@fantomese dreamed: ❝ you must never ask me that. ❞
𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓 --- 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. she knew she was safe here , mother was very firm. she made it very clear that the ghost would not harm her , nor as he any kind of creature of magic and myth , equipped with a magical punjab lasso that would string her to the fly bridge when she least expected it. as she waited with him , her hands were placed delicately upon her legs. a ballerina must hold herself with the upmost grace and decorum at all times , mother says. and she is determined to do exactly as mother says.
which is how she ended up here , perched at the foot of the ghost’s organ , waiting for mother to return. the ghost himself seems perfectly content to ignore her as he sat above her at the organ , scribbling away at his music. despite the candelabras placed around the dark lair , this was one of the darkest rooms meg had ever been in. she wondered how the ghost was even able to see the paper in front of him. it was not , however , dark enough to disguise that the ghost looked much more like a man than she had exepected. everything about him looked almost normal --- which made the addition of a sleek white mask on his face all the more intriguing.
the question itself was innocent enough , a small bright voice joining the scratch of the quill and the noises of the lake in the air. why do you wear a mask ??? she had queried , a little scared of his response. and he had taken his time --- the quill stopped scratching against the paper and his head lifted. for a moment meg had worried for her safety , but her sense returned as she remembered her mother’s words. he would not harm her , of that she was certain. and her mother was never wrong. still , she pauses before answering him.
‘ .... why not ?? ’ she is timid in anticipation of his response. he pauses again , silent and still. she is overcome with the need to fill the silence with something , anything. ‘ monsieur buqet says things .... horrible things ... are they true ?? ’
