Given the title and the responsibility, I had no choice but to devote myself to it. In front of a thousand desperate strangers, I was the messiah—the creator of miracles—the goddess who vanquishes all impurities. Hope made them seek my aid; their eyes pleaded me for salvation. But before I went through the same scene in quotations of circles, I had the power to choose. I was about to call forth for Rejection, but he shook his head saying he was simply not an option. In the end—there I was, stuck between morals and reasons.
By not making an honest decision in time, I was pushed by the flow of tides to follow the rushing stream. Names became colors; titles bore fame. In a blink of an eye, my identity was altered—modified, into something I never was and never would be. The moment when I was ready to give an answer, the deadline had already passed. A different answer was provided by default; mixing my fate with sprinkles of unwanted surprise.
Pretension created a thousand masks for everyone to wear in different shapes and sizes. The one I was given with fitted perfectly well. I wore it in the theatrical world—where masquerades were held in every light-year, with no trouble at all. But gradually, that started to change as I grew weak and suffocated of the decaying ambiance and the repetitive smiles of desperation.
"Songstress, Eleison." The director of the play reminded me of my role. Distraction obliterated, a bow of silence, facing the crowd of a thousand ill living fleshes, I rose up my head and I sang the song that they wanted to hear—the song of salvation.
Like lightning—like thorns, Pain had struck my instrument as I performed. A tear came out of my right eye, conceived from my mind and heart, stating that the pain was unbearable—intolerable. But nevertheless, the show must move on.
In the midst of carnage, I found a temporary escape from the inevitable reality while still doing my role. By catching a mere faint glimpse of the distant past, I was able to fool my senses for a matter of time.
I was young, naïve, and unbound back then. I dreamed of embedding my wings on every note that escaped from my lips. Like every male, I wished to take on an adventure that I would never regret. Like every female, I wished to be with the person that I would spend my eternity with. The concept of love that dances with logic and reason and partners with fantasy and reality—the fluttery of butterflies and bouquets of flowers, that I always wanted to know, to feel, to experience was so enchanting—so bewitching.
But those were mere abstractions that I would probably never going to gain in this lifetime.
A gasped for air ended my performance. Joyous squeals in delight bloomed for the waited miracle had been made. The ill were cured and the cursed were cleansed; from that point, I knew my job was done.
"Our Songstress! Our Saviour! Our Goddess!"
My last performance had ended with curtains of words and gifts of gratitude that I simply do not deserve. The mask of the Songstress obscured my alter ego—the grotesque selfish monster residing within me. From the bottom of my heart, I never wished to help them—to cure them, to cleanse them. I was no messiah—neither a creator of miracles nor a goddess who vanquishes all impurities! I was only a mere human who wanted to make her dreams come true and singing was the only way for me to achieve it.
To spread my wings in a form of a sound—a song, that someday might reach the future that I longed for.
But my instrument had expired before I got close to my goal.
My instrument was no longer able to sing.
A cough, a hand covered with blood, a tear drop of the left eye. The Gungnir was released and struck down my hopes, my dreams, and destroyed my treasure. I no longer knew what to do. My voice—my instrument—my life, my only treasure was going to disappear. I could not do anything to prevent that from happening. I was the Songstress—the messiah, and yet I could not save what was important to me.
Where was my salvation, my saviour?
Someone. Anyone.
"The Songstress is sick?" The intruder dared to utter a reaction to the very detail that he saw from the previous act. Surprise, curiosity and a tinge of pity reverberated throughout my room of solitude from his choice of words. He who came out of nowhere dared to state the obvious in front of me with such a devastating sound.
"Can't you heal yourself?"
Tears started to overflow and were about to burst out, but I held back. "Go away!"
"I'll take that as a no." He said to me with a benign expression placed on his countenance as he slowly approached me. A hand lifted and reached out as if he was going to take all the pain and misery away. Slowly, it made its way towards me, ready to plant a soft caress on my cheek.
"An intruder! Trafalgar Law had invaded the palace! Find him, get him! Don't let him get near the Songstress!"
Too late for he had already found me.
I watched the intruder formed a smirk on his face. "Miss Songstress, you're coming with me." The order was executed in haste as he carried me using both of his arms like a groom carrying his bride out of some bizarre fantasy.
"Why? Where are you taking me? What are you going to do to me?"
"You talk too much." He looked at me directly with his grey eyes. "I'm just here to give you your salvation."
No words escaped from my mouth after that. My eyes were affixed to his countenance, fully overwhelmed by his words and actions. I was completely stunned for my emotions were contemplating on what to express. The ephemeral ring of the word salvation that came out from his mouth sounded so heavy—so immaculate, so authentic that I believed in him with no bounds of concrete proof.
My vision began to blur as it signaled that I was about to give into tears. Pretension made a thousand masks to wear in different shapes and sizes. Of all the mask to wear before me, Trafalgar law chose to wear the mask of an angel and offered me my deliverance. Without second thoughts, I entrusted my life into his hands even though they were embedded with the word Death. Given the title and the responsibility of a pirate and a doctor, Trafalgar Law was simply the epitome of contradiction.
When he entered my life, he became my fatality—my salvation.