Everything's Turning to White is by Paul Kelly, one of the greatest Australian musicians ever and this is one of my favourite songs of his.
Authoress –staring at something sitting before her drenched in a golden beam of sunlight- Oh my god
Erik: What?
Authoress: It's unbelievable
Erik: It's not that impres-
Authoress: Shut up –goes on staring-
Erik: It's a pen scrawl, you have several hundred thousand as I recall, and it's not even your name.
Authoress: I brought the book, oh my dear lord I can't believe it
Erik: I've gathered that
Authoress: Would you bugger off? This is a momentous day.
Erik: It's a Monday, and last time I bothered to check, you were still a Garfield-ite
Authoress: Go A Way. This is the equivalent of 6 birthdays and 7 Christmases
Erik: - reaches out a hand to touch, is suddenly held at pocketknife point by the Authoress-
Authoress: Back off you animated cloak stand, its mine!
Erik: It's your fathers'
Authoress: Doesn't matter, hands off.
Erik: Remind me again what is so special about this…thing
Authoress: This "thing" as you so eloquently put it is a hand signed book plate for my Dad's copy of Runes of the Earth, the Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant by Stephen Donaldson, a man whom the ground beneath his feet I am not worthy to kiss. He is all that is magic in the written word. The creator of Mirror of her Dreams, A Man Rides Through, Reave the Just and Daughter of Regals, he wrote Penance. And that same hand which penned the words "It may be that I have no soul. But I have a heart!" deigned to grace the bookplate of my father's novel. That is what it is.
Erik: -shifts uncomfortably before the knife- Oh…I see
Authoress: -tangeting- In all my writing life I have desired three things. To be as rich as Rowling, as legendary as Tolkien, and as good as Donaldson. If I ever achieve the third, my life will be complete!
Erik: -nods hastily and makes his escape as the Authoress goes back to her rapt contemplation of the book-
Adriana opened her eyes to the darkness in the room, Erik's arm draped over her waist, pulling her against him. She sighed and gently wormed out from under him, careful not to wake her sleeping lover, a red sheet slid from the end of the bed with a slight tug and was wrapped around her full frame. Silently she exited the room, closing the door behind her and walked out the passage to the main room, she stood at the bank of the lake, staring sightlessly over the dark water.
What was she doing here? Lost in her favourite fantasy, her, the class idiot of Year 12 2005, running out of her exams to find the type of adventure she'd dreamed and written of for years, who was she fooling? She didn't belong here, not in the bright carnival of Paris, nor the dark shadow world of the Phantom. Her throat tightened but her eyes were too dry to tear, her heart ached when she thought of him. For God's sake she wasn't his! And now, of all things, planning to catch a mass murderer! How does a sugar high eighteen year old with an angst addiction go about that?
Adriana was struck with a sudden pang of homesickness, all she wanted was to be sitting on school desks, gossiping with her friends and banging her head to her Creed CD's, one of the few the double had neglected to provide her with. She missed home.
She looked down at her hands, stained red by the reflection of the scarlet sheets, "Out! Out damn spot!" she murmured, "Oh will these hands never be clean?" she twisted her hands against the velvet blanket and blinked back the tell tale prickling behind her eyes. Looking into the water, she took a step down, placing her bare feet into the water and letting the tail end of her makeshift sarong soak and drift away from her ankles. "And there's so much water, so close to home" the familiar, haunting tune slipped out before she realised what she was singing.
"Adriana?" Erik was walking towards her, concern etched into his harsh face, his glowing eyes haunting lights in his visage. The Theatre Wraith looked at his naked form over once with a half-sardonic glance and a smile flickered her amusement. "You can't sleep either?"
"Not when you are drifting through my house like a ghost," Erik reprimanded half seriously, he covered her bare shoulders with his long arms and gazed over the lake with her, asking in all reality, what was a very stupid question, "What plagues your thoughts my dearest?"
"Just realising how much of a Pandora's Box I am," she replied quietly, Erik's hands rubbed her pale arms comfortingly, then settled around her waist, pulling her against his strong chest, "How so?"
She shrugged aimlessly, leaning her head back against his shoulder to look up at his face, "I'm like you Erik, I feel everything, every passion and emotion, and I'm left with the choice of storing at away so deep I never dwell on it, or I lose myself in the pain," she smiled mockingly at her own reflection in the lake, "Neither choice is all that pleasant sometimes."
Erik kissed the top of her head softly, "You need sleep," he urged, she shook her head, "I cant…not yet," she kicked up a few drops of water, "I'll sleep when I'm ready, you go,"
Erik sighed with disappointment, and kissed behind her ear, "Good night, Môn minou," he sang softly, and released her returning to their chambers.
Adriana waited until she heard the door close, and stared at the water again, resuming her song, "When he holds me now I'm pretending
I feel like I'm frozen inside
And behind my eyes
My daily disguise
Everything's turning to white,"
She let her sarong drop and stepped deeper into the water, letting the icy water take over her thoughts as she swam through the lake, a second, overwhelmed Siren. "And there's so much water, so close to home…"
Dripping and naked, she rose from the water, weighed down with the burden of her emotions. She crossed to the passage and slipped into the bedroom, squeezing a few drops of water from her hair she climbed into bed beside the sleeping Erik, curling up against his thin frame and closing her eyes in a desperate attempt to shut out the memories.
Long arms swept around and embraced her, "Do not fear, my Adriana," God's own perfect voice purred softly, "I am yours to hold to," Adriana gripped him tightly in reply, battling her tears, "Cry, my dearest, then sleep," Erik murmured, "Erik is here,"
And Adriana wept, salted tears burning her skin. For herself, for her emotions, and for the dead woman, coated in her own blood in that back alley of Paris and with a name she should never have known torn into her skin. Erik held her, whispering gentle nothings of encouragement through the war of her sobs. "Sleep," he hushed finally, "Sleep and when you wake…" Adriana pressed against him, hiccups giving over to exhausted slumber, "…know that I care for you,"