I went to see Fantastic Beasts and thought it was completely on point and I thought Colin Farrel was FABULOUS and basically I just wanted a back story for whoever Graves must have been before. Just a note, Fantastic Beasts occurs I think in note, I listened a lot to Ryan Gosling's City of Stars solo when writing this. xx
An Empty Grave
Introduction
It was the same dream that bothered her from time to time, leaking through the cracks in her mind like star light, trying to get through but blocked by something dark and unmoveable. A grand, black piano played alone and with no pianist, it's black and white keys whimsically moving as if it were being played by the ghost of one of it's past owners. She moving slowly, dancing, swaying back and forth with someone, both barely moving their feet, the dancing an excuse to just hold one another. Her eyes were closed but the warmth of their strong body was around her, the masculine smell of someone familiar, someone who made her feel safe, so safe in fact that she felt as if she could fall into a dreamless, happy slumber. But something was wrong, she was crying and she was holding onto him so tight. She could feel him shaking, his hand brushing around the back of her neck and moving her hair to the side his lips on her ear.
"It will be okay..." He murmured
"I know!" The hurried gasp came from her as her fingers squeezed the back of his neck, her finger tips brushing up his short hair as she closed her eyes once again and let out a shuddering breath, another stream of tears cutting their stinging invisible grooves into her cheeks.
"Please..." He whispered again, hushing her gently and pulling away a little to press a kiss to her forehead, his warm palm on the back of her hair, his other hand on her back as she closed her eyes again, unable to look at him. He held her face in his hands as hers gripped onto the waistcoat around him, her fingers clenching around the material as if it might keep him there. She could feel his eyes on her, tracing her features as if to remember them. When she opened her eyes, a flash of bright light cut across the room, obscuring his face as he stepped closer to her once again and she pressed her forehead to his chest, her hands now gently resting there. She felt one of his hands wrap firmly around her own, holding it to his chest as she opened her eyes, seeing the dimly lit room for a brief moment.
"How could I forget you?" She felt herself break, more tears streaming down her cheeks as she closed her eyes, holding him tighter as he indulged her, gripping her just as tightly.
"Like a cool breeze on a summers day...easy and gentle..." he whispered and she felt him kiss her temple once again.
"But what will you do?" She felt him sigh
"Carry on..." He shrugged "And anyway, there's this girl I've heard about," she felt herself sadden, knowing what he was going to say "she sings in this club downtown,"
"Oh yeah?" she indulged him, sniffing and interlinking their hands as they gently moved to the still playing piano.
"I think I'll go and watch her sometimes...I'll be there, even though she doesn't know I exist." She let out a stifled sob, pressing her face into his chest and stopping all movement as she broke down.
"Lydia..."
And then slowly the dream faded away, sometimes replaying specific moments or touches, a brush of his hand, the way he spoke her name, the way he smelt...before she slowly eased her eyes open in the morning light. The dream confounded her beyond belief. She woke up having cried, but felt no remorse or sadness, just a state of odd blankness which sometimes came from watching a couple on the street or a pair of actors in the movies.
She'd never been one for love. Not that she was against it in any way, it was more that it had never situated itself in her path, she'd never been intrigued enough by anyone to let it happen. She was in love with life, with her little, wonderful life. With making ends meet and darning her stockings and picking a new shade of lipstick which matched a new dress. But the dream perplexed her, she wondered if deep down she'd created a narrative that made her feel less odd for enjoying being so on her own.
But then she'd get up and brush her teeth and do something stupid like knock over the milk jug, trip over the cat or accidentally throw an entire folded set of clean sheets down the stairs and forget the dream had even woken her at all.
...
And he would watch from the apartment window opposite every morning. Watching as she moved around the much smaller apartment, watching as she danced to the gramophone records or sang to the cat which always endured her embraces when promised fresh fish from the market. He watched and he whispered strange words which filtered through her windows and into the cracks of her mind, re-sealing up the starlight which would always manage to find its way through, no matter how hard he'd tried to seal over them forever. And everytime without a doubt he felt himself grow increasingly more lost, almost as if the power itself was draining him. But then he'd watch her smile, or chat to a neighbour as she left the apartment with her overly large coat and handbag swinging from her arm, and he'd feel something in him warm, an ember in a dying fire flicker, just keeping it alive.
"Like a cool breeze on a summers day...easy and gentle..." He murmured to himself, before picking up his suit jacket and slipping it on over his waistcoat.
So i'm just trying this out, if it doesn't work I won't write it but let me know if you think the ideas got any weight behind it. Thanks ;)