she allows this catharsis ; she expected no less from the man who was a refuge within the torment of a shattered illusion. a mien once contorted with a semblance of disquietude now only transitions to one full of hope of a evening which could be full of joy , because with one turn , she knows , she can look into his eyes and feel the light filter through the foliage. we both deserve a soft epilogue. one of the summer breeze kissing our skin and memories abandoned to wither, where angel-veiled eyes allowed her to be buoyant on felicity even if it were built upon a lie. she mulls over these words : grotesque pretenses. the grotesque maw , the screams reverberating within her memory , his spat venom , the angel of music : was a fallacy. with nimble digits entwined in his own , descending from the carriage &. looking in awe, with rapt fascination of the festivities : the lambent lights , those teetering with merriment &. excitement , head swivels to his , lissome shoulders rise in her juvenescent glee
❛ do you think we will be able to identify our friends ? ❜ her tone is light , inquisitive as they walk forward , a quick glimpse of one donned in a monkeys suit , cymbals attached in faux play , she blinks owlishly : she is suddenly brought to something she wish would stay within the confines of her mind , then sharply turns her head back to him , feigning a smile. ❛ how many costumes can you name , i see : clown , ————- ❜ forefinger points , discreetly to not bring undue attention to themselves , for wandering eyes were intrigued with the songbird &. the vicomte ❛ bull ! your turn mon amour , and you cannot repeat mine ! ❜
HE LIVES A CHARMED LIFE. With father and mother above blessing and brother and sisters on earth doting, he has no care in the world. His intelligence is such that any challenge posed is easily dealt with; his temperament is such that any vexation falls away by evening and he closes his eyes to sleep.
Indeed, he has neither needs nor wants that cannot be taken of, save for one Christine Daae whom he watches keenly over only because he loves her so. But despite his worry, he does believe her to be free. LET THE PAST DIE, CHRISTINE, LET HIM GO, BANISH HIM BACK TO THE DARK. After months of peace, surely she no longer fears. He gazes into her warm eyes, and smiles when she smiles. HE CANNOT PIERCE THE VEIL HE DOES NOT SEE. He does not know; she does not share. Secrets, more secrets still she hides. The innocent Vicomte de Chagny and his troubled bride, gliding down the hall, met with envy from some quarters, ridicule from others.
He stirs her away gently from gossip. With his status - and his brother’s reputation - he knows many view Christine as no more than a plaything for him to forget after a season. He would sooner tell the whole world of their engagement to shut down rumours, but Christine always pleads with him not to. He acquiesces, just as he acquiesces to the game she proposes. He points to a goose, next a ram. The animals do not intimidate, but he spots masks that are quite macabre. Expressionless ones half white half black, grotesque smiles etched on colourful ones.
“Shall we dance, fiancée mine?”
A slip of the tongue, he cannot help himself from the joy whenever they are together.
