Post by 'Gypsy' Rousseau on Jun 14, 2008 4:00:45 GMT -5
"Fairy Tale at 13 O'clock"
A merry voice sang, her words echoing off the damp, stone walls of the Opera's labryith. Scurrying rats clawed the slippery stone floor, hiding in fear of the unfamilar figure in their home. Aimee's ebony tendrils of hair were pulled into a low ponytail that flowed behind her, strands of cherub curls framed her face and swayed as she walked. She skipped happily down the path, not a care in the world for the stench of the swear or the dangerous flickering of the torchs' flames. A small smile played its way upon her rosey lips, long lashes closed and resting upon plump cheeks.
Aimee....you see....had been bored with the usual routine of the ballet girl's life, and was tired of sitting down and having to listen to the Dance Master's or Madame Giry's strict voices any longer. The pull of her never-ending curiousity had lulled her to come here, to the Labryinth, to try and find the fabled 'Opera Ghost'. She had heard from rumors that the Phantom was a lover of fine music and song, so she decided to sing to lure the ghost out. She knew she wasn't the greatest of singers...But, her voice was still pure and sweet like that of a child's and this was meant to be a nursery rhyme....
No matter how twisted it might sound.
"A twisted, crooked mechanical wind-up doll plots a rebellion
Against a spiral staircase that keeps twisting upwards forever.
Jade, amber, and onyx."
She sang rather sweetely, lips parting for the words to escape her lips. Her hands were kept behind her, her right hand clasping her left wrist in a relaxed pose as she continued to make her way down the confusing maze. The clicks of her boots heels richotched off the walls and echoed across the numerous halls, the clicks and clacks were thrown in with the drips of the water.
"Cruel Alice and her friends are fixated on a mermaid's lifeless,
limp wings.
And an angel's glass scales.
They wait at the shore of an ocean of cellophane where a sea
pig sleep's."
Her eyes opened, revealing lush pupils of the palest Lapis Lazuli, the gold in her eyes glistening as the shadows passed over her face. Where did she hear this song? Aimee tried to remember, her brow narrowed from thinking very hard, but no name popped up. But, she didn't need to worry, it'll come to her eventually...And by eventually she means in the middle of the night where the name will interrupte sweet dreams.
The young girl continued on with her singing, closing her eyes once more.
"A nightmare painted with beautiful, violent colors leaves a jet
black music box with a broken lock in an attic.
And drips sin onto the pale sole of a boy engrossed in forbbiden
daydreams.
It crouches
And cruelly plucks ouy the sickeningly sharp, opaque splinters.
Mother Goose of 13 O'clock. Labrynth of time. Getting lost.
The door will never open,but no one notices..."
Finally, the last verse has been sung, and honestly she was beat. Quietly, she seated herself on the floor, and didn't care if her plain chocolate brown skirt would get dirty or damp. The blouse she wore was of a perfect shade of turquoise, the buttons that snapped it up were cream in color.
She let out an exasperated sigh, and she looked rather annoyed. She was getting frustrated and doubts began to enter her mind.
What if the Opera Ghost wasn't real after all?
What if the stories were just made up so that the Plais Garnier could get more publicity?
"No!" Aimee shouted rather violently and angrily, her thoughts of doubts siezing to a complete and abrupt halt. Her eyes were open, and her eyebrows were narrowed into a glare. "I refuse to believe such nonsense. The Phantom is real, and if he is or is not, he will be forever real to me!" and with that statement she let out a rather angry ''humph''.
She pursed her lips, an angry blush flushed over her cheeks while her slim arms were crossed across her chest.
"Please, Monsieur Fantome....I know that you are real...If you can hear me, please show yourself to me..."
A merry voice sang, her words echoing off the damp, stone walls of the Opera's labryith. Scurrying rats clawed the slippery stone floor, hiding in fear of the unfamilar figure in their home. Aimee's ebony tendrils of hair were pulled into a low ponytail that flowed behind her, strands of cherub curls framed her face and swayed as she walked. She skipped happily down the path, not a care in the world for the stench of the swear or the dangerous flickering of the torchs' flames. A small smile played its way upon her rosey lips, long lashes closed and resting upon plump cheeks.
Aimee....you see....had been bored with the usual routine of the ballet girl's life, and was tired of sitting down and having to listen to the Dance Master's or Madame Giry's strict voices any longer. The pull of her never-ending curiousity had lulled her to come here, to the Labryinth, to try and find the fabled 'Opera Ghost'. She had heard from rumors that the Phantom was a lover of fine music and song, so she decided to sing to lure the ghost out. She knew she wasn't the greatest of singers...But, her voice was still pure and sweet like that of a child's and this was meant to be a nursery rhyme....
No matter how twisted it might sound.
"A twisted, crooked mechanical wind-up doll plots a rebellion
Against a spiral staircase that keeps twisting upwards forever.
Jade, amber, and onyx."
She sang rather sweetely, lips parting for the words to escape her lips. Her hands were kept behind her, her right hand clasping her left wrist in a relaxed pose as she continued to make her way down the confusing maze. The clicks of her boots heels richotched off the walls and echoed across the numerous halls, the clicks and clacks were thrown in with the drips of the water.
"Cruel Alice and her friends are fixated on a mermaid's lifeless,
limp wings.
And an angel's glass scales.
They wait at the shore of an ocean of cellophane where a sea
pig sleep's."
Her eyes opened, revealing lush pupils of the palest Lapis Lazuli, the gold in her eyes glistening as the shadows passed over her face. Where did she hear this song? Aimee tried to remember, her brow narrowed from thinking very hard, but no name popped up. But, she didn't need to worry, it'll come to her eventually...And by eventually she means in the middle of the night where the name will interrupte sweet dreams.
The young girl continued on with her singing, closing her eyes once more.
"A nightmare painted with beautiful, violent colors leaves a jet
black music box with a broken lock in an attic.
And drips sin onto the pale sole of a boy engrossed in forbbiden
daydreams.
It crouches
And cruelly plucks ouy the sickeningly sharp, opaque splinters.
Mother Goose of 13 O'clock. Labrynth of time. Getting lost.
The door will never open,but no one notices..."
Finally, the last verse has been sung, and honestly she was beat. Quietly, she seated herself on the floor, and didn't care if her plain chocolate brown skirt would get dirty or damp. The blouse she wore was of a perfect shade of turquoise, the buttons that snapped it up were cream in color.
She let out an exasperated sigh, and she looked rather annoyed. She was getting frustrated and doubts began to enter her mind.
What if the Opera Ghost wasn't real after all?
What if the stories were just made up so that the Plais Garnier could get more publicity?
"No!" Aimee shouted rather violently and angrily, her thoughts of doubts siezing to a complete and abrupt halt. Her eyes were open, and her eyebrows were narrowed into a glare. "I refuse to believe such nonsense. The Phantom is real, and if he is or is not, he will be forever real to me!" and with that statement she let out a rather angry ''humph''.
She pursed her lips, an angry blush flushed over her cheeks while her slim arms were crossed across her chest.
"Please, Monsieur Fantome....I know that you are real...If you can hear me, please show yourself to me..."