Intrigues of Angels
Prologue
For a moment, it was beautiful and real. The room was bathed in golden light, like a perfect sunrise, like the noon sun glowing through a lancet window into a dimly lit room. Like candles, peeking hopefully through the dark of night. White feathers had drifted to lay on every surface - ethereal and light, their soft plumes casting no shadows. On the dresser, on the floor. Even on her bed. But when she reached out to touch one, her expectant fingertips brushed only barren, cool sheets. She bit her bottom lip, and looked - as the fog of sleep slowly lifted, she could see the sharp, usual corners of her small room. But, no! There, by the mirror, a single white rose petal. She slid her bare feet onto the floorboards, wincing at the cold that seeped into her feet - warm until just now from their nest of soft blankets, and stepped towards the full-length mirror. He bent down and picked it up. It was as white as the pure white linen of her nightgown. She smelled it, smiled her soft smile, and padded back to her bed, to place it on the night stand. That was when she remembered the night before. Ah! Raoul. He had been harder and harder to put off, these days. And he was so charming, and backed her so easily into corners she would feel so bad backing out of.. All he had asked was dinner! And they were childhood friends. The flowers he had brought her, expensive and brilliant, sat in a graceful vase on her dresser. It was a week since Faust opened, and though she had only sung the lead the opening night, he had come nearly every night after, just to see her in the chorus. But alas, she had been forbidden. Her angel had obviously some other plan. It seemed a small eternity since she had stopped being alone here in this room. The ashes of deep grief had been smeared into her skin and hair and soul.. She was no longer the mysterious, pale flower she had been as a child, blossoming under her father's careful watch, and endless adoration. But now.. now there was something better. A love, a secret, an eternal guardian. And she was certain...certain he would never leave. Certain he could not lie to her...
But this is not the start of this singular tale of the Angel of Music. If the Angel is a hallucination of a young woman, driven slowly to beautiful madness by grief, then perhaps this story is more tragic love affair then supernatural play. However labeled, our story begins on a small, misty town in Holland, hugging the rocky coast and rich in stories and secrets...