#seraphvoiced

seraphvoiced: b o r o m i r ' s d e a d s i s t e r

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          How ordinary a day it had been, up until the moment her life changed forever. Only passing across the flyway above the stage on a mundane errand, she scarcely noticed the lingering chorus dancer doing pirouettes below her as she stepped onto the catwalk. Not the youngest amongst them, nor the oldest, she surmised from the brief glance she took. A strong dancer, dedicated, the one that used to cling to Giry’s skirts if memory served. 

          Ah, but then the dancer dared to break out of her assigned role and sing. 

          Could the heart of a ghost skip a beat? Never again would she pass off the words of the poets as hyperbole, for her chest ached at the bittersweet melody floating up from a humble chorus girl. Clearly she’d never taken a lesson to train her voice, nor strongly considered singing onstage when anyone else could hear, (to her knowledge) yet the unpolished purity of her voice only endeared the stricken spectre to her more. If she sounded like that without training... 

          What wonders could she create with Esther’s expertise to guide her? 

          It took tremendous effort, she found, to move her weakened knees. This young woman had such an impact, she could scarcely breathe, let alone make her way back down to earth. Could she even dare stand on the same plane as such a rare and exquisite treasure? No, better to dip below, through the orchestra pit. Not an admiring audience gazing upon a diva, but a dedicated conductor seeking to assist a budding talent. Yes, this would be the ideal first impression. Deep breaths, Esther. 

While he had noticed the flaw in the fabric from the moment he laid eyes on her, no one else seemed to, and as showtime drew closer and closer Legolas decided to speak up. Bringing attention to himself for the first time in a long while as the woman passed by him. 

Starter for @seraphvoiced​. 

          It was getting harder and harder to climb into Kryssa’s bed. On the first try, her stomach shifted her weight and she had to pull her leg off the blanket to keep from sliding off. The second try was a success, though, and she rolled over carefully, a hand on her swollen belly as she settled next to her friend. The one good thing about being stuck in a tower was the absolute quiet. And the stars. The windows were wide and pointed as if to draw their attention toward the heavens. Everything seemed brighter out here, more peaceful. It was hard to imagine that someplace not too far from here, men were fighting and dying, and it was all her fault. And Elia. Poor, poor Elia. Her children, not unlike the one she carried in her own belly. Lyanna swallowed and blinked. Maybe they were together now, in the very stars she watched, watching her in return. Peaceful. Safe. 

          “Do you think... in another world, another place, maybe... it all would have worked out? Robert would have left well enough alone and I could have the baby and start a new life and father and Brandon... everyone would be alright?” It was a stupid question. A stupid question for a stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did this have to happen? 

          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. 

He could feel it lingering in the air around him, the confounded magic that had brought him here, wherever here was. After being overtaken by the socerer’s black smoke, Bilbo remembered a feeling it being like he was picked up and thrown, so far away that when the hobbit was brought back into reality he immediately lost his balance and toppled into a pile of discarded clothes. A softer landing than he should have expected, he supposed. But it did little to change the fact that now he had no idea how to use the last remains of that spell to send himself back.

If that was something that even possible in the first place. Magic had always been a strange and slightly terrifying thing to him. Something Bilbo had only tried to understand once before when Gandalf offered to explain it to him, in the best way he could.

He sat in that clothes pile for some time, clearing his head and gathering his thoughts. It would do him no good to panic right now, as much as he wanted to. Not until he knew a little more about where he was, and who he might be with, and there was only one way to find out both of those things.

Once he managed to lift himself off of the pile, Bilbo padded over to the door of what he assumed was a very large closet. He had to stand on his toes to reach the handle, but did eventually get it open, and stuck his head out first to take his first peek at the world around him.

From there he could see several doors stretching out in either direction around him. A Hall of some kind was his first assumption, or a home meant for many different Big People. Either way it seemed safe enough to come out at the moment, and so he did. Although he kept the door behind him cracked open just in case he did end up needing a quick escape.

One by one the burglar tip-toed to each of the doors, opening them just enough that he could be able to see inside. Most of them were empty, a few of them were too dark to see anything. But one door, one of the last few he thought to open, led to a room that had a woman inside of it. She was alone, and had no point to her ears, from what he could see. So she wasn’t an elf, although the way she was singing could certainly rival one.

♪♩♫ Does music inspire your muse? What’s one song on your playlist that reminds you of your muse?

what a babe tho I have that saved on mi phone