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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,742 | Roses: 50
Old 09-13-2010 at 05:04 AM
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Cara Blaze Andovea

The world beneath the Opera House, one filled with mystery and question that had never been answered. It was this, the domain of the Opera Ghost that the winds whispered about and the long winding mazes hid. So many secrets, ones that begged you to find out if they were real or not and the lake, it was the road to it all.

As Cara, Skyla and Verity stepped down into the underground Cara was once again drawn in by the whisper of voices within the wind and the songs trickling along the lakes dark waters.

"It's beautiful here," Verity's voice suddenly came almost braking the enchantment that would hold any first timer. "I'm sure these waters hold a great deal of importance in the Phantom's story."

"And you'd be right" Cara spoke in a soft voice walking over to the waters but making sure she had a strong hold of her daughter's tiny hand.

"These waters where the road between two worlds almost like The River Styx for the Phantom and Christine alike, maybe even Raoul in his own way. A river of life and death. For the Phantom it was his prison, his hell but also his path to heaven and the angel above, for Christine.... it as a world she never knew but answers she had long riddled over and for Raoul. A living death would he lose his love, or safe her?"

Cara's hand dipped into the waters as her voice trailed off letting her words sink in and take effect while you thought them over as a new light finally came into view. This lake, a lake of heaven and hell or demons and angels, she was sure no one else truly saw it that way.

"No one for years knew for sure if he was truly down here, there were so many places to hide and so few people who knew the truth. No mask, no music sheets. Everything untouched as if no one had ever been down here. But you can feel him; swear you see him mostly when you get to the centre and to his throne. The candle sticks, each lighting his way and yet no fire ever got this far down. You'd think someone would want to make sure that he never returned, but it's like a tomb not even the ancient kings had that."


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Old 09-14-2010 at 03:58 AM
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Verity Ravensdale

"And you'd be right" Cara said softly, stepping closer to the water and pulling Skyla along with her. Verity took a seat before the lake, her eyes tracing the gentle ripples in the water.

"These waters where the road between two worlds almost like The River Styx for the Phantom and Christine alike, maybe even Raoul in his own way. A river of life and death. For the Phantom it was his prison, his hell but also his path to heaven and the angel above, for Christine.... it as a world she never knew but answers she had long riddled over and for Raoul. A living death would he lose his love, or safe her?"


Verity's thoughts flashed back to the Greek myth she had learned long ago, the myth of Hades and Persephone. She recalled the plight of Hades; he lived alone in the cold, dark Underworld with little happiness, if any. An earthquake had drawn him out of his realm, and Aphrodite had taken the opportunity to cause him to become utterly besotted with a young goddess, Persephone. He had then stolen her from the world above, taking her to the Underworld so that she might be his bride, his queen.

The story of Hades and Persephone and that of the Phantom seemed to have a good deal in common. No doubt, the Phantom had had all of the same intentions as the king of the dead. Cara's allusion to the river Styx had been all too appropriate.

She waited for her to continue the story, watching wordlessly as the other woman bent down, dipping a hand into the water.

"No one for years knew for sure if he was truly down here, there were so many places to hide and so few people who knew the truth. No mask, no music sheets. Everything untouched as if no one had ever been down here. But you can feel him; swear you see him mostly when you get to the centre and to his throne. The candle sticks, each lighting his way and yet no fire ever got this far down. You'd think someone would want to make sure that he never returned, but it's like a tomb not even the ancient kings had that."

Verity's eyes narrowed in an attempt to examine further back, looking to see if, perhaps, there was something that she was missing. Cara was right, however; she could feel the presence of the Phantom, hear his voice as it sang an intoxicating melody in her ear.

"But..." She started, interrupting her unbidden reverie. "What happened to him? Did he keep Christine for himself? Did Raoul win her?"



I had everything, opportunities for eternity, and I could belong to the night.

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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,742 | Roses: 50
Old 09-15-2010 at 06:29 AM
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 Post [43] »


Cara Blaze Andovea

Cara's hand dipped into the water, the ripples growing and reaching outwards maybe even catching the phantom's eye. Had Christine ever done this? Had Raoul? Had the Phantom ever looked into the deep waters and seen his face mirrored back at him like Cara had done to then pull back and be mad with what he saw?

Water showed an image clearer than any mirror; it showed the curves the crystal clearness. Water also echoed trickled and skipped in song, what would it say? Would it tell of how Raoul had nearly died in it, tell how the Phantom had stolen his love on it? The more she thought about it the more it seemed like the lake of heaven and hell. Maybe it was the souls of the lost that she swore she saw within the depths.

For a long time there was silence Cara's words having time to settle on the mind and start the wheels turning. Whenever Cara told the story she liked to get people to think about it, to question. There were so many questions hanging in the air the big one was the one that Verity spoke next.

"But..." she spoke the hint of upcoming question within the tone. "What happened to him? Did he keep Christine for himself? Did Raoul win her?"

Without taking her eyes from the water Cara softly answered.

"That's the other question everyone wants to know. What happened to the Phantom, could he still be alive? Well THE phantom wouldn't be alive today but as for what happened to him.... After the fire everyone searched what was left up above and down here. They looked all over save for a few places that haven't seen the light of a candle stick even now. Nothing remained that truly gave clue to if he was still alive that night or not. Letters didn't appear no roses save for those that were in the gardens nor in the dressing rooms and none had a black ribbon tied around them. As I said, no masks were found that weren't meant to be and no music sheets save for the ones that had been preformed."

Cara stood keeping something to herself that Dementis had inspired within her.

"As for if he 'won' her no. Raoul saved her or so it was lead to believe by the grave stone found. It was said however that he found a rose with Christine’s ring on it when he went to visit her grave long after her death, but no one could prove it."

Walking back to the centre of the room Cara's eyes travelled along the walls, the candle sticks and more.

"You have to wonder in all the time the Opera House was open, in all the time that everyone said something wasn't quite right. You question why wasn't it researched sooner? Why leave it til after the fire?"

Not waiting for an answer Cara moved on to one of the path ways.

"Come on. There's a lot still to see."


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Old 09-18-2010 at 07:49 PM
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OOC: Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up! I was in a dance competition a few nights ago, and then I needed to make sure all of my work was done. My professors have been feeling like giving out a lote of assignments lately. I should be able to keep up with you now, though! BIC:

Verity Ravensdale

Verity kept her gaze on Cara, listening to her soft response:

"That's the other question everyone wants to know. What happened to the Phantom, could he still be alive? Well THE phantom wouldn't be alive today but as for what happened to him.... After the fire everyone searched what was left up above and down here. They looked all over save for a few places that haven't seen the light of a candle stick even now. Nothing remained that truly gave clue to if he was still alive that night or not. Letters didn't appear no roses save for those that were in the gardens nor in the dressing rooms and none had a black ribbon tied around them. As I said, no masks were found that weren't meant to be and no music sheets save for the ones that had been preformed."


How...strange. How incredibly strange that someone could disappear without a single trace. Though...his name, the Phantom, suggested that he should be able to do just that, that he could leave some people not even sure if he had ever existed.

"As for if he 'won' her no. Raoul saved her or so it was lead to believe by the grave stone found. It was said however that he found a rose with Christine’s ring on it when he went to visit her grave long after her death, but no one could prove it."

Verity bit her lip, preventing herself from saying anything. Tragic, simply tragic, she thought. It was unbelievably tragic and romantic that the Phantom had never stopped loving Christine. The Phantom's final gesture for her was incredibly poetic; from what she had learned of him, she was almost positive that the rumor was true.

A voice danced through her mind, whispering to her. Mourn me, it told her. Mourn me and my loss.

And, inwardly, she did. The Opera Ghost had not deserved anything that had happened to him. He was, in her mind, just a man, a human.

"You have to wonder in all the time the Opera House was open, in all the time that everyone said something wasn't quite right. You question why wasn't it researched sooner? Why leave it til after the fire?" Cara continued, posing questions.

"Come on. There's a lot still to see."

Though Cara left no time for her to reply, Verity wondered. Why hadn't anyone looked into the existence of the Phantom? Perhaps he was too well hidden for anyone to even begin looking for him. After all, the only way to reach his lair had been to pass over the lake.

"Where are we going next?" Verity inquired. She felt utterly immersed in the Phantom's story and, though she would have been content to remain where she was, the idea of continuing brought her excitement.



I had everything, opportunities for eternity, and I could belong to the night.

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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,742 | Roses: 50
Old 09-19-2010 at 07:42 AM
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 Post [45] »


Cara Blaze Andovea

The more Cara talked of the phantom and his story the more she found that she was somewhat talking of her own. Mark was well known around the Opera House but there was still a mystery about him, his hiding under back clothes maybe a symbol of living a life of shadows which, let’s face it, he had somewhat had to. He kept an eye over his wife, from places unseen and sometimes at night whispered sweet nothing's in her ear.

Cara herself could relate to Christine, a dancer and a singer searching for love and being shown the light of the stage. She had then been showed a new world and a new love all in one and though Christine had Raoul fighting the phantom for her heart weren't Dementis and Mark somewhat the same?

As much as she could Cara tried to reveal the truth and known facts about the inner heart of the Paris Opera House to later then once again arrive upon a new question. Why hadn't research been done long ago, why was it said that only one other person other than the famous couple had ever seen the Opera Ghost?

So many questions lingered in mind and heart and as Cara moved on she could tell her new friend was thinking about it.

"Where are we going next?"

"Sweet Music's Throne." Cara stated simply though inwardly she added his domain


OCC: I thought maybe we could move the thread now to, as Cara said, Sweet Music's Throne.


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Old 01-27-2011 at 01:41 AM
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 Post [46] »


Ashton Greene

Tristan und Isolde so far was beautiful. The music was harsh, almost dissonant, as it rang out over the seats, finding fuel in the approbation of the audience and their appreciative and impressed applause.

Ashton smiled over the edge of the box seats at the stage. She was up so high, enjoying the opera with a bird’s eye view. She had to fight the urge to drop the contents of her purse down at her fellow audience members, although, honestly, temptation was easy to conquer with such a beautiful, strange, and almost unfamiliar story playing before her.

There was a hiatus in the opera, as the curtain fell, the lights blinding her momentarily as they crescendoed to on.

Lucian took her hand, insisting he had something to show her during intermission, and let her out of the theatre.

Ashton was confused. There was no concession stand, no gift shop to buy Isolde dolls. They certainly weren’t going home.

Ashton was accosted by stairs. And then more stairs. Each one was steeper than the last, and more carefully crafted than its predecessor.

She could hear water beneath the humming of voices, it’s light dancing in polygons as it moved with the ebb and flow across the rocky surface, each one like a little sun, gliding to nature’s choreography.

The voices spoke in unintelligible French. Words ran together, overlapped each other, as echoes fought for the ear’s attention.

Where the hell had he taken her?


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


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Old 01-27-2011 at 02:49 AM
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Lucian Michaud

Natalie never understood Lucian’s love for opera. When they were younger, it had been an “adorable” quirk of his. She often would shrug and roll her eyes and say, “But, God love him, he’s half French. What else would you expect?”. Over time, her adoration diminished. It hadn’t merely cooled with time and age, though. It completely froze over. Lucian then dragged Damien along to expose him to culture. When Damien got older, though, Lucian just went alone. He’d sat through hours and hours with Puccini, Wagner, and Mozart for company.

Tonight, he sat with Ashton Greene.

Tristan und Isolde had never been a favourite of Lucian’s, but he had no particular bone to pick with it. And as a friend to the Opera Populaire, Lucian had to attend at least the occasional show. Otherwise, he simply wasn’t getting his money’s worth. Ashton had been surprisingly willing to attend the show on Lucian’s arm, too. They made for an odd couple as Lucian did his mandatory pre-show mingling, but it was a comfort to have her at his side while Lucian made small-talk and, later, when they nestled into their box to watch the madness of Tristan und Isolde. Of course, Lucian found the show ridiculously difficult to watch tonight. Every few moments, Lucian would steal a glance at Ashton, in hopes to read her expression. He wondered, often, throughout the night, if she was enjoying herself. He also wondered how she wasn’t cold, now that her coat was in the downstairs coat-check. The sheer bits of her dress had to be... chilly. They were certainly distracting for Lucian.

Shut your eyes and think of Damien, he thought, each time he stole a quick glance at Ashton. The image of Damien’s repulsion nearly broke Lucian’s heart and always managed to wrench his gaze from Ashton’s legs to the stage.

He was getting restless. The opera was long. It was cacophonous. Ashton made him nervous and guilty. There was no way he was going to survive all three acts.

Which was why Lucian had bread in his briefcase.

“I have something to show you,” he whispered to Ashton. His voice, a quiet, breathy hiss under the roar of applause, was clear and easily heard as the curtain closed for intermission. “Follow me.”

His blue-grey eyes flickered a little mischievously as he led Ashton downstairs. He’d travelled this path a few times before. Once, he’d gotten lost and stumbled across a peculiar homeless boy with a violin down this path. Other times, though, he’d seen a few stagehands pass their break here. The space beneath the opera house was the same from the Phantom of the Opera legend, but to Lucian it was more interesting than that. Part of Paris’ intricate catacombs system, it possessed a large, subterranean lake. And the lake had fish.

That was why Lucian had bread.

That was why he brought Ashton down here.

That would satiate Lucian’s restlessness.

Hopefully.

“Here we are,” Lucian said, rummaging through his briefcase for a flashlight. “Be careful, it’s a bit slippy...”
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Old 01-28-2011 at 02:14 AM
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Ashton Greene

Ashton’s eyes widened excitedly. The sound of the water as it whooshed around underground, the light reflecting on the rocky, slimy, face of the vaulted caverns. It was beautiful sight inside a beautiful site. A lake beneath an opera house. It was like finding chocolate inside a beautiful ornate box. Sooner or later, while you enjoy the chocolate, you forget about its carrier.

People were trickling out. Ashton looked around, confused. Were they not seeing what she was seeing? Were they not witnessing this profound gem? How could they just stand, smell, see, and leave?

“Here we are. Be careful, it’s a bit slippy...”

But Ashton wasn’t listening. She grabbed Lucian’s hand and pulled him to the edge of the lake. She knelt down, floating her fingers on the surface, as hungry fish came up, kissing her finger tips. She smiled at them. She loved fish. In the bowl, on the plate, in the lake, baked in oil. It didn’t matter. There was something so beautifully calming about them. The way they glided through the water at lightening speeds, the way their bodies moved, water rushing by them, supporting them elegantly. These fish, colourless, lacked the whirling rainbow that calmed nerves and mesmerized. But, though colourless, their scales still lit up in the reflective water as the light bounced around.

“Fish!” Ashton said! “Look!”

She felt like such a little child, her fascination growing with every sight and sound around her. It made Lucian seem that much older.

“Thank you!” She said, with a simple enthusiasm, putting her arms around him almost clumsily, her bare knee scraping the rocky surface harshly. She didn’t say anything about the punctured skin. “This has been such a good day with you.”

Ashton had heard that opera had one of two effects on people. They either loved it, lived it (able to sing it or not), or they appreciated it. No one ever walked out of an opera hating it. To the untrained, unobservant senses, opera could never be bad. It was never harsh or cruel to the audience. It was utterly beautiful, oftentimes provocative, and incredibly powerful. It made the audience believe in love, life, death, and magic. Ashton fit into the appreciators’ category. She couldn’t sing opera, she didn’t have insatiable need to sing along. But she loved to go, especially when in such good company.

But Ashton was learning quickly that maybe it was beneath the opera stage that the real magic happened. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the place, maybe it was the current company, or maybe it was the history of the place. Whatever it was, it made reality disappear momentarily as the last of the strangers left. It was just her, Lucian and the fish in this big, empty, hauntingly beautiful space.


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


Banners by Rose, my sister, and me.
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Old 01-28-2011 at 05:17 AM
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Lucian Michaud

Ashton slipped her hand into Lucian’s. There was nothing for Lucian to do but smile. He was no longer shocked each time Ashton reached for him, but he’d come to appreciate her touch so much in the last few months. It was much needed and Lucian knew that he could no longer take contact for granted. He could feel warmth emanating from Ashton’s finger tips. The warmth in her hands wouldn’t last much longer. But it almost didn’t matter. Ashton seemed transfixed by the lake and the cavernous space they stood in. Lucian, too, found that the splendour of the Palais Garnier still hadn’t diminished. If anything, it was better now that he wasn’t lost and had someone to share it with. A tug on his arm snapped Lucian from his thoughts as Ashton crouched down to stick her fingers in the chilly water.

“Fish!” Ashton said. “Look!”

Lucian’s smile broadened. She sounded so happy… She sounded so young. What was she going to do next? Call him Daddy and ask him to put her on his shoulders? For a moment, Lucian felt a sickened twist. He was an idiot to get so close to Ashton. She was his son’s fiancée. She was his son’s age. And she acted it, too. Lucian was not—and would never be again—twenty-three. He couldn’t pretend he was just to keep pace with her. He could watch her child-like enthusiasm and sigh soft, wistful sighs from his middle-aged vantage point. Many men his age would say youth was wasted on the young. But when Lucian saw Ashton, he knew she appreciated every moment of being alive. And if he could elicit her sunny smile, the fraction of youthfulness he felt in return was enough. Or it should have been. He should never hope for more than that. In the coming years, he’d see her marry Damien and watch his son draw out that bright smile from her. And even if that wasn’t “enough”, Lucian would have to pretend it was. He would have to for his son’s sake, for his future grandchildren’s sake, and for Ashton’s. His blue-grey eyes clouded over just a little at the thought and he took to staring beyond Ashton. The stalagmites and stalactites were almost interesting, after all.

Lucian almost lost his footing as Ashton launched herself into his unsuspecting arms for an embrace.

“Thank you!” she said happily, pressing herself to him. “This has been such a good day with you.”

Lucian folded his arms around her and tightened the hug just a tad. He wished he could stay in that moment for the rest of the opera. Who cared how Tristan und Isolde ended, anyways? Lucian had seen it plenty of times. He knew the plot—who lived, who died, and who fell in love. He’d rather be living his life. At least that he didn’t know the ending to. And he could stay in this embrace contentedly until Sunday came and went and Pierre sent a search party after them.

“I’m so glad you think so,” Lucian said quietly, still smiling. “I always have a good day when you’re with me.”

That wasn’t too risky a thing to say... Was it?
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Old 01-29-2011 at 02:40 AM
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Ashton Greene

The fish tickled her fingers, and she wondered why Lucian wasn’t joining her in putting his hands in the water. It was fun, it was refreshing.

She had noticed that fun and refreshing were two words that perfectly described her recent interactions with Lucian.

“I’m so glad you think so,” Lucian said quietly, still smiling. “I always have a good day when you’re with me.”

She smiled at him, her attention diverted from the fish to Lucian. He seemed completely honest. She wanted to believe him. But he was, after all, a politician. Politicians lied. It was a prerequisite for the job. But she looked him in the eyes, regaining composure. “I feel quite the same way as well, Lucian.”

“Here,” she said, taking his hand, pushing up the sleeve slowly. She could feel his skin below her hands, rising as they were exposed to the cooler air.

She lingered there for a moment, holding his hand in hers before placing it gently into the water with hers. She looked at him, smiling. She wanted him to know that it was okay. Whatever was bothering him, it was okay. She was there with him, with the fish.

She placed her other hand beneath the clear surface of the cool pool and held his hand in hers there. “Who takes care of them I wonder…” She said, not sure if she said that aloud or inwardly.


If I can't hear the music, and the audience is gone,

I'll dance here on my own.


Banners by Rose, my sister, and me.
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