I obviously haven’t really been active on this blog but to officially bring things to a close, I’m going to stop making excuses for myself to try to get around the fact that Esther is a cisswapped muse, and cease activity on this blog. I don’t want to contribute to something harmful, and if this blog is doing that, it should come to a stop.
We should all try to learn from our mistakes, and this was a mistake I hope I can learn from.
“you’re very welcome, ms. chevalier,” his tone always lilted when he said her chosen last name, like he was singing each syllable. it could be taken for mocking, but she knew him better than that.
the veil had been easy to procure, he needed only tug a couple of strings and the technology fell into his hands — which, of course, he had improved upon. please, as if he would give esther anything short of his standards.
“so—” he begins, stepping around the table he had been working at to face her, hands promptly tucked into his pockets. “you wanna take it out for a spin, give it a little test drive? because i’m craving something that’s more whipped cream than coffee, we could go to that coffee shop ‘round the corner?”
All the soft, fluid sentimentality stiffened into nervous tension at the mere mention of a test drive. This device of his worked perfectly, fit seamlessly against her skin. No one at a little coffee shop would have any idea of what she hid beneath.
Yet every aching what if crawled up her spine and into her mind to scratch away at her resolve. Only in this tower had she walked freely in the light, learning not to tuck herself away in dark corners and flee into shadows. For a ghost to reach into the realm of the living and find her humanity had been a slow and troublesome process.
Could she finally take the final step into the light, walk amongst the people of the world as though she were one of them?
A hand reached up, fingertips tracing over the paper-thin veil. There was a texture to it, but a subtle one. With a deep breath, she gave but a single nod. “If I don’t now, I never will. Might as well make use of your good work.” Her smile was unsteady, but her resolve had returned.
Into the light with her.
“did you get the thing i left for you? did you like it, did you figure out how it works?”
@desmasques.
How could she put into words what such a strange little film of translucent material had done for her? Though far from the first time the technology of her new home had awed and amazed her, this tiny breakthrough... Oh, this changed everything.
Despite the photostatic veil clinging securely to her skin, she still wore the familiar white mask when she walked into the room. Shaken to her core though she was, she couldn’t quite surrender her flair for the dramatic.
So, once Tony turned to look at her, she reached back for the ribbon that held her mask in place to let it fall away into an open palm. His good work revealed to the world, both halves of her face appeared entirely normal. As symmetrical as any person’s would be. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I think it works quite well. Thank you--so, so much.”
Brenna Twohy, from “I Know It’s a Little Late,” Forgive Me My Salt (via battleruin)
gently kisses esther's forehead
Warily eyes up strange tall man.... Eventually decides not to strangle him.
“Monsieur Fear.” The breath of spoken words came in a puff of steam against the frigid underground air. Lips pressed together to stave off a wayward drop of blood. Brutal as she must have appeared, the ghost wasn’t ready to taste her handiwork. Some glimmer of humanity within her prayed she never would be.
Shoulders rolled back, something cracking tiredly in her spine with the motion. “Unfortunate matter, this. A trap would’ve gotten him if I’d been only a few moments later. Just a few... a few moments later.” Her chest nearly heaved as she spoke, as though it took great effort. Her traps had taken lives before, but killing personally still shook her. A slow drag of her sleeve against her mouth left another stain on the disheveled white fabric.
Eventually she managed to look at the man that approached her, one of the few she allowed in her domain. The right side of her face turned toward him, stark white mask splattered red and blue eyes behind them blown wide and dark. “I hope you’ll forgive the mess.”
With something of a sigh, the spectre crouched down to heft the corpse over her shoulder. “Come. I’ve dismantled the traps for the time being, we can walk down. Can’t very well leave him here.”
Oh god, no. No, not her. Don’t let her see, don’t let her see me! Not like this!
Her thoughts were cacophonous, a harsh ringing she couldn’t focus through. The blood in her veins ran as cold as the foreign blood splattered on her skin. Sweet, innocent, blessedly naïve Christine--what kind of monster would taint her with a sight like this?
With her body twisting away in an inhuman curl of form, cape shielding her bloodsoaked figure from Christine’s countenance like a ghoul that might burn in daylight, Esther already knew. Even in the dreadful stretch of silence broken only by the drip, drip, drip falling from the dagger wrenched from the former diva’s breast, she knew what kind of monster would do such a thing. The only kind of monster that had ever prowled the Palais Garnier.
“Christine--” Her voice choked without command to speak. Fear held her throat like a vice, a panic she couldn’t escape. “Christine, please understand--!”
Understand what, o sullied angel? What kind of protector cannot even protect from the filth of their own vengeance? Could anyone with the title of angel truly expect this pure creature to accept a murder in her name?
“I had to protect you. She poisoned you, Christine.” Shoulders fell, arms at their sides. There was nothing left to hide of this disastrous sight. Still, the ghost dared not look at her.
I did this for you.
actually I have a couple little announcements
Thank you for your time!
okay but for real
if you have a problem with LND I respect your opinion
but if you don’t recognize Ben Lewis as an amazing Erik then meet me in the pit
The younger woman’s head dipped in modesty, cheeks tinting pink this time for reasons wholly different than embarrassment. A polite bow of her head and a smile followed.
“ You’re much too flattering, madame. Thank you. ” Her speaking voice was a gentle murmur, a stark contrast to the unpolished grace of her singing. What a wonder it was, that such a voice could come from such a petite and docile woman. Unlike La Carlotta, she did not have the flair or pose of a prima donna, she did not give off airs of pretentiousness or ambition. Careful steps carried her forward when the masked woman moved backwards, mirroring her motions.
“ You are a teacher? ” She asked, taking a seat on a stray bench on stage, hands resting casually on her lap, a nonthreatening posture. “ Forgive me, I do not believe I have seen you here before. ” Surely she would have remembered her face if she had? Or at least, what parts of her face she had uncovered. Although she did not think a masked woman would be unforgettable. “ Please, do come forward. ”
Each step of approach the young soprano took send a shock to Esther’s core. What would become of her if she came too close, if she saw too clearly? The Opera Ghost was a creature of the shadows, never meant to be seen under the light. How could these beauteous being look upon her closely? It was a mercy when she stopped to take her seat.
“We have not met.” The words were perhaps a bit too loud, a bit too quick, in the face of a request for Esther to come closer. Even this proximity set the spectre ablaze with anxious energy that found no release, much closer and she might truly start a fire in the theatre. “I do not often meet with people so openly. I came to you specifically because your voice has moved me so.” Her eyes flitted about the room, unable to find focus as she sought the words she so desperately needed.
Without conscious command, her feet carried her up to the conductor’s podium. It put her almost even with, but still slightly below, the young prodigy. “I am a musician--of sorts. I have devoted my life to this opera, and the arts that take place here. I have never taken a student before. I have never wanted to.”
Taking a brief pause, she cleared her throat softly, gathering what thoughts she could. “You do want to sing, yes? Forgive me if I sound presumptuous, but it seemed... In your song, there was a desire to share this gift you possess. Do you not feel it when you sing? The soaring of your heart as music takes its hold upon you?”
it’s because the thought of the other thing is repulsive.
Oh dear, getting defensive are we? Afraid you’d lose the competition?
From your experiences with the daroga I think you'd know more than us about measuring.
By the gods, one instance of abating curiosity and I am branded forever. Shall I find a scarlet letter to emblazon to my clothing?
dechaagny replied to your post: @myspiritandyourvoice @dechaagny While...
what else would we measure???
I have lived in a cave my whole life. It is concerning that you’re the more naïve one here.
While you boys are measuring.... wits, I’ll have Christine to myself. Cheers!
@desmasques
It was a fake flower, small and white, most likely a piece of a costume that had come loose during a performance and been forgotten about. But the elf still held it carefully between two fingers as if it were real. His eyes locked on the way it slowly turned in his hand as he sat on the edge of an empty stage and sang in sindarin to no one. The words coming out soft but sadly, and full of feelings that he still kept too close to his heart for this day and age.
As was so often the case with the opera ghost, the music drew her in. The words sounded odd and foreign, a language she couldn’t even guess. From her place in the shadows, she came to find that the source of the music looked just as strange and foreign as the words of his song. For all of the people who have passed through the doors of her opera house, she had never seen the likes of this man.
Daring not to emerge, Esther threw her voice into the open where the odd being sat on her stage. “What melancholy echoes in your foreign words, monsieur. Of what do you sing?”
