DISCLAIMER: I don't own the song, "If I Can't Love Her" and I don't
own the characters in this fict. (there's no more room in my closet or
under my bed so. I can't keep them. Not to mention all the people who would
hang me for committing such high treason! Ew.) Anyway, the lines with the
asterisk (*) next to them are lyrics. I hope you enjoy this. Please R&R.
Merci, au revoir.
---@
The dwindling light of the candles faintly illuminated the man who stood by the water's edge, silently staring into the darkness, unheeding of the bitter cold. One hand still reaching for a dream, his fingers twitching slightly as they met with nothing more than the wraiths of night. The arm fell limply against the man's side. For several moments the atmosphere was sepulchral. A corpse stood motionless on the bank of a lake, tears rolling from its empty eye sockets. The voice of an angel whispered across the still water, only to be silenced by a final cry of agony, the pain of which would have made Mephistopheles blanch in shame. The corpse, or rather the man, fell to his knees; a pitiful, yet all too familiar, gesture. His dark cloak pooled around him before he snatched it back up, wrapping it around his skeletal frame; long, elegant fingers fumbling clumsily to secure the clasp. The man looked down at the water. A visage rivaling the most hideous of Notre Dame's grotesque gargoyles stared back.
* And in my twisted face. There's not the slightest trace. of anything
that even hints of kindness.
Endeavoring to rise, the dark figure only stumbled back, his muscles disobedient in fierce rebellion.
* And from my tortured shape, no comfort, no escape.I see, but deep
within is utter blindness.
"Oh. Christine."
The plea slipped from between his warped lips, bringing with it a deluge of recollection. A nightingale, a cage, a chaste and pure maiden flying away on golden wings. The man sighed in defeat; irrational thought was tiresome, but of course he wasn't even aware of these images as they crossed his mind. He replaced the mask, feeling the leather slip seductively over his scarred flesh. His only lover.
*Hopeless. As my dream dies, as the time flies, love a lost
illusion.Helpless. Unforgiven.Cold and driven, to this sad conclusion.
He stood, looking down into the coffin; the reminder of a dreamless sleep far sweeter than any he would find on earth. That had terrified her too, the thought of death. The man welcomed death's definitive embrace. It would be the only one he would ever know. Her kiss would be the only one to grace his lips, and the dark mistress would lead him home, to his final rest.
*No pain could be deeper, No life could be cheaper. No point anymore,
if I can't love her.No spirit could win me, No hope left within me.
His dearest love had shunned him and his world. He was a brilliant architect, carving a kingdom out of ebony and moonlight. It had crumbled in billows of dust. Hades had brought Persephone down into the underworld to be his queen. The woman had refused, longing for warmth and sunlight. Another heavy sigh. The dark king fell, and the world reveled in his pain. Few people realized that during the spring, Hades wept; cursing and blighting the world for all its pleasures. For underground there was nothing but darkness. No warmth, no love, no hope.
*No passion could reach me. No lesson could teach me how I could have
loved her and made her love me too.If I can't love her, then--
He stroked the black wood of the casket. Perhaps there was no need to wait anymore. Now would be as ideal a time as any. He stepped back, aware of another voice inside his mind. One that told him such behavior was foolish and weak.
*No hope she would do so, no dream to pursue. So I look to myself.
despise all the things I see. For I know that she cannot set me free.
Let the world be done with me.
---@
The dwindling light of the candles faintly illuminated the man who stood by the water's edge, silently staring into the darkness, unheeding of the bitter cold. One hand still reaching for a dream, his fingers twitching slightly as they met with nothing more than the wraiths of night. The arm fell limply against the man's side. For several moments the atmosphere was sepulchral. A corpse stood motionless on the bank of a lake, tears rolling from its empty eye sockets. The voice of an angel whispered across the still water, only to be silenced by a final cry of agony, the pain of which would have made Mephistopheles blanch in shame. The corpse, or rather the man, fell to his knees; a pitiful, yet all too familiar, gesture. His dark cloak pooled around him before he snatched it back up, wrapping it around his skeletal frame; long, elegant fingers fumbling clumsily to secure the clasp. The man looked down at the water. A visage rivaling the most hideous of Notre Dame's grotesque gargoyles stared back.
* And in my twisted face. There's not the slightest trace. of anything
that even hints of kindness.
Endeavoring to rise, the dark figure only stumbled back, his muscles disobedient in fierce rebellion.
* And from my tortured shape, no comfort, no escape.I see, but deep
within is utter blindness.
"Oh. Christine."
The plea slipped from between his warped lips, bringing with it a deluge of recollection. A nightingale, a cage, a chaste and pure maiden flying away on golden wings. The man sighed in defeat; irrational thought was tiresome, but of course he wasn't even aware of these images as they crossed his mind. He replaced the mask, feeling the leather slip seductively over his scarred flesh. His only lover.
*Hopeless. As my dream dies, as the time flies, love a lost
illusion.Helpless. Unforgiven.Cold and driven, to this sad conclusion.
He stood, looking down into the coffin; the reminder of a dreamless sleep far sweeter than any he would find on earth. That had terrified her too, the thought of death. The man welcomed death's definitive embrace. It would be the only one he would ever know. Her kiss would be the only one to grace his lips, and the dark mistress would lead him home, to his final rest.
*No pain could be deeper, No life could be cheaper. No point anymore,
if I can't love her.No spirit could win me, No hope left within me.
His dearest love had shunned him and his world. He was a brilliant architect, carving a kingdom out of ebony and moonlight. It had crumbled in billows of dust. Hades had brought Persephone down into the underworld to be his queen. The woman had refused, longing for warmth and sunlight. Another heavy sigh. The dark king fell, and the world reveled in his pain. Few people realized that during the spring, Hades wept; cursing and blighting the world for all its pleasures. For underground there was nothing but darkness. No warmth, no love, no hope.
*No passion could reach me. No lesson could teach me how I could have
loved her and made her love me too.If I can't love her, then--
He stroked the black wood of the casket. Perhaps there was no need to wait anymore. Now would be as ideal a time as any. He stepped back, aware of another voice inside his mind. One that told him such behavior was foolish and weak.
*No hope she would do so, no dream to pursue. So I look to myself.
despise all the things I see. For I know that she cannot set me free.
Let the world be done with me.