#masterofmirrors

Christine shrank back as he stared down at her with those haunting golden eyes of his, and she could have sworn she felt her very soul tremble. He frightened her, she could not deny that, though not for the reasons she suspected he would think. But frightened or not, she would not let herself be spoken down to by the one whose lies and callous actions had shattered her world. Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin and forced herself to meet his gaze.

@masterofmirrors || some meme or whatever

             Rage quells and subsides for grief to take over. Tears give way to sadness as eyes flicker between Erik’s burning yellow eyes and the locked door which held Raoul. His screams left scars on her ears, her heart, her soul, her conscience; I never should have let him near. I never should have showed him my love.

            “My tragic, dark Erik, if you know anything about me, you know I would put my life up for risk far before another’s.” There is grief within her like an ocean’s storm; the rain water from her head and sea water from her heart has swirled to attack the sandbanks of her sanity. She is losing the fight, but mighty nonetheless in her agony.

@masterofmirrors || i don’t want to go look for the meme

               A quirk of an eyebrow as she looks up from her textbook.

              “Who’s calling you a bad person? What’d you do--play the piano again at three in the morning when Nadir was trying to sleep?”

              Christine sat up a little, trying not to look like she was studying her other dad as much as he was. She swept her long braid past her shoulder and scratched at between Ayesha’s ears, very obviously stalling and attempting to figure out exactly what Erik was getting at. (Damn her dad and his riddles.)

Җ - What’s your greatest source of inspiration when it comes to role playing?

So, funny story, I’ve fallen out of regularly RPing (and writing in general) for such a long time that I kind of feel like I don’t know how to do it anymore? I keep wanting to get back into it, and lately I’ve taken to re-reading old threads on my blogs and trying to figure out how the heck I did this.

෴ - Tell us about your day.

Well, this was for Munday, so… I guess I’ll talk about Monday? It was more eventful than today’s been so far.

Monday started out kinda not-great because it was my dad’s birthday and I always tend to be a little gloomy because I miss him; it turned out to also be a coworker’s birthday and someone bought her cupcakes and there was a little birthday party for her held in the kitchen, and I didn’t go because I was just really sad and couldn’t handle it (but I also like this coworker a lot and felt like a bit of a jerk for not going and wishing her a happy birthday along with everyone else). 

I had plans to hang at a friend’s place after work - she’s just starting to learn to cook so we’ve taken to hanging out and cooking dinner and eating together when we can - and I’m really glad I did because the companionship helped pick me up, a lot. 

There were days where Rookheeya forgot she was a displaced soul in a country she never would have chosen for herself. Spring air would blow delicate breezes of fresh baked pastries and newly bloomed flowers through the little flat, warming the woman's heart. Lively music electrified her aging bones and gave Rookheeya a new life. Paris was a city with a heartbeat, and sometimes, Rookheeya would believe her own was one in the same.

Then there were days she wished she could forget Persia. Her French never became as beautiful or simple as her husband's, who had been speaking it years before her. There would be days when she would buy some fresh flowers and be sure that the florist would charge her a few francs too many as Rookheeya would struggle to remember the difference between leva and marguerite. Shoulders and knees and hips would ache and Rookheeya would be forced yet to still walk home and not rely upon all the help she had in Mazenderan. Their humble flat was quaint but their beautiful home in the country had been exquisite. Rookheeya did her best to move on, but she couldn't help but feel that she always felt a touch more brilliant, a little more clever, and that much more herself in Persian instead of French.

And then there were days like this where Rookheeya wanted to be left with her poetry and her flowers. It was her little Reza's birthday. He would have been a man by now, maybe with a wife, maybe with a child or two or three. Allah had not given him a body to support the life he deserved. Nadir and Rookheeya did their best to offer their only son the tranquil and painless death he was owed. She prayed Allah would be kind to her for that, but it was all she could do at this. Keep as much peace in her heart as she could manage and love her husband and Darius and pray.

Then there tests that were sent her away--

Rookheeya looked up to see no one else but the yellow eyed magician in her sitting room. She wished she did not know him long enough to not expect him to appear silently in her own home, more often than not with little invitation. On any other day, Rookheeya could grant her husband's friend cordial kindness. She would have been able to ask if he wanted tea, if she could take his cloak, if she could help him. On any other day, Rookheeya could have been able to be a hostess to Erik. But, today was Reza's birthday and this was the man who proposed a merciful death and then did not appear to his funeral.

For as excited as she was to attend Julliard in the fall, Christine Khan was really tired of graduating.

Nadir and Erik had left her in the dining room at least an hour or two ago with graduation announcements to her left and AP textbooks to her right. Ayesha sometimes sat in her lap and sometimes on top of her laptop. It was easily almost midnight now and while the city was bustling around them, the Khan family penthouse was eerily quiet. There was no bickering from the living room, no Opera musing blaring through the halls, no laughter echoing the halls. It was actually kind of peaceful.

Of course, it would be just like Erik to change that. Piano music wafted into the dining room, and Christine recognized the piece immediately as the composition for her dads’ wedding. Ayesha perked up and Christine sat up; it was a rare occasion, albeit always special. Curious--and impatient with the superficial amount of detail needed for graduation announcements, apparently--and looking for a distraction, Christine tip toed towards the piano room.

The sight she found through the crack in the door was a rare one. Erik was playing, but now, Nadir was patiently sitting at his side. The unique gold of Erik’s eyes was situated at the keys; Nadir’s dark green eyes were only for Erik. They were nestled close; if Nadir was any closer, Christine was sure Erik would quip at him for interfering with his playing abilities.

Eventually, the song ended and her dads were left next to each other. Christine leaned a little farther into the doorway, unsure if she should say anything. To see Erik and Nadir have a moment to themselves that wasn’t interrupted by sarcasm was special for her, too.

Gently, slowly, Nadir pulled off his husband’s mask. Instead of seizing away, too proud or too unprepared to show his face, Erik turned closer to Nadir. They kissed sweetly and unabashedly, and as Christine pulled away, she was sure she could hear Erik whisper I love you in French.

Christine returned to her textbooks and her stamps and her cards. It didn’t take too long for her to pass out in a mess of papers. She woke up to Erik carrying her to bed, half whispering, half taunting Nadir that he was gentler with their daughter and she would trust him more taking her to bed.

{ Oh good, so they get a weird balance then.

{ And Charles was 34.