Story Note: Here we have a new short story, in part inspired by the song Killing Me Softly which I heard on the radio a few days ago (in particular the version sung by the Fugees. Circa 1995.) So, I hear the song and suddenly a vague idea pops into my head for a story. This story will be less dark than my other stories, but don't expect complete fluffiness either (since I'm not very good at straight out fluff- if you've read any of my other stories, simply expect something more along the lines of Faded Moonbeams than The Free Fall. winks) And on with the disclaimer!
Disclaimer:I own zip, zilch, and nada. Only the words in the order they appear and the basic storyline. A mix mostly of ALW and Leroux, but with some Kay thrown in for good measure. EC and R-friendly.
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Softly Sighs the Soul
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Scene One
Listen to each drop of rain / whispering secrets in vain – Evanescence "Listen to the Rain" (Origin)
After all this time, Fate had finally decided to bring Madame Christine, le Comtesse de Chagny, back to the glittering city in which she had spent so many years of her life. Her acquaintances had assured her she would simply love being back in France's capital as there was so much to do, so much to see, and oh, so many shops to peruse! However, not even these prospects could bring an ounce of excitement to the perpetually sullen woman. In fact, as her maids so indiscreetly gossiped, it seemed as if the short holiday was simply worsening their mistress' disposition. Even the ever-patient Comte was exasperated by the lack of results in his wife, and he swore that he would have the job of Christine's doctor, who had suggested a "return to the Comtess' childhood home" as remedy for the woman's unceasing malady.
Raoul could only vaguely guess that her "childhood memories" were the cause of this sudden downward spiral in his wife's condition, but he was not sure he could place his finger on the exact facet of her life which caused her such acute depression. Hadn't his wife visited her close friend, that little Meg Giry? Had he not taken her to some of the most breath taking places in France? Hadn't he even indulged her with a short visit to her damned Opera House? It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to make her happy, to see her lift her lips even in the smallest of smiles. Perhaps somewhere in the depths of his heart, Raoul knew what truly ailed his beloved. It was possibly that very knowledge that had kept the couple away from Paris for the last five years. However, it was the type of deep truth which no one ever spoke of. The truths which the mind can never comprehend without shattering other facts held as true. And, If the Comte de Chagny did acknowledge what his heart had been trying to tell him these past few years, he never let on.
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The parlor was a very Victorian affair, decorated in deep velvets and dark woods. A few lamps had been lit to chase away the demons that surely hide in the shadows, but the rest of the room remained untouched by light. If one looked hard enough, they would see one of their superstitious ghosts sitting in the corner, her skin only a shade lighter than the creamy lace of her dress, a stark contrast to the room's decor. A closer look, however, would assure the onlooker that this woman was not a spectre, but a flesh and blood human that sighed every so often and absently twisted her mahogany tendrils around slender fingers. She reclined upon a scarlet window seat with her pallid forehead pressed delicately against the cool glass, watching the world outside. The sky had darkened to the black of night, though it was only the middle of the afternoon. Clouds rolled against the ceiling of the sky, churning like the most ancient of seas and painting a vision of elegant foreboding.
Crystalline eyes scanned the streets below, watching as the ever busy citizens of Paris began to seek shelter from the impending storm, but never losing their chic strolling pace. She wondered what it might be like to be a normal woman, running errands about the city only to discover that, because she had tarried too long in the millinery, she would be forced to walk home in the rain. Perhaps that was one of the first differences between the Vicomtesse and the rest of the population. She would have welcomed a walk in the rain.
Instead, she was trapped behind her glass prison, only observing the world like some kind of invalid. Her thoughts had been wandering today, and into regions she would rather not walk through again. So for now all her thoughts were focused on one thing: willing the rain to come. Darkness, rain, thunder- she loved them all, in a way they reflected the way she felt inside. She would rather wear black than white, rather cry than remain stoic when her emotions were trampled, and she would rather scream and rage than remain the perfectly angelic creature everyone always expected her to be. She had always loved storms, possibly because a storm expressed what she herself could not.
Suddenly, a crash of waves across the sky broke her reverie, and she watched in childlike awe as the sea in the sky released its contents onto the cobblestones (and a few people) below. Droplets began to cascade down the pane and she followed each droplets journey with her eyes. Slowly, one slender finger reached up and began tracing the paths left by each dying bead of water. As she followed the paths memories began to seep their way to the surface of her mind. Infinite memories of making her own journey through darkness. Paths like the wake behind an ebony and silver boat.
She became lost in thoughts, tracing the paths, the raindrops, and watching each one silently drop away forever to the streets- only a sodden trail evidence that it ever existed. Evidence like sheets of music. Suddenly, her fingers were led to another area of the window pane in which she fully saw her dim reflection for the first time. She touched the reflected skin around her face, darkness rimming her eyes like a mask. The black domino. With that thought, all of her memories engulfed her, haunting her mind as they always did. The errant hands fell to her lap and she simply began to stare at her reflected eyes behind their mask. Was that a hint of malice she saw in them, mocking her to discover what lay beyond those azure orbs? She could not be denied the answer now, not when she was so close. There was some fatal flaw within her, something she couldn't place. The eyes were the windows to the soul, were they not? She was now boring holes through the glass, but no matter how hard she stared, she could not look deep enough into the depths to discover what was twisted in her soul. But the answers were so close! Just beneath the surface, she presumed. She'd be damned if she gave up now.
And so, as the lamps began to dim and the sky grew darker, Christine de Chagny sat staring at her own reflection, scrying into the midnight glass for a sign of her own infirmity. The rain became harsher, a chill began to spread about the room, and a slightly mad woman fancied she could hear the tinkling of piano keys in the pounding of the rain. An exact arrangement of notes that had been played for her only once, but had replayed itself to her time and again.
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It wasn't until much later, when a certain husband came searching for a particular wife, that the peculiar events in the parlor were discovered. The Comte gazed gravely upon the woman heaped upon the floor, her complexion sallow and her breathing shallow, and gave a great sigh as he summoned servants to help his wife to bed. It had happened again.
A/N: Thank you for reading ch1 and I ask that if you got this far to leave a note in the reviews. This is nowhere near finished, and I know there wasn't much development in this chapter, but never fear! There shall be a few more after this (I'm planning on another short story.). But without your feedback, I'll be left to my own devices, so please tell me your opinions! Until next time. -Titania