Star-Cross'd Lovers
by Indrawn
chapter 1
m a s q u e r a d e
Jeanne and Sinbad meet and part in a twist of fate. Framed upon the best-known tragic romance, Romeo and Juliet, but not merely a rewrite of Shakespeare's work.
star-crossed lovers →
a pair of lovers, whose relationship is doomed from the start
A/N: This story is currently on hold until I figure out what to do with it; rewrite it from the beginning, or discontinue it. Illustrations for this story corresponding with scenes in each chapter can be found as a link in my profile.
ancient grudge breaks to new mutiny
from forth the fatal loins of these two foes
a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life
x xx ;
Jeanne released the intake of breath she hadn't realised she was holding as she lost herself in the sea of lords and ladies, and every other rich or famous personality in the country, entering the mansion through the great hallway. She had come posed as the Lady Anne-Maria C. Iliana, the wife of a wealthy merchant from Greece. The real Lady Anne-Maria C. Iliana was sick in bed with pneumonia. Jeanne desperately hoped that the real Lady Anne-Maria C. Iliana was blonde, or that the security guards were dim enough not to realise that Lady Iliana's hair colour had changed and she had miraculously recovered from her deadly illness overnight.
The hundreds of exclusively-invited individuals were simply there to party, to dance, to catch up on the latest gossip and to enjoy the night. Jeanne's only interest was in Alphonse Mucha's expensive Les Saisons painting. Jeanne followed the stream of people filing into the ballroom and halted briefly, scanning the walls while trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
"May I have the pleasure of this dance, my lady?" Jeanne started; the last thing she expected was to hear was a husky, masculine voice speaking behind her – to her – and dangerously close to her ear too, at that. She spun around, catching sight of who the voice belonged to. A male, around the same age as she, by estimate of appearance. The lower part of his face was obscured behind a white cloth, his silver-blue hair and eyes being the only distinguishing features that were visible.
"I--" She paused, considering the situation. She couldn't afford to get side-tracked – she was here for that painting. Yet this could be a convenient disguise – her mask did play its part in concealing her identity (should anyone be searching for Lady Iliana), but she was probably the only female standing in the middle of the ballroom without a partner, and this might have drawn herself unnecessary attention; she was supposed to blend in. And, she had to admit, his cerulean eyes were quite alluring. "-- of course," she amended, somewhat hastily.
No sooner had she spoken the man had taken initiative, holding her hand with his left, palms touching, with his right sliding around her waist, drawing her closer into a dance position. His hand was warm through the fabric of her dress. She was so stunned at this sudden intimacy that she did not realise she was momentarily frozen, staring at his chest. Mentally cursing herself, she raised her eyes boldly to match his, lifting her left hand and setting it on his shoulder.
In a moment she found herself waltzing amongst the crowd with this stranger. In this atmosphere every step they took, every move they made, seemed magnified in the vastness of it all. It was hard to tear her gaze away from his eyes; for some unknown reason, her heart rate had just increased a notch, but at the same time she felt a feeling of security in his hold.
Jeanne was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I didn't catch your name." The ballroom was far from silent really; there was the light conversation between guests and tinkling laughter from the duchesses, delicately sipping their glasses of champagne, and the orchestra was producing a serene melody to which they waltzed. Somehow, the pound of her own heartbeat drowned out all of it. She was surprised how coolly she managed to say that, despite the drumming within her ribs.
"Sinbad," he responded, expertly manoeuvring her into a spin. "But you can call me Romeo," he added, winking playfully at her as he caught her again, hand once more pressed against her waist. Jeanne opened her mouth in indignation and was about to say something, but to her dismay, no words came out. An amused laugh escaped from Sinbad as he surveyed her reaction. "Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, Juliet; for I never saw true beauty till this night."
At this Jeanne felt a heat creep into her cheeks. "Jeanne. My name is Jeanne," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, and completely forgetting that she was meant to be Lady Iliana. She was struggling to keep her cool. Anyway, she was supposed to be keeping an eye out for the demon in the painting. It was located in this vast mansion. She was certain it was on display where the majority of the guests would be gathered, and there was a good chance it was in this very room. Flaunting such a priceless work of art in the presence of a kaitou would prove to be a costly mistake.
Jeanne was aware of the fact that she hadn't paid much attention – if any at all – to the whereabouts of the painting. She was also well aware of the fact that this man - Sinbad- was now wearing what she guessed to be a smile of amusement, the fabric of the cloth he wore around his mouth creasing slightly. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, Juliet--" he emphasised the 'Juliet' as though he had not heard her speak, and his grip around her hand tightened slightly-- "my lips ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss," he finished softly.
Why, the egoistic-- ! Jeanne suddenly felt like snatching back her own hand from his grasp, but that would mean she would be backing down from his challenge. That wasn't in her nature. Besides, she didn't want to attract any negative attention from the crowd. Two could play at this game. Shooting him a glare, she retorted, "Ay, lips that they must use in prayer, Romeo," with deliberate accentuation on the last word.
Sinbad seemed to be enjoying the foreplay – how she deduced that she didn't know; he sure was skilled with keeping his face an almost-unreadable mask. "Then, dear saint," he whispered, "let lips do what hands do."
When had he removed that cloth from his face? And since when had they stopped dancing? Jeanne suddenly noticed his proximity – their bodies were touching and she hadn't realised it till now – and how close his face was to her own, and her violet eyes unwillingly slid down to fix on his mouth – his lips -- this was definitely an invasion of personal space! A sudden wave of apprehension washed over her; the demon – the painting – what she was here for-- the painting. The damn painti--!
Before she had even finished thinking out the last word – or rather, screaming out – inside her mind, his hand on her waist had somehow found its way up to caress her cheek, easing off her mask in the same motion. Sinbad ran his thumb across her lips lightly, the gesture allowing her a split moment to break away from his embrace – why she didn't take that opportunity, she didn't know – then he had brought his hand to her chin and was tilting her head towards his, was leaning in.
When his lips brushed against hers, it took her a moment to register what was happening. A gasp had escaped from her lips, but was quickly stifled when he deepened the kiss. He had released her chin and his hand returned to her waist, slipping further down to her hip. At this contact she moaned softly and her back arched against her will, pressing her body closer into his chest. He was warm.
She didn't feel like she was on Earth any longer. Perhaps that was due to the lack of oxygen her lungs were receiving, but she couldn't stop; finally it was Sinbad who broke the kiss. They stood still in that position for an instant, breathing heavily. Then he leaned closer to whisper, his breath caressing her ear, "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged."
She abruptly snapped out of his enchantment and came back to her senses. How dare he, the arrogant-- ! Right now all she wanted was to slap him, in the face, very – no, extremely hard; it seemed quite appealing -- anything to wipe off the half-smirk she was sure was spreading across his face at that very moment. Too bad she had to keep her temper in check. She couldn't risk causing a scene right now; though her outrage must have showed through her expression, for he gave her wrist a light warning squeeze and winked at her again. "You know, you're even prettier when you're mad." Damn those captivating eyes. She almost let herself drown in them again.
Jeanne snorted at his cliché. She opened her mouth and was about to give him a piece of her mind but for the second time that night, she found that no words exited from her lips. And they felt swollen too, at that. And God!-- why was she still in his embrace? After a quick revise within her mind, she lied smoothly, "Apologies, Sinbad, but I am expected… elsewhere. I have to leave." It wasn't completely a lie – she had almost forgotten about the demon in tonight's turn of events, and it was necessary to seal it before the night was over. "And," she added as she pulled away from him, "the pleasure of the dance was mine." Jeanne struggled to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
She locked gazes with Sinbad for a split second, and couldn't recognise the expression in his eyes; a flicker of regret? – no, she had imagined it for certain, for there he was, standing confidently before her, as impassive as ever. His lips parted slightly – Jeanne narrowed her eyes – but he recognised the dismissal, and merely murmured, "Very well, Jeanne," before turning around without a second glance and melting into the sea of dancing couples, his cloak rippling silently.
Jeanne ignored the disappointment beginning to wrench at her heart as she watched his retreating back, and shivered, but mentally refused to admit it had anything to do with the absence of his warmth. She found herself standing close to the balcony leading to the chilly, obsidian night afar. "Sinbad." She bit her lip angrily while striding outside, and immediately regretted the action; she had almost forgotten the swelling. My first-- The scarlet tinting her cheeks was definitely attributed to the exertion of their earlier dance. Leaning out over the grand marble railing, Jeanne hissed out a curse. "Damn it." How, had this complete stranger, been able to pull at her heartstrings so simply like a puppeteer?
…Love at first sight? Impossible; no sooner would Heaven collapse from the sky.
Sinbad wove his way through the crowd, the previous moment replaying again and again inside his head. The sweet taste of her lips still lingered on his o-- "Damn it." He barely contained his anger at himself before he reached the side of the hall and slammed his fist into the wall beside him, ignoring the appalled gasps of the ladies behind him freezing in mid-giggle. This girl... She had him wrapped around her finger.
Love?—no, Hell would first freeze over.
x xx ;
A/N: As stated above, I'm currently considering rewriting the story from the beginning; I've concluded after re-reading it that it has started at too fast a pace. It also hasn't received as much response in reviews and alerts as I would have hoped, so I am unsure whether to continue this piece. But thank you to schooltrackstar for your continued support. [;
According to my chapter plan, chapter one was supposed to be longer, but this seemed like a good place to end. The next chapter will probably have to be short (as a continuation of this one). I have a very rough plan of this story sketched out so far; but I prefer to keep a loose rein as I write. I watched the Baz Luhrmann's production of Romeo and Juliet last year and I was literally in tears at the end of the film, lol. There should be around five to six chapters, but it depends on the reponses I receive. Also this external link is somewhat irrelevant, but you may enjoy GioelleBrokenWings' Maron/Chiaki Hey Juliet on YouTube. [;