully his glove. If she had faked her slumber, so easily allowing him to touch her flesh he felt almost...betrayed. Lured in by the woman and he clenched his fingers together, the leather straining with the grip of his hand. Setting his features into a dark, almost stone-like vision of anger but could he fault her? If anything he should be praising her for her bravery, allowing him, this creature to have touched her flesh. However impersonal it had been with his gloved hand, it had been touch. Human contact, something he'd never known would never know because of Christine.
Distantly through the wall, his cheek touching the cold surface he inhaled, wanting to smell the perfume of a flower bed waft from Celeste's form. Intoxicating his senses with her purity even as his more wicked self accused her of things that were most certainly not true. She'd....hurt him. Whether intentionally, or not, whether jokingly or not he wasn't a man for humor, no one had laughed with him, made him laugh in good nature. There was little good about him all because people, society, could never understand or accept him for his hideousness.
An overwhelming need to crumple to the floor and hold himself as he'd done so many years consumed him. But he did not give in, unable to be that pathetic even though he'd long since crossed that line. Erik breathed a trembling breath, looking down at his gloved hands in the darkness of his secluded area. If she wasn't careful..He'd kill her, not he, himself but Le Fantome. That realization was terrifying he'd not be able to live with another humiliation from this woman. Her hair as dark as the night the was his soul. Why could she not be a good, innocent thing? One that did not have a constant blade for a tongue?
"I wished to know how your wished me to practice the duets....I cannot yet match the Countess. I wish to know what you would have me do. How you would have me practice or improve if I have been using all my knowledge and still am so far away from being where I can truly be called the best. A title worthy of your diva and student." Erik exhaled heavily, it was all the same, the lime-light. Only for them, and he was death, darkness, and there was only one way for her to ever over-come Christine. Inhaling he looked to the wall, and spoke forwardly he wasn't playing anymore.
"Close your eyes." Erik said on a command, that once followed, once he felt more than saw she'd obeyed. He slipped back into the box, turning her to face the stage once more. Using his body against her own to take her to the end of the box where she could see the stage. Gloved hands going to hold her head securely shackling her gaze down at the polished wood. "Don't look back." He said, into her ear, once she seemed able to understand that he didn't want her looking at him. He placed his gloved hands gently on her shoulders, inhaling her scent intoxication at it's finest.
"You want to be worthy and there is much you must learn before that. Anyone can take the stage, anyone can have a decent or 'good' technique, or voice and still claim the stage. But you? No. You must want what I want, feel what I feel, you must want perfection, demand perfection as I do. To do this...Celeste...You must become a part of me, you must become my own creation." He breathed.
"Open your eyes, and look at the stage. We will begin by perfection your central sound and voice, perfection of technique, and support. You tend to go narrow at higher jumps and lengthy runs. Imagine a stream, free-flowing, caress the air. Imagine your ribs reaching downward, expanding this will give you further capacity, and here." He took her hand and placed it just beneath her sternum high on her abdomen. "Feel a tightness a central control. Keep your back straight." Gently he stepped back from her somewhat so she had to stand straighter. "Now...we will begin Romeo and Juliette's first duet whence they meet and so fairest girl of mine. I am Romeo beneath your window, be my sun...now....sing." It was a command nothing more nor less, if she was to be great she would have to be his creation.
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Jun 15, 2008 4:59:43 GMT -5
There was nothing to her request. She merely asked for direction. If anything she was sure that would please him as he was very opinionated that she was nothing but a loose woman who had too sharp a wit and to forward a tongue to keep herself safe from himself or any other man that thought she needed to be silenced or taught a lesson. It must be thrilling for him right now that she came seeking his approval. Crawling here to find out what he wished for her like some trained dog. Far from it. She would never be tamed and certaintly not by him. She would be resistant as long as it pleased her, she was only doing this so she would have her lime-light. She would have her spot and be the sun of all Paris with his help. That is, if he didn't kill her first.
Still, with that one soft sigh and the silence that followed her request she knew that this time she had gotten what she wanted. He was finally going to teach her as she intended to happen all along. He was finally going to show her what she needed to do for once and it would be Erik teaching her, not Le Fantome. She was beginning to think that Erik was truely the teacher, and he was the one that she would have to pacify to keep Le Fantome at bay. She knew if she even flinched at an order after all it would be so easy to over power her petit little body and push her over the edge of the box, or to wrap his gloved hands around her swan like neck and snap in in half. No, she would have to obey for now. Not that she minded. She got what she wanted out of it.
Taking a deep breath to relax any nervousness in her body Celeste allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she was commanded. After only a moment she could hear, far more clearly than before his movements coming behind her. It seemed that everything was sharper like this. She could feel the air in the box move as he drew nearer. She could hear his breath growing louder, but paced and calm as his hands finally griped her head. His touch wasn't exactly gentle. It was firm but it did not hurt her, after all, Erik was not the one who would hurt her, she knew that now. As long as she listened she would come to no harm at this moment.
Still, even with this knowlege firmly implanted in her mind, as his body pressed against hers Celeste could not help but take a sharp inhale of breath in suprise and feel her heart speed slightly and he used his own body to move her to where he wanted her, trapped between the end of the box and his form. Her heart kept racing as she could feel the breath coming from his lips as he warned her not to turn. She knew to do so would kill her. That's what happened any way. One turned to look at the holy covenent in the bible and they were struck down by God. You looked back at Sodom and Gemora and you were transformed to salt. She would be a soul without a body if she turned. She just knew she would not turn to find a sweet angelic man. No, a phantom would be her avenging angel of death if she turned. She was then, for that reason wise enough to be the meek student he wanted then. Transfixed by his daring that he would do this and call it a lesson. She was sure there was a purpose but she wasn't sure if it was all necesary to sing. How could one sing after all if their heart was racing and their breath caught as hands ran down to her shoulders and stayed there.
Still, Celeste knew she had to pay attention. If this was her lesson she was not about to be idle as he accused her of being. No, she would prove herself a good student and a quick learner. She had to. It was the only way to seeing him again, to gaining his good graces and his aide. If she did that, Erik would not allow her to die. That one man inside the other would stop the dark desires of Le Fantome if he were to govern the body again. She had to make sure that did not happen.
For now though, she was helpless to do anything but listen. She had never realized that his voice could be so calming. Despite the fact that her choices now were to die or to let this man hold her, she was suprisingly content to allow him to do so. She did not have feelings for him of course. She would never do such a thing. It was impossible. It would be stupid and she was not a stupid girl, nor was she a simple whore like some of the others so it was rather a suprise that she was this calm, if one could call a pounding heart at all calm. But how could a girl be calm when there was a man against her telling her to become a part of him? She was certaintly dark herself but to become a part of that man. She knew he meant something other than the physical, but how could that not cross her mind the way he was whispering in her ear while her eyes were closed and lips parted ready to sing for him as he commanded?
She would sing for him as he commanded. She would fulfil his any whim at this moment. Her eyes opened, slowly, clearly focusing on the stage. She could not focus on anything else. It was as if she were seeing for him. It was as if he was already telling her what to do without even finishing his full command. And how well he knew her voice. He must have been listening to her practice every day. He truely must have to know her voice so well to pronounce these things so surely and yet this did not suprise her at all for he was her teacher and the phantom who had challanged her to rise to the occasion. She had and now she was recieving his help.
But still, with the help, with the practicing she worried she would not meet his standards. He had said it himself in a whisper that he would accept nothing but perfection. She did as she was told, imagining her ribs pressing down and breathing in with suprise as he took her hand and moved it, with his own just above her stomach and yet she did not wish him to step away. It felt so strange. He must be laughing at her right now for all she said and then how she acted when he tried to touch her like this. Still, he had no reason to touch her. She was his student and that was all. She would never be his. And that worried her more.
He expected her to sing to Romeo. He expected her to be the fairest, to be his fairest. He wanted her to be his Juliette, his sun and to sing for him. He commanded it and yet how could she sing to a Romeo if she had never felt love? She could pretend of course, but would it play. He did not tell her to close her eyes again, but Celeste felt her eyes close for an instance and silence took over the box and he waited, no doubt impatiently for her to sing. After a moment, feeling her ribs expand downward and her whole body fill with air, Celeste let out a single note filled with a dreamy quality, pure, untouched, and full of a hope that even suprised her. It did not waiver or falter as it usually did and so she opened her eyes and stared longingly at the stage that would be hers as if she wanted to see a man that would love her on it despite her faults and despite that there were those who hated her and her tongue and her ambition. "Alas! I? To hate him? Hatred- blind and barberous! Oh, Romeo, why is this name yours? Deny it, this is the fatal name which seperates us, or I will abjure mine." She longed for that man named Romeo with these notes that fell from lips that could not be hers and so she sang as if dreaming though she knew, she was sure and it had to be that in this moment she was Juliette but she was very much awake to the point where she was resiting sleep. After all, if she succumbed to her bed, she was very likely to wake up and find him a dream....
She could not dream of her Romeo she had to know he was real and that she could obtain him just as he had to know that this was real and that she would obtain her stage, her Romeo, her day in the spotlight of Paris. She would sacrifice her name for her music, her very being for her music. She would give it all to be the Juliette of the stage, the love and the sun of all Paris.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Jul 5, 2008 3:08:21 GMT -5
The slightness of her body before him could not deter the man within from letting the monster hurt her any further. No. Erik could not let his darker demons take hold of him just by the feel of her silky skirts brushing his legs. Easily falling into his death-trap by closing her eyes as obediently as a lap dog might've done to a command of rest. Her sharp inhalation had her pressing most temptingly against him, silently swearing that he could feel her heart thrumming alongside his own. Quick, deep, steady, constant as the Northern Star and he inhaled her scent. Temptation at its finest, Erik willed himself to be a teacher, rather than a man...He could never be a man..for anyone..for any woman.
Gentle with her body as though it were glass he guided her to the balcony, the edge, using it as both a reminder of how easily he could turn this lesson fatal. All it would take was the simplest little push, not even a shove could send her tumbling forward into the empty audience seating. Forever falling, until that slight frame impacted the chairs so sickeningly, the crack would resound, echoed in the area. Baroque angels staring down sadly, playing their harps in a silent serenade to this beauty in his arms. The only eyes to accuse him, silent as stars.
In the end he'd never harm her as that, commanding her that she never glance behind, never for once she gave in. He'd be there within her dreams, constantly plaguing her sleep like a reaper of death. His scythe at the ready to cut his traitorous Goddess once she betrayed him to look upon his hideous visage. Obey. God let her obey and God bid her to be wise, to obey and she did. Staring pointedly at the stage for that was where her life lay, her dream, her world, she was to be his mirror until he no longer lived on. Pursing his lips together he swallowed, softly, as silently as possible needing to place space between his body and her own as soon as he possibly could.
Hands that were unsteady, forced themselves to become a semblance of that steadiness, speaking then with a voice that could not waver. Bidding her to become a part of him, not physically though God knew that was a far off and distanced fantasy. To see her....His mind stopped and he spoke with a determination accepting or so he hoped he would never have love. Physical touch even. Be part of him as a song, as a voice, as a mind, and as a heart to this goal, to achieve it all. In the term of this all, he'd touched her, teaching her to be perfection itself.
Molded in the cast of his ideal of this perfection that could only be his Song Bird. Every moved he made, each time she pressed back against him without her knowing was a torture. Inhaling her one last time, Erik stepped back placing the distance he needed between them.Leaving himself forever bereft something he understood, something he lived with each moment he breathed another moment like this would mean nothing. But it did.
His instruction took hold, and she participated quite readily into every movement he instructed. Wanting to hear the steadiness in her tone the instant her lips parted. Never wanting to hear her creep into the glory of song, she had to be there, constant, no matter the riff, nor the run. She was to sing and sing as him, for him, to him. Extending a hand as though drawing the sound from her to him, she began to sing, sing like a Nightingale, or something more mystical. A siren! Gliding up and up, until he felt inside his chest that he might explode.
Romeo....As he would portray, began just behind her, singing in his voice that was beyond enthralling and equally solid, more fluid than water in a stream. His inhalations for breath were hardly audible, as compared to some tenors that gasped in the air, using the same technique he'd shown her by expanding his own ribs. Holding the tightness at the center of his chest just before his abdomen to support himself. A technique that radiated the air behind her and beyond, tossing his voice towards the heavens, ghosting over and along with her own.
Juliette and Romeo? Could it be? Never. Yet with her voice alongside with his own he longed to take the sun into his arms. It was beyond him, life, love, and so he backed into the darkness as his voice trailed off into a dark, almost threatening tone. Feral as an animal, beautiful and soft as silk, the velvet of his voice fading leaving a silence between them.
"Continue.."
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Jul 5, 2008 5:11:45 GMT -5
She was Juliette. She was the pride and joy of her father and mother. She was the young and beautiful star and treasure of the Capulets. She was the sweetheart of the proper social rings and she was the beloved of so many young gentleman's eyes. Paris loved her from both sight and name. She was just set out in all her glory for the world to see. She had been given the best new clothes and in her honor a glorious mask, the likes of which would be spoken of for months in the fair city of Verona would speak of for months, years even, had been held. She was the glory and sun of the city. But none of it matter for she was in love.
The heart of the sun had been captured and held in a glance, an instant, and a kiss. The sun of all Verona was in love with its mortal enemy the beloved and entrancing moon. He shown for her like no man in that room could. Paris had not been bright, and even her dearest flames from before had faded in the instance of seeing his face. She would give her life to hear that voice, and she would take it herself if any other but him held her in his arms. She would make sure no other would.
It was madness, shear madness. But she was mad for good reason. She was mad with the sweet poison of love. As she stared out the window longingly, hoping to see his face, desiring it with all her soul and body, she was sure it would kill her. She had to hear his voice again or she would die waiting for that sweet sound. For she knew if she did die, when she reached the gates of heaven, she would hear his voice from within. For that voice was the voice of an angel, perhaps even the voice of God himself for she would follow that voice as she would the voice of God though it may damn her soul and lead her to blasphemy. She would follow that path so long as he was there.
And so she sat at her window, praying for that voice to whomever would listen to her dearest wishes and prayers. Whoever could and not condemn her for them. For she surely could not tell a soul about him. She surely was not supposed to love a man that god and her family would damn her for loving. Any decent human soul would according to her father and her cousin Tybalt. At yet she would forsake them all just to sit here and wait all night to be rewarded with that one sweet sound.
And oh how sweet the sound was! Juliette felt her eyes close in rapture. She could here him there in the darkness of night. She could hear him reaching for her, to her, under the cover of the blessed night. He begged her to take away his doubt at her words. He begged speech. He begged song. He begged her and oh God forgive her but the sound was rapture and beauty. The sound was the sound of love, of her soul rising to the heavens given leave by her lord to do so with one word from his lips!
And so she would. So she would play coy with him though she longed to be true and find a way down from her tower and into his arms however immodest and impure that might be. God must forgive love for he was the one who decreed it should be so. This was not desire, this was pure, chaste, unbidden. This was love and she would have it be her idol for all eternity if this is what it felt like, if the man who sang to her would be hers for all time for follwing this new diety. She would speak and sing for him until her words ran like a stream and her song flew with more skill than the birds. She would sing and only for him only as he bid her as he did now.
And so the air he breathed out in song to her name was taken in by her lungs and the air was sweet and pure as no other air was and it came out as his song, as her prayer for his ears. Her plee for him to return to her side where he belonged for he was her beloved. And yet she could not tell him that. She must know if he was toying with her. She had heard of him and his antics. She knew he could switch faces as easily as any man could. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to breath in his air, to taste his lips on hers but she first needed to know she had his heart as he had hers. And so she asked what she knew.
She, staring straight ahead, soley hoping to see him for she knew she had heard him, looking for him frantically outside her window asked in the sweetest song filled with a longing and an urgancy only lovers could hear, "Who listens to me and suprises my secrets in the shadow of night? Are you Romeo?" The sound lingered and she was glad for it. If she could not see him at least his name would prove her lover for the lonely night. It at least lingered beside her as he could not. It comforted her and kept her council as he could not and it was sweet on her lips as he could not be; should not be. And so her lips let that word float through the air to his ears, a whispered desperate prayer of a woman in love. A woman who wanted him back by her side. And so just as his voice begged her to speak she begged him to reply; the night their only escort.
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Jul 7, 2008 1:58:36 GMT -5
Erik almost broke when his voice reached her ears and the way she closed her eyes with the sheerest vision of pleasure. A different pleasure beyond physical, but deeper akin to emotional, mental, drawing on her young mind as his voice laced through her hair. Stroking the arch of her neck with each note, a tenor so hypnotic was it beyond him to recall what he knew? What he could do with his voice alone? It was not, and yet he'd never give in to the temptation of using this power against her, to take her so openly. Never to curl his gloved hand about that neck as she sang, and strangle the beauty from her voice...from her song.
Instead Erik responded to her, giving this Juliette he could never have, never touch a portion of himself no matter how black and tainted it might have been. Staring up into the sky, into the darkness where only this Juliette was illuminated, promising if anyone chose to take the stage from her..she...would die. Whatever woman tempted the Fate he had set would pay dearly. A longing to hold her close, for protection of himself, of them all, of women envious even now of her. Erik was transformed from monster to a man through song, a miracle.
Not so miraculous that even as a man, his voice joining her own, gliding with ease in a gentle, pulsing vibration. He was never far from knowing that he commanded her to sing, bid her to sing for him, only for him, his portal into the world above his darkness. Her song filled him, fed him, like a man near death without water this is what he needed, she is what he needed. Never just a simple girl, a brain and sharp tongue in her mouth so different from what he'd thought he loved. Thought he longed for. Distance made him more passionate with song, her touch was fuel to his blazing fire. To touch her....the warmth seeping through his gloves, through his clothing....Sinner.
"I dare not, in naming myself..tell you who I am!" He responded instantly in the dark void between them. Passion in every note, he could never tell her what he was but he had an idea she already knew. Monster, Animal, Murderer, and what other names might be given him. The smell of her drove him mad, the sound of her inhaling even the slightest movement causing a dark curl to bounce enticed him to draw nearer again. Finding himself doing just that, as she asked him if he were indeed Romeo.
No. The Devil. He wanted to respond as her note lingered above them, longing for him...For Romeo. In that moment Erik hated Romeo, hated song...hated her beauty. Turning away from her as if stung, bitten, harmed, wounded.
"No!" Erik responded most assuredly that he was not Romeo would never be. "I do not want to be he anymore..if this detested name separates me from you! In order to....." He paused...inhaling...exhaling...."Love...you, let me be reborn.." He begged her, begged God, begged for a miracle that could never be. Choking on the one thing he wished could be possible...just like love. It was beyond him.
"In another self than mine..."
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Jul 7, 2008 3:11:09 GMT -5
He was there. He would not say it but he was there. Romeo had come to her despite the fact that it could mean his death. Despite the danger and the hoplessness of their love he came to her. And the words he spoke. How sweet those words as they fell from his lips. The very sound of his voice made her want to run from her family, from her name, from her riches, from all she knew just to be wrapped in his arms, caressed by his lips, whispered to by that voice. She would do anything for that voice for the man who possessed it had gained her heart with a few brief words in passing, and yet, for those words and those words only, she felt complete. He made her so.
Now, hearing his voice, hearing his passion in forsaking his name for her and she would forsake her own for him. Juliette smiled brightly and leaned over her balcony hoping to catch a glance of her dearest love within the darknest of nights with only the moon as her aide. She needed to see him. She needed his touch once again. She wanted more than just to talk from her window in constant secrecy. She wanted to be able to love him and know truely that he was not just toying with her. Men, were men after all. She was not so perfectly innocent. She knew the stories. He could be another and yet...Juliette had not even the slightest care of such things.
And yet with all the straining through the darkness she could only hear Romeo. His pure voice floated to her and caresses her but she wished for him. She wished for warmth not words as sweet and passionate as they may be they were not true passion. No words could substitute for the softness of his touch, or the warmth of his lips. That is what she now wanted. That and perhaps true proof that he loved her. If he loved her after all, he would not hide like this. He would come out and truely find her. He would come to her window in full view and tell her he loved her truely. He would tell her he wanted no other woman and he...and he would ask her to be his for eternity.
But in his heated impassioned words there was more anger than love. His denile of his name reverberating through the wide world. He seemed to hate himself for her. He seemed to destest his very being just so he could be hers in a new light. He wanted, he needed to love her but he could not for his name just as she could not for hers. And yet, if a name was all that was between them why could they not, like the pheonix burst into new life from the death of their old names. Why could one not find new life christened by the other's desires and love. It could be! She would make it be!
Leaning further over the balcony, her dark curls draping alongside her face, Juliette prayed she could find her Romeo in the darkness to tell him this, but she could not. She could merely turn away for a moment, feeling the hot rush of blood bring a maidenly blush to her cheeks as she contemplated her words, singing quietly, purely into the night. "You know that the night hides you from my face! You know it! If your eyes saw the blushing of it, it would bear witness to the purity of my heart!"
Her blush subsided for a moment as the one question beat inside her head. She needed to know. She needed to know if she would spend her life in his arms or alone, as a nun or some other secluded nurse in the world. Her voice was almost at a whisper as she confirmed her decision to leap past maidenhood and into the boldness that came with her new age as a woman, "Fairwell vein evasions... Her voice climbed with the surity of the woman who had presented herself tonight no longer the blushing girl in the window as she looked down, straining to find the lover that would show himself to her if his feelings were true. Her voice strong and serious against a calmer lovers sky,"Do you love me? I am guessing what you will respond: make no sworn oaths! Pheobe with her inconsistant rays, I imagine, will illuminate the false oath and laughs at lovers. With unsurity, a sweet unsurity, her voice wavering in strength but not in beauty and passion called into the night once again, "Dear Romeo, tell me loyally: I love you, and I believe you. And my honor has trust in yours." Air rushed into her lungs now as she let him see her true passions her true desires and let them all out in her last breaths of words she could manage without imagining herself a fool, "Oh my lord as you can trust in me do not accuse my heart, whose secret you know, of wantoness for being unable to keep silent...but...accuse the night whose indiscrete veil has betrayed the mystery."
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Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Sept 20, 2008 22:29:49 GMT -5
Erik listened to her, not as Romeo but as himself. She was pleading with him, wanting him to prove his life of her, so their life could be in existence on some level. Their love could never be, though, it would end in their deaths and then they would never be! But he did not care, he did not care if death would befall him because of his name, his own cursed name.
Silently approaching Celeste as Juliette, Erik seemed to grow into the role of Romeo more, but then when he almost forgot who he truly was, who she was, he backed away like it was a roaring fire. The beautiful notes filled the air with a bitter sweetness that was like a poison and a perfume in one. Erik did not know why this was, all he knew was what he was supposed to sing and act, what he needed to feel to be true with the music.
Finally, as Juliette finished her speech to her Romeo, her love, her only, Erik listened intently to the words and waited to proclaim Romeo's love for her, waited to say that he loved her. That's when Erik hated Romeo most, when he could say he loved someone and win them over. He would never be able to accomplish it, it was the one of the few things had no control over, he could not expect someone to love the monster within him. He knew this, yet he sang Romeo's line with a romantic passion that could pierce the heart of any woman.
"Before God, who hears me, I pledge you my fidelity!" Erik cried in his angelic voice.
Was he in character when he said this? Or was his words the true words of Erik, the monster that no woman would ever want. Did he expect Celeste to break her character and admit it? He couldn't... he wouldn't because he knew it would never be. It wasn't meant to end happily, not even Romeo got his Juliette, they were killed before they got the chance. It would be the same with him and Celeste. One of them would be killed before the other got the chance to love them...
[Sorry it's little short. I have a little writer's block that's near the end.]
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Celeste Gerras
Understudy
Diamonds are a girl's best friend!
Posts: 76
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Post by Celeste Gerras on Sept 25, 2008 17:12:59 GMT -5
The notes flowed with a freedom higher than that of water, even higher than the element of air which was so abundant in most situations that many forgot in their lifetime how it existed. For Celeste the notes were like that to her now. She had forgotten, as she danced how they existed. She had forgotten how they could fall like water, or be natural like air. Now, she remembered. She remembered that the music was as free as life itself to those who searched, to those who embraced it, and now it flowed through her as natural as blood, breathing, and life. She was the captive of the music, and it fueled her until she was not herself. Only what the music said she was: a woman in love.
The young Juliette in love for the first time, embraced by the music Celeste closed her eyes and let the feelings wash over her, take her body and soul completely. She could not hear the contemplation behind her as she sang her soul. She did not comprehend, she could not possibly even imagine that the man behind her was drawing near and away like the tides each day. She could not possibly imagine his emotions, the tearing pain of them within him; for to her he was just Romeo, her lover, the man who brought all of this to her. He was not even her teacher at this point when the music was all that mattered. He was so much more and she listened to his voice with that in her heart nothing else.
His voice took her into arms that she could not feel. She wanted so badly for him to hold her, for him to take her into his arms and caress her more with just the hypnotic silk of his voice. He was faithful to her as no man had been before. She wanted to feel his lips on her, she, Juliette wanted to seal his fidelity with her own. If he wanted marriage she would give it. If he wanted her soul, he would have it. If he wanted her body he had not even to ask. She was his in love now that he had given her his promise. He had her in his very spoken word. His voice was her G-d. She would say her rosery to him and no one else for he was her only Lord.
Juliette could feel her lips curl into a euphoric smile for a moment as his words sunk in. She would be his somehow, someway. She had to be his. They were in love. It was that simple. They had to belong to each other it was the way things were intended to be. It was fate. She was Juliette and he was Romeo, a love to last the ages, a love written in time. She was sure of it as she waited in silence for him to continue.
Then a startle. She was sure she heard something outside their Eden. Something from a work where their love would not be understood. For to everyone else they were enemies. Love was not an option. She turned to face her love looking but not truly seeing what was with her. She saw Romeo, not a monster. She was entranced so much by the music she had forgotten. It was a danger but it did not matter at the moment, she was in love at this point, in this girl's mind and body. "Listen! Someone's coming! Silence! Distance yourself!" She sang with passion, with fear, with urgancy for his life was worth so much more than hers. Without him she could no longer live.
((sorry it sucked. I am so rusty))
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