Disclaimer: I only own Elizabeth Lee and henchman #2 (Henchman #1 got a better offer and more lines). The song belongs to Muse.
Chapter Seven: My Beautiful
She beckoned him to the dance floor, a temptress luring a hero to his doom. The music lifted them up, serene promises of vain fulfillment. Her eyes held forever in them, guarded by a sorrow that stretched out like a chasm between them.
Lips are turning blue, a kiss that can't renew.
I only dream of you, my beautiful.
Images blurred at the corners of his eyes, objects that just didn't matter while wrapped in this new universe, an embryo of forgotten sensations. What had passed between them that suddenly left him so lost for words? Nothing but a searing infestation of enchantment could bond him so close to an eternal question.
Tiptoe to your room; a starlight in the gloom.
I only dream of you, and you never knew.
The words were wrapping around his mind, her eyes shooting through him like an arrow of desolation, so cold, searching faithlessly for an impetuous flame. Her arms were resting like silken feathers on his arms, but nothing could act as an anchor with her touch.
Sing for absolution,
I will be singing,
Falling from your grace.
He thought he had her figured out for the most part; he thought he knew so much. He had never looked her in the eyes. Until now. And swiftly meaning was falling away, like the floor was slipping from under his feet, and he was flying, soaring on the wings of ecstasy. What had happened? Why do some songs never make sense until you live them, for them, through them? First sight was supposed to be a myth…
There's nowhere left to hide, in no one to confide.
The truth runs deep inside, and will never die.
Falling had been so easy, but the reason was so complex. There was always why, but never an answer. Did he really need one? Or was it all within her, lurking deep inside, waiting to burst forth? For him. Did the reason why even matter? Here was here now, and he would follow.
Lips are turning blue, a kiss that can't renew.
I only dream of you, my beautiful.
She was turning in his arms, and he could do this forever, twirling about on the lips of vertigo. Whatever was out there could wait, and whatever was in him could hide. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't turning away, and he didn't have to. Was it so simple? Could it be so simple?
Sing for absolution,
I will be singing,
Falling from your grace.
He thought he knew himself. Maybe he should look in the mirror, and look himself in the eye. He didn't know so much, after all.
Back into the box. Back into the cell of purity and emptiness that wrapped itself around him, and vowed never to let go. It expanded and enclosed, a vortex unto itself. He couldn't escape this blinding white that stretched forever outward to nothing. He wanted to see the sun. He still remembered those days vividly, the small backyard playground that housed tormented souls and taunted low self esteems. Where everything began. He used to shield his eyes from that harsh light, cursing it to be gone, to discontinue its descent into his soul. Now he wanted it more than anything. This light was far harsher, in its own, meticulously straining way. It was sterile, artificial, and empty. When she came, he almost remembered the light of day. It fell like golden arcs around her shoulders, gleaming with unwearied glory. The sun would burn him if he came too close; after all, he was only sticks and straw. But wouldn't it be a scintillating surrender?
Our wrongs remain unrectified,
And our souls won't be exhumed.