Dreaming of Beauty - Private OnexOne

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

Cool floors was what Marguerite encountered under her as she finally managed to wrestle herself out of the multitude of warm, heavy blanket on her, making her wrinkle her toes and slide her feet together as she glanced around at the furniture that filled the room, like the large redwood wardrobe close by, and the matching chairs and lounge a ways down with their plush, crimson cushions and curved legs. The dizziness that had hit her slightly when she first stood up quickly slipped away again, and unaware of her companion's concern she quietly padded across the room, intent on getting a closer look at any and everything.

She was slipping past this set of seating, Isabella in tow, when she spotted an incredibly long and ornately decorated bookshelf against the wall behind one chair. Her reaction was strong, yet comically belated, as while her head and upper body quickly stopped before the piece to inspect her feet had apparently missed the memo on this, Meg taking a couple more steps before balance was threatened and she righted herself again. The shelves before her, going from level with her ankles to high above her head, were filled to bursting with books and odd little trinkets, and she had to mentally restrain herself from touching any of them, although her movements gave away her thoughts as her hand reached halfway up twice, twitching at the wrist and coming back down behind her back both times.

But throughout her little exploration, Meg had been sure to keep one ear on what Isabella had to say, and when she spoke up about the sheer size of the rest of the house, comparing it to this titanic room, her pale eyes fell back on the made too, wide and intrigued at the idea. In the silence that followed Isabella's odd statement (which unfortunately didn't get picked up by the already distracted girl), she didn't feel any oddness or discomfort at the silence because she was too occupied imagining her own version of the silent house; the surely multiple floors, mile long hallways, and gigantic rooms that numbered in the triplet digits.

By the time Isabella broke through the silence to catch her attention, she'd let the imaginary house grow to the size of the great Louvre, and she was more than happy for a distraction from the overwhelming idea. But turning and seeing the wardrobe Isabella was going for and opening up, the shock that settled was too much to keep herself silent this time. “How did you manage... I wasn't asleep for more than a night, was I? How could these have been brought in so-” But the flabbergasted girl was quickly dragged into the commotion of getting put into yet another gown that had been miraculously provided for her.

It wasn't long, between Meg's hasty changing and Isa's help, before she had been stuffed into a simple but nicely cut dress of cream, the bodice and paneled skirt lined in a cool blue. She nervously fingered the ruffled end of one sleeve as she turned to Isabella again, a concerned look on her face. “Honestly, what will you do with all of these dresses once I leave? I imagine there aren't many as small as me, as you said. I'll also need to find a way to bring back this one... ”

Marguerite trailed off, thinking back to what Isabella had said while she changed, about anything she needed. Realizing she hadn't answered, she let go of her slightly abused sleeve to smile at Isa, shaking her head the slightest bit. “Really, I don't need anything; I don't want to be a bother. Although it is nice of you to offer... and the Monsieur, as well.” That last part had Meg tilting her head to the side with an obviously curious look, wondering at the surprising generosity of the man. The want to finally see him face to face and verify what she suspected came back with a force, bring a smile focused to Isabella back to her lips, her body already turning towards the door to the room, though she made no movements towards it just yet. “If I could just see him as soon as possible, that'd be more than enough. There are some things I'd like to ask him...”

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • I s a b e l l a .
Be our guest! Be our guest!
Put our service to the test
Tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie
And we'll provide the rest
_________________________________________________________________________________

"Ah! Gorgeous!"

Isabella gave a pleased nod as she took a moment to stand back and admire her work - The dress fit the young woman impeccably, despite her particularly small stature. Though while it had been her measurements calculated, it had actually been the Master's doing on allocating the wardrobe itself. To this day it amused her to no end. It was so bizarre, he had always been so crafty at finding the unfindable...

The coy smile that adorned the maid's face seemed to all but absorb the confused stammering of the other young woman - Statements such as "How did you get this?" and "Will will you do with them?" either being completely bypassed or conveniently tossed out the proverbial window. Instead, she waved a long-fingered, gold-ring adorned hand indifferently, tiny metallic clicks resounding through the air as the fine jewelry brushed against each other. "Oh please, don't worry about it. The dresses are yours, at least that's what M de Mansart said. When you do eventually leave, you take them!" A quiet emphasis was put on the word 'eventually', as if perhaps Isabella expected Meg to stay for more than just the previous night. Without much more thought, she moved forward to carefully straighten a panel of the cream dress which Marguerite bore, patting the fabric down as it smoothed out.

"Believe me, money isn't much of an object with that man." Standing straight once more, Isabella beamed a warm smile as she planted a hand firmly in the curve of her hip and began to say something more.. Just as Meg began to inquire about the Lord of the House. The smile faded, leaving behind a blank expression, as if she was surprised to hear such a request. Her eyes turned searchingly toward an adjacent wall while a hand moved to comb tenderly through a long portion of her black hair, her gaze was searching - as if looking for the words to describe an unspeakable hesitance in her demeanor. "Who? Master de Mansart?" She gasped the rhetorical question and gulped quietly, tracing her hand from her hair to the skin of her dark-toned cheek. "I suppose you could see him.. But then, he doesn't like to be disturbed much. But for your case.. Maybe..." Her voice trailed off, thoughtfully, unsure what to do or say. For some reason, she realized she hadn't anticipated Meg asking for this... And thus had never asked what he desired her to do in this very situation.

Dark brows furrowed, deep in thought, before Isabella's black eyes wandered back onto her guest and she proceeded to nod faintly with a pursing of her lips. "Very well... I'll take you to him.." And with that said, the decision was made. Isabella moved gracefully across the room, though her step remained somewhat unsure as she reached the door. Motioning for Marguerite to follow, the large, intricately carved, paneled door clicked open - Making way into a long, dark hallway.

The room which they were leaving was like an entirely different world to that of the rest of the mansion. Meg's room had been bright and warm, its windows lined with thin curtains that allowed the morning rays of sunshine to beam through and light the airy, inviting environment. Though the hallway that they entered was made up of the same assorted redwood and paneling, just as the previous room, thick blood red curtains covered the series of windows that lined one side of the corridor, completely blocking out any and all light that might attempt to break through. Small tables lined this side and that, with little trinkets and antiques scattered across them and even more books placed in little piles here and there. A single strand of red carpeting led like a pathway down the corridor and around the corner, past the occasional, looming door that led to who knew what kind of devilish or amazing places. Elaborate candelabras were installed securely every few feet in the walls, but none where lit, and it was reminiscent of walking into a cold, dark cave as Isabella led Meg into the abyss.

_________________________________________________________________________________
Life is so unnerving
For a servant who's not serving
He's not whole without a soul to wait upon
Ah, those good old days when we were useful...
Suddenly those good old days are gone ...
T e r é z i a . • ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

Meg came the closest she had all morning to toppling over as she turned in a sharp twirl to face Isabella again, the word 'shock' barely covering the expression on her face. Keep the dresses?! It was completely unbelievable! She had seen at least a dozen gowns pulled from that wardrobe before the one she now wore was chosen, and most of them had been a fair share more extravagant, and to top it off she was sure that had been only the tip of the iceberg, given the many drawers that hadn't even been touched. How could anyone, no matter how rich, be willing to just toss all that expense out the window?!

While Meg didn't give in to the urge to garble out yet another tirade about the irrational of it all, her body language more than showed her feelings. Her mouth opened wide, froze, and fell tightly shut and thin, black eyebrows furrowed and straightened out so many times it was a wonder she didn't get whiplash, as each time she made the odd expression her head would alternate between looking at the wardrobe, Isabella, and down at her own clothes. At one point some sound finally came from her, but it was quiet and mumbled, unintelligible since it was quiet sounded like it could have been English or Spanish, thus clear to no one but herself.

Before she could even give an acceptable response to this news, the subject had moved on to seeing the ever-growing-more-interesting master of the house, a topic Isabella didn't seem too kin about, actually. For the first time Marguerite saw the woman seem unsure of herself, a very hesitant air practically emanating off of her and her gestures. In light of this, Meg put aside the overwhelming generosity shown her (at least for now, as it surely would not be the last of it) to instead wonder at her change of demeanor. Did the man really react that badly to 'being disturbed'? An small, unbidden grin twitched at the side of her mouth at the thought, a chuckle at her own expense echoing in her head. Well of course, if he's who I think he is, then is him liking his privacy really that shocking? The firm, resounding answer would be a 'no'.

But it didn't really matter, either way. Marguerite was set on seeing him, even if it turned out unpleasant. Everything was just happening so suddenly and he was being so accommodating, and she wanted to know why. Not to mention she was all but convinced he'd been watching her last night, and while it had turned out to be a blessing for her, she could only assume he needed something from her if he'd been following her like that. What other reason would he have to, after all?

But yet again, Meg had become too occupied with her own thoughts, and when she looked up again Isabella was halfway to the door, saying she'd take her too him after all. Another happy twitch went to her mouth before she scurried across the room to catch up to her, her rush out of the room leaving her to be caught by surprise once she was actually out in the hallway. Slowly glancing around her, her eye naturally following the hall as far as it went in either direction, the weight of the silence in this house finally hit her, setting an odd sort of uneasiness in her for a moment's breath. Something about the atmosphere made her feel like she, or anyone else, shouldn't be there.

But all the same she had to admire the extravagant décor that seemed an extension of the interior of 'her' own room, thinking vaguely that her comparison to the Louvre hadn't been that off, as it found like she was standing in an empty museum, devoid of life but still filled with knowledge and beautiful relics. Even standing still before her door her body tilted slightly to try and catch a look at a picture across from her by a window, shadowed in the dim hall so it was hard to make out. But before she could catch any details she saw Isabella was walking on and about to round a corner, making her abandon her inspection to instead jog back over to her side, working to keep up with the maid and absorb everything around them she could at the same time. "When you said he liked to collect, you certainly weren't exaggerating..."

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • I s a b e l l a .
Be our guest! Be our guest!
Put our service to the test
Tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie
And we'll provide the rest
_________________________________________________________________________________

Isabella moved slowly down the long corridor, past several sets of doors and a barrage of peculiar collections. When she reached a turn in their path, she paused only one brief moment to be sure that Meg was still following. A smile flashed across the maid's lips in regards to her companion's latter statement, but she ultimately remained quiet, only to turn on her heel and continue her descent through the house.

Down a second corridor, their surroundings were all the same yet completely different. The build of the hall was routine, a repetition of the previous one, but the collections were all new. The raven-haired woman passed a large, elaborate grandfather clock which ticked away its time in space, a large gold pendulum swinging to and fro beneath a glass casement as they went. Paintings hung on the walls, but none were of portraits. There was a landscape of the French countryside, one of a grand, snowy mountain scape. An immense Persian Rug, prime with obvious tear and age, hung on a wall opposite the windows, and another painting was hung only feet away - A strange, surreal landscape of vibrant colors and distorted shapes. At first glance, one might say that was what madness must look like.

Round a second corner, they came to a large open space that appeared to be a grand, two-way staircase that led to the front entrance of the Manor. Apparently, Meg's room was on the second floor. A domed ceiling above seemed to glow dimly from hidden lights in the surrounding encasement, giving life to a painted, cloudy sky of golds and reds, like a sunset. Isabella passed this room with little hesitance, however, and soon she had moved to another flight of stairs that led up, rather than down to the front entrance. Pausing only long enough to glance backwards at Meg with a reassuring gaze, as if to say We're almost there, she then quickly began to climb the stairs with a quick step in her pace as she held her skirts up and away from her feet.

With every step, it seemed their surroundings grew dimmer, like a slow ascent into night, despite the morning hour. Their slow trek through the home only proved to further perpetuate the great emptiness and quiet of the place. For such a grand hall, one would assume they would need dozens of workers... But so far, the only to appear was Isabella, and no one else. Only one word could really describe the dim, though awe inspiring abode, and that was Lonely.

Into an all new hall, they passed several more rooms, coming to another turn in the hall - But as they made their way to encircle it, a loud hiss tore through the silence like a knife through butter - Causing Isabella to practically jump out of her dress. Staggering to an abrupt stop, she searched desperately for the source of the sound - Only for her eyes, and probably Meg's, to land on a lone figure of the feline persuasion. A lanky old Siamese with piercing blue eyes that sat coyly in the center of their walkway, brown tail swaying side to side as she scrutinized the two women with contempt. "Mrrow..." The cat grumbled, arching its neck in a rather annoyed manner.

"... God I hate that cat.." Isabella muttered, moving to walk around the feline. The cat leaped to its feet, a particularly offended look crossing her face as if Isa had attempted to kick her down the hallway. Within a moment, it had sprint down the hallway, to the first and only door under which shone an inkling of light. Pawing gently, she pressed the already ajar door open only to slip in without a sound.

A quiet huff of aggravation slipped through Isabella's pursed lips as she watched the cat disappear, but soon she had brushed the encounter off and turned to glance, uncertainly, at Marguerite. Her eyes were asking for some sort of assurance that this was, indeed, what Meg wanted to do - But quickly realizing how asinine that probably was, she smiled softly and nodded her head in the direction of the door at the very far end of the hallway - The one through which the Siamese had fled to.

Her step grew more careful the closer they got to the the room, as if afraid of even the slightest of creaks, but when Isabella reached the door she gently pressed the tips of her fingers against its surface, giving the two women a gap just large enough so that they might follow the Cat's example and slip inconspicuously into the room.

The room itself was really nothing but a large office - But it was what was found inside that would practically steal a person's breath.

Papers littered every surface - Large, yellowed parchments adorned with elaborate, almost impossible, pencil strokes and designs. Architectural designs, drawings, portraits of nameless, faceless people, animals, antique weapons, clocks with elaborate detail in their workings, and so much more. Shelf after shelf was covered with books - Ranging from novels to medical dictionaries to art collections to architecture instructionals - So many that, in fact, it was impossible to see the wall behind the shelves. A large desk sat directly across from the door, upon which sat an abandoned violin and its bow, its glossy surface reflecting the light of the single oil lamp beside it, sharing the surface of the desk with papers and little trinkets that were either halfway through construction or perhaps even deconstruction. Even more parchments contained music staffs and entire scores - Some recognizable, some completely new. A pathway was clear through the stacks of papers, and boxes, and trinkets, and it was through this that the cat from before leered back at them before swiftly trotting her way toward the source of a quiet sound of a piano on the adjacent side of the room. Weaving through the barrage of things, the cat finally found her way to her Master - A thin man dressed in a simple, loose white shirt and black slacks sitting at the piano, lithe fingers plucking away at old ivory keys in a solemn but melancholy tune.

"Monsieur..." Isabella's voice was soft, attempting to gently rouse the black-haired man to their presence. She'd known a few who had made the mistake of surprising him from behind, after all... She remained near the doorway, however, ready to make a quick leave if he were to grow angry. "Mademoiselle Giry is here to see you."

_________________________________________________________________________________
Life is so unnerving
For a servant who's not serving
He's not whole without a soul to wait upon
Ah, those good old days when we were useful...
Suddenly those good old days are gone ...
T e r é z i a . • ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

It was very fortunate Isabella was observant enough to keep an eye on her follower, glancing back and making sure she was there as often as she did. Because there were a number of instances when Meg could have easily fallen behind and gotten lost because of the many distractions about her stalling her progress. She'd missed a step when they'd come to the large old clock, her gaze ticking over the time to verify that it was indeed well into the morning, as she'd begun to think it was much earlier and that was the reason for the lack of other maids or workers. Her pace had slowed to half her earlier one when they'd passed the 'mad' painting, the swarm of colors and odd geometry catching her curious eye. And when they came to the front room the grand building her expression had turn to pure awe at the large, creatively designed dome, the sight being so hard to break from that she'd actually started walking backwards when they made to leave again, only walking properly again when the rail of the second-to-third floor stairway had pressed into her back and reminded her to turn around.

The stark difference in atmosphere from the main entrance to the somber, barely lit third floor was quite clear, but it still managed to catch Marguerite's intrigue, if in another manner. How odd that the floor that the man was apparently occupying seemed even less inhabited than the rest of the house. She was actually dwelling on how they managed to keep it clean with the 'off-limits' air intimidating anyone, even the head maid in front of her, from coming here, when the loud hisss~! had caught her her off-guard, her head whipping away from a 'passing' painting to look forward for the cause.

The sight of a small, irritable cat sitting in their path, like some feline guard against any passing intrusion, drew out Meg's wide-eyed, curious focus in an instant. While the icy stare it was sending her was intimidating enough to discourage approach, it couldn't stave off her attention. After all, Marguerite had had very little contact with cats before, her father's family having preferred only hunting dogs as pets, and she most certainly never seen one that looked anything like this beige little creature before. But apparently Isabella's try to bypass it had insulted the old feline, as she turned her tail on them with a hard look and left them alone in the hall by way of a door that actually showed signs of life.

The sight of the now jarred door and the soft echo of music coming from beyond quickly grabbed Marguerite's focus, reminding her beyond all the little distractions that had caught her attention as to what she was doing here. Receiving an unsure look and smile from Isabella, she sent her a small smile paired with a friendly look to encourage her to lead on, allowing it to fall and show her own uncertainty when her back was turned. Despite all of her time musing over the man behind this door as a girl, she had never imagined what it would be like talking to him face to face; it had just seemed so unlikely she hadn't considered it, and going by the extreme hesitation in Isabella, she assumed it was something she feared.

Thankfully the curiosity in the young woman equaled out and overthrew her trepidation, allowing her to follow her into the sanctuary of the 'master' without a pause. Not wanting to pass by Isa just yet, she by effect stayed just inside the doorway, barely inside the room. The room looked like a library and a studio meshed together with all of the books and papers about. It would surely have sent her into an eager search in any other situation, itching to explore all the contents that she could of any interesting or new knowledge, but at the moment there was someone of far more interest to her sitting at an impressive piano.

The attire on the figure, at least as far she could make it out from this angle and lighting, was not an assortment she had ever seen or associated with the man in her head, but the back of his head and bare wisp of a profile she could see perfectly matched her memory of the other night, assuring her she was right. The verification sent a spark of equal parts fear and thrill through her, but it was fortunately subdued by the music coming from his fingertips, assisting to somber and calm her mood enough to be 'patiently' quiet until she was addressed, restrained inquisitiveness being the only emotion that showed on her face as she waited.

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

The silence that fell over the room immediately upon the sound of Isabella's voice was deafening - a stark contrast to the solemn but relaxing tune from moments before. The gloved leather hands that had been plucking, almost boredly, away at the keys of the piano all but froze, like a mechanical device simply shutting 'off', while the defined jawline and vague profile of the man's head bowed, as if listening to the maid expectantly. Black hair laid haphazardly across the back of his head and down the nape of his neck, where a small portion of deathly pale skin was visible just above the hem of the shirt where, for only a brief moment, an angry red scar reached threateningly along the ridge of his spine. As if in thought, the "Master" remained still for several long moments before he finally began to shift in his seat to stand. The old feline had long ago leaped onto the back of the piano, watching the man with a much different, very affectionate stark blue gaze. As he moved to stand and address his guest, the man gently placed a hand on the cat's head in a soft pat, before finally turning to face the two women.

Just as Meg would recall from the previous night, the man was a tower, at what exact height it was uncertain, but it was definitely far from the average. His figure was thin and lanky, but by the way he held himself - shoulders stiff, back erect, joints locked hard in place - there was a certain unspoken power there that said he was, nonetheless, not one to be trifled with. Even paler in the dim lighting of the room than the alleyway the night before, he was like the living, breathing dead, whereas if color did pervade his facade, it was of a sickly beige. The front of his wild hair was laced with gray and white, telling of age along with the deep shadows beneath his eyes. His eyes, on the other hand, were as strong and piercing as any angry, young man - If not more so. A strange shade of yellow made up those orbs, where small dilated pupils made for an exceptionally intense gaze. But then, there was the tell-tell sign - The white, porcelain mask that covered a good portion of the left side of his face, from under which stretched faint, but apparent, pink scars that reached angrily across the center of his facade and upwards through the one, exposed eye. Even without learning more closely of his mannerisms, it was easy to see why Isabella may have been considerably frightened of him.

In silence, de Mansart regarded Marguerite with a cold, thoughtful apathy. The strange eyes crawled over her form until settling on the linen that had been positioned the night before on the forefront of her brow. Thin lips, pressed into a hard, stern line, remained motionless with no intent to speak. While his eyes read clearly of many a thought and concept, a thick wall seemed to leave them devoid of comprehension. He did not smile, but nor did he glare. His stance was rigid, but at the same time there was no sign of immediate (obvious) danger. As far as he was concerned; He was a tightly closed and locked book to the world around him.

After a long moment of scrutinizing the Giry girl, much in a way reminiscent of his feline companion sans the immediate disgust, the man finally turned his focus to Isabella with a flick of his peculiar eyes.

"That will be all, Mademoiselle Terézia."

The voice that came from the demon's lips was far from matching. Instead, it contrasted him with a stark difference; Not angelic, but like music itself.

Isabella hesitated, as if taken aback by his words. Frankly; She was very surprised. She had anticipated some type of outburst for the disruption of his 'work', but instead she got this.... It was almost disappointing! But then... It seemed he had, indeed, had some sort of a purpose for Meg. Perhaps he was just as eager to speak to her. After all, he wasn't very well known for his good whims toward society... Much less bringing some unfortunate young lady to his home, his sanctuary of all places. After a moment of consideration however, the shock faded from the exotic maid's face, and instead she smiled softly and nodded to the Lord of the house. "Very well, monsieur." She chirped, having already conducted a swift 360 in her mannerisms as she turned peppy and cheery once again.

"If you need me-" Isabella grinned, raising a dignified, pointed finger into the air, "-I shall be in the kitchen!" And with that, she made to leave the elaborate drawing room, only pausing briefly beside Marguerite to give her a warm, reassuring smile, then promptly disappearing through the door from whence she had come.

_________________________________________________________________________________
Life is so unnerving
For a servant who's not serving
He's not whole without a soul to wait upon
Ah, those good old days when we were useful...
Suddenly those good old days are gone ...
I s a b e l l a . • ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

The silence that fell over the room at the sudden cutoff of the piano's melody made Marguerite feel like she might suffocate, as though the music had been oxygen she needed to breath. After a moment though, before it could show through little more than a tense movement of her face, the feeling had passed, leaving her wondering at the reaction. It seemed the phantom, ghost, master, lord, monsieur... whatever he went by now, had not lost a bit of his magic with song. But she didn't have long to dwell on the fact, as soon she saw that the pianist was rising from his bench, giving his adoring feline a wave of a pet and turning towards her and Isabella in one smooth movement that made even the former dancer marvel.

And then he was looking at her. Not hiding in the shadows above, nor hovering far out of reach and good sight on a scaffold or stage, nor looming with his back to her to face off those who meant her harm. In that second it hit Marguerite how, despite the years of 'knowing' him and being but an arm span away not twelve hours ago, she had never seen this man! The idea of it left her nearly as overwhelmed as that look he was giving her. Even though he was staring right at her and seeming to take in what he saw, nothing showed in his face; not a single cursory reaction. It was more than a tad unnerving; much more so to the girl than the face she was trying to read itself. It was very hard to know how best to approach having a conversation with him if she couldn't get even a hint at his thoughts.

"That will be all, Mademoiselle Terézia." The sound tugged Meg right out of her uncertain state as she blinked up at him with a sudden surprise, hearing him speak. She'd been sure she'd never forget that voice that boomed over her head once in a blue moon when a certain ghost had become particularly angered by some 'stupidity', generally at her mother's former employers. And yet hearing it again now, without any cold rage sending it crashing through her senses, it seemed both familiar and utterly foreign to her.

"Very well, monsieur." The second voice made Marguerite jump almost more than the first as she glanced in surprise at Isabella, belatedly realizing she'd forgot she was even there; the man had completely distracted her to the maid's presence. "If you need me, I shall be in the kitchen!" Her mind racing forward to catch up with what they were saying, her glassy eyes shot wide, making her features even more doll-like than usual as she realized she was leaving her, alone, with him. When Isa turned to her with a smile as she left, Meg could only look back incredulously at being 'abandoned', continuing to stare at the door for a long second before slowly turning back to her host, meeting his blank stare with a hesitant, baffled one.

... Well... What the devil was she supposed to do now? She still had no idea what he was thinking. With little other option, she forced her mind to focus on the things she'd been meaning to ask him about instead, and slowly a couple of them came drifting back to her, despite the distracting eyes boring down on her. Finally, she decided the only thing to do was just talk and hope for the best, and that 'jumping into dark waters' as she was wouldn't turn out too dismally. Thus, she started off with the most obvious thing she could think of.

"Hello," Meg spoke up, breaking the silence with a benign greeting, giving just a her 'twitch of the lips' smile before trailing of for a second again, tilting her head the slightest bit before continuing, lightly fishing for some form of response. "I feel like I should introduce myself... But you obviously already know who I am."

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

A new layer of silence seemed to replace Isabella's place as soon as she was gone and out of sight. De Mansart simply watched the maid go, his eyes lingering momentarily on the door frame, focusing on the quiet, nearly non-existent echo of the door clicking to a close. Whatever thoughts he may have been formulating, however, were quickly brushed aside when he recalled the guest he now had within his quarters. Erik could read many emotions on the young woman's face; Confusion, question, an odd expression of 'what not?' as she strove for something to say to the man she had probably dreamed up wild and far-fetched fantasies of for as far back as he could remember. Admittedly, some of her tales had him rather bemused by certain times... But that was certainly not the present situation at hand.

When she spoke an awkward 'hello', his eyes flickered alive, drawn back from his own cacophony of thought to rest blindly on the woman again.

"I feel like I should introduce myself... But you obviously already know who I am."

Dark brows rose speculatively as Marguerite spoke, and he realized rather quickly that she was catching on just fine. Yes, he had saved her in the alley. Yes, he knew who she was... And yes, she recognized him. Well... That took care of an unnecessary explanation then.

Walking forward, Erik traced his way through the office to return to the desk, running his gloved hands over the surface of papers in a thoughtful gesture. The old cat was hot on his heels, leaping up to brush affectionately against his arm in an attempt to steal his attention away from this 'other woman' that Marguerite was. "Seeing as there is little question as to how I know you nor you I, I'm going to be quite curt with you Mademoiselle." In a manner of seconds, de Mansart's tone had turned from lyrical to cold and business-like. He wanted no more than to simply get to the point.

"As you well know, your mother left a note in her will. You've read it several times by now, but it was not you that the letter was addressed to. It was to me. As you also know, your mother was something of a... Messenger, or rather a delegate, a confidante, of mine." The man turned his gaze once more to Marguerite as he explained, "She certainly did not make any sort of agreement to be such without a price. What I offered her was a better life for you. No, not a 'better' life, but an extravagant, jovial one. If I recall correctly, I likened it to the life of an Empress."

"It may seem an exaggeration to you, but rest assured it is well within my power. It was only so unfortunate enough that I failed to make such a thing happen within Antoinette's life time. It was a mistake, and I..." He paused, on the brink of saying "regret." Pursing thin lips together, he grimaced, immediately reformulating his words to better suit his intent. "And I fully intend on rectifying it by fulfilling your mother's final wish."

With a flick of his wrist, the a small piece of crumpled parchment appeared in de Mansart's hand. It was the note from her mother. He must of obtained it the previous night. "Your mother wished for a suitor for you. A husband so that, in the very least, you could go on to live a happy, comfortable, normal life. And.. through her final request... She wished for me to see such a thing through." A look of distaste crossed Erik's features, his brows furrowing and lips twisting into a slight sneer at the mere thought of the task he had before him.

"Now that my purpose is clear; I would next like to clarify my motive." The latter was added with a frigid, nearly spiteful tone. His eyes narrowed and the hand that had been holding the paper dropped it onto the surface of the desk before him for the old Siamese to bat at half-heartedly. The same hand then proceeded to brush strands of salt-and-pepper hair from his face, and he leered toward Meg with evident aggravation. It seemed when he wanted an emotion to show - It showed, no questions asked. "... I will do this not because I want to. Nor because I care about the methods with which you could otherwise procure support for your life. I will do this for Antoinette - in gratitude for the years of service she gave me, and because I owe her much more. I should be grateful all she asked of me was to play... Matchmaker for her daughter, as much as I detest the notion."

"My home will be yours until the task is complete. Mlle Terezia and my other workers will meet your every whim, but I do require that you do not leave the house unchaperoned, and that you remain out of the third floor unless instructed to do so by myself." He glowered, watching her face for any sign of detest or confusion. He only expected anger and some amount of backlash, but he was unconcerned about that. Instead, he was much more inclined to be certain that she understood his rules, his purpose, and his motive without question. The sooner he could finish this, the better.

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

Seeing a vague look of consideration spread over his face, Meg felt a spark of happy triumph that she had finally found something readable on the man's face. But it was extremely short lived as she watched him walk towards the desk on the other side of the room, the tone of his voice suddenly changing and cutting her down like a knife with its coldness, making her mentally curse that odd power it had to affect people like it did, particularly when it was like that. But all the same she waited to hear what he had to say.

Listening to him as he continued, she found cold facts and clipped orders flying at her nearly too fast for her to take, first being indirectly told that he had been at the graveyard, then that he'd heard, or at least read, what her mother had written in that letter that had seemed so dismissive before. She was distracted from his unbelievable words only for a moment, when he casually dropped her mother's letter back on the desk and causing an indignant spark to go through her face seeing the parchment she'd been planning to keep secure, if only because it was the only sample of her mother's writing she had, had been taken from her.

And then the flippant man gave her a more unbelievable shock and grabbed back her attention, claiming he was going to marry her off, and what's more, he didn't even seem fond of doing it. He said in no uncertain terms he was going to see that promise she hadn't even been aware of was fulfilled, and that he was going to be her literal keeper until it was done. The idea of it was enough to leave her staring at him in bafflement for a long silence, trying to process all the things he had almost literally blown her over with. Slowly, her usually open book of a face started growing blank, the glossy look in her eyes the only sign that she was musing over what she had been told, trying to figure out how she felt about all of this.

Finally, she locked her gaze on him again, and surprisingly a slow, polite smile tugged at her lips, a civil look coming to her face, despite the fact that she clearly restraining some other emotion, which she was showing a rare ability to hide. Instead, she was focusing on pointing at the desk behind him as she spoke up in a respectful tone.

“First of all, I'd like that letter back, if you please. I'd like to keep it.” That put aside, Marguerite calmly folded the pointing hand back over the other one, clasping both in front of her as she continued to give that set, courteous smile of hers. “Secondly, let me see if I have this perfectly straight; I want to be sure I'm not missing something. You are going to keep me here, and allow me to do as I please, but I'm not allowed to leave the house; pardon, the first two levels of the house, without your permission.” She sent him a small apologetic look before continuing on, not allowing him a chance to reply. “This will go on until whatever time you manage to find someone willing to marry me, and only then I will I be allowed to leave, with a husband. And all of this is because of a deal you made with my mother years ago, and her letter there reminded up about it.”

Finished with her little dictation of his proclaimed rules, she stared at him for a few seconds to let him add or correct something, before speaking up again, her tone still cheery enough but with an strange sort of edge to it, making the light tone seem off. “Well then, I have to admit I am amazed you're going to such lengths to see this through, despite how you obviously abhor the idea of dealing with the task, and myself.” She paused to just stare at him with that set smile. There was nothing indignant or angry obvious in her gaze, but the unblinking regard in it had its own odd ability to cause discomfort, and it didn't stop as she went on, her voice taking on a sincerely grateful edge, if only for a second. “And I am truly grateful you went out of your way to help me last night, so I suppose I have that to consider.”

“Unfortunately, I am not staying.” The statement came suddenly, the grateful edge slipping away in the blink of an eye, making the refusal all the more sudden. She stared right at him as she said it, no anger, or confusion, or fear to be seen. She focused all of it that she felt into calm, hard certainty. “An arranged marriage is not my idea of a recipe for happiness, and there's nothing I can't stand more than being closed in, even if the 'prison' is as attractive as this one. While I appreciate what you've done for me, and my mother, and I can see your intentions, if nothing else, are noble, that doesn't mean I can let you set the rest of my life on a promise.”

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

The emaciated face of the man remained motionless as she began, until to twitch vacantly to one side when she actually smiled, even taking the time to thank him for his efforts. Though he could see right through the emptiness of that almost obligatory smile she had drolled across her lips, he still couldn't help but be taken somewhat aback by her attempt to show some amount of gratitude for, if nothing else, rescuing her the night before. At the same time, that very well-meaning gesture only made a corner of his thin lips twitch and fluctuate in an inner grimace full of spite as a voice in his mind growled at the girl for patronizing him, even if that wasn't fully the truth behind her words.

Immediately thereafter, she proceeded to echo his statements back to him - Clarifying them for herself and him in the same breath. He wasn't daft, after all. Erik was well aware of just how outrageous his intentions may seemed, but then how was it unexpected? He wasn't exactly known for being anything but extravagant. Patiently, he allowed the woman to droll on, his gaze almost mirroring the cast-over look in her own, as if half-processing the words that came out of her mouth and half ignoring them at the same time. The lithe figure of the man shifted only once, and only long enough for him to fold his gloved hands neatly behind his back as he listened with a look of decisiveness on his face that said he wasn't entirely budging on this subject, no matter how far-fetched it may sound to anyone else.

It was no surprise when, at last, near the end of her little interjection, she closed with a simple, albeit rather polite rejection of his, apparently what she assumed to be, 'offer.' Tilting his head to one side as he scrutinized her face, he paid no mind when the Siamese cat had leaped up to wrap herself comfortably upon his shoulders and neck, as if anticipating his next move with no words. Just as she did so, he righted himself and cast his gaze downward to the piece of paper to which she had earlier gestured. Moving to retrieve it, he began to respond to her little endeavor. "Unfortunately..." He spoke simply, snatching the little piece of paper up and into his hands only to approach Marguerite a few moments later. Stopping only but a foot short of where she stood, the shear height difference between the two finally became emphasized as they stood face to face. Tilting forward at the hips, Erik leaned toward Meg so that he could be at eye level with her as he offered the letter to her in a rather debonair fashion., finishing his earlier statement, ”… That was not an offer, nor do you have much of a choice in the manner.”

Finally, the cold shield of his demeanor was broken by the little fluctuation of a coy but smug smile that tugged indignantly at the corner of his lips. But it did not serve to lighten the load of his foreboding nature, if anything it made it worse as it gave him the characteristics of a Devil. All he was missing by that point was a set of long, black horns and a forked tongue.

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

Marguerite had been determined to keep her determined stare on the man as long as he didn't break it, and as such eye contact remained until he turned away to head towards his desk, the short window of time not being watched giving a chance for Meg to glance at the cat she had ignored since she came into the room as it climbed onto its master's shoulders, acting like a living fur shawl as he turned back to her. Her attention going back to him, she would have expected him to come and stand in the same spot he had been, a few feet before her. But he just kept walking forward until he, frankly, was standing far too close to her for what would be considered appropriate. Not to mention it hurt her neck, how she had to crane her head back to keep her eyes on his face from this close. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he leaned down close to her face, using the excuse of handing over the folded piece of paper to try to further intimidate her.

If she were in the mood for sharing thoughts, Meg would have told him the gesture was completely unnecessary; the man was practically 'intimidation' personified, without him having to put some effort into it. She wasn't oblivious after all, and just as aware of the more foreboding aspects of this man as anyone else. Not to mention with him hovering in her face like he was wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing she could imagine. But that didn't change the fact that he was wrong, and after promptly securing the small letter behind her pointer and middle finger and gently tugging it from his grasp she spoke up again in an actually chipper voice, her eyes now dipped down at her retrieved parchment.

“An offer, an order, it doesn't really make a difference.” Slipping the letter into the safety of her pocket, she turned her face back up at him, turning the proximity he had breached against him with a thoughtful smile thrown right in his face, the woman looking like she was all but holding back the urge to shake her head at him. “To be blunt, sir, I am not your servant who has to listen to you, nor is trying to scare me going to change anything. I do believe I said I can't stand anything more than being cooped up, and as that's exactly what your trying to do, I don't see how you can threaten me to stay when what you're doing is the worst threat you could give?”

Again, a small grin spread over her face, restlessly tugging at her lips as she stepped back away from him, turning to go slip out the door. It felt a bit rude to leave without a farewell as she was attempting, but she was getting the feeling the more she talked, the more angry she made him, and despite her set stance she wasn't doing this to bother him.

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

The faint but nonetheless amused expression remained still on de Mansart's face as he watched and listened callously to Marguerite's valiant attempt to rebut his earlier instructions. He had to hand it to her; There hadn't been many people who he could get this close to and not immediately see a flash of fear cross their features. Though there was an apparent sort of discomfort in Meg's demeanor, something told him it wasn't necessarily the fact the he was so close, but that anyone in general was.

However, when she turned to leave, the yellow eyes that had been scrutinizing her expression turned to a scowl and with a swift motion of a skeletal hand, he snatched her tightly by the wrist, tugging at her arm just enough to keep her attention a moment longer and assert some amount of dominance in the situation... A 'friendly' reminder of who, exactly, she was dealing with. "I think you, of all people, should know what kind of consequences might befall you if you were to make the foolish decision of ignoring my word. We may not be in the Opera, any longer, cherie, but I am the same 'ghost' as before."

The words were sneered with discontent, his ghastly eyes glowering dangerous warnings of a simmering temper. The thin, bone-like fingers that grasped onto her wrist tightened, in such a way that, for a moment, Marguerite may have been able to have a brief glimpse of what the drunkard from the night before experienced at this 'ghost's' hand. "... Go right ahead and try to leave if you insist - But I assure you, it will not be as simple as simply waltzing out the front door. You'll find soon enough there is, indeed, quite a difference between 'order' and and 'offer.'" Finally, the grip was released and Erik allowed her to leave then if that was what she wanted to do.

While he had anticipated some amount of resistance, by the look of things, this was going to be a bit more challenging than he may have originally thought.

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

One of Marguerite's feet ended up sliding in place on the floor when de Mansart put a grip on her wrist, halting any further distance being put between them. The pull on the appendage almost had her back as close to the man as before, and turning around she found he had dropped his 'smile' and was simply glaring down at her now. The slightly uncomfortable posture she was forced to keep with her arm out like that had her head slightly angled, sterling orbs having to look up through her lashes to keep contact.

She found herself being reminded of what this man was capable of (as though she could have actually forgotten) and being threatened with a hint of bodily harm through the hand that stung and then went a bit numb as circulation was allowed to return to it. Once she had her wrist back in her possession she shook it slightly. At being indirectly threatened with harm, her set expression had gone oddly blank; not masked, or uncomprehending, but blank, as though her mind was refusing to let her respond.

The peculiar look quickly ebbed away, and she was back to look at him with a cool regard, replying in an even, polite tone despite the frustration showing in her words. “Well, seeing as neither of us are going apparently going to let this go, I suppose we will just have to see about that difference, monsieur.” Giving him a quick nod in farewell, she promptly turned and made quick steps to the door, her slipping through anger and wanting to get before he change his mind again speeding her step, the girl disappearing through the crack in the door.

But not a second later she whirled about on her heel and stepped back into the room, pushing the door a bit more open to look back at him, her expression colored with a sheepish sort of curiosity. “Ah, I beg your pardon, but I never did catch your name. Or perhaps I just missed it?” She said this with a perfectly amicable tone, as though the last two minutes hadn't happened at all. But then, in a way they hadn't for her; her attention had drifted, if only for this moment, and she couldn't hold onto anger very well if she didn't focus on it.

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •

[Arsenic-x-Sleep]

• ♦ • E r i k .
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort , no escape
I see... But deep within is utter blindness
_________________________________________________________________________________

The bubbling anger that had been visible through the man's striking gold eyes began to subside as Marguerite spoke, only to turn and make for her leave from the room. Everything she said, each gesture she made, was something unexpected. She was not angry, and while frightened once the realization washed over her that he was, after all, the Phantom she and her corps partners had feared all of those years, it was nothing quite like what he was used to. It was that very realization that caused an epiphany in himself as well - This was a Giry that he was dealing with. Marguerite had many stark differences in regards to Antoinette... But there were also so many similarities. The calm, collected way she held herself, and the stubborn resignation she held in regard to intimidation or fear. It was like looking in a mirror that had forever captivated his old "friend's" image, but had changed and warped it into a young, petite, black-haired doll...

The corner of his thin lips were pulled downward by gravity into an indignant frown as she moved away from him. He, in turn, moved to walk away from the door and approach the desk once again, hands moving to gently brush across the violin and pick it up affectionately, the cat still slung over his shoulders watching Meg's departure with a wary eye.

“Ah, I beg your pardon, but I never did catch your name. Or perhaps I just missed it?”

Erik's shoulders went rigid upon hearing her voice again when he had thought her already gone. Keeping his broad, white linen clad back to her, he only bothered to turn a side-glance at her, the white of his mask becoming visible to the young woman as a yellow eye peered questionably toward her, as if asking "And what exactly does it matter to you?" After a moment of silence, he turned his gaze downward once again, bowing his head to look upon the violin thoughtfully in his hands.

"My name?" He paused, almost reluctantly. It may have been a name... But at the same time, it felt reminiscent of a lie each time he claimed it as his.

"Erik."

_________________________________________________________________________________
Such mortal feelings
Are never forsaken
And once again, those passions will awaken
My evil has its beauty , when it suits me to possess
The hearts of those my vengeance will embrace,
within my world ...
• ♦ •

[Without Knowledge]

• ◊ • Meg
Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar
I wonder if she's feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
And her nose stuck in a book
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that belle
----------- ----------- ---------- ---------- --------- --------- -------- -------- ------- ------- ------ ------ ----- ----- ---- ---- --- --- -- -- - -

Keeping her curious look set on his face, or at least on one gleaming eye and tiny portion of porcelain she could make out since he'd turned away from her, Marguerite waited for some response to her question. She was surprisingly hopeful she'd finally have some name to put to the man, but she put that down to simply being tired of not knowing what to refer to him as.

But the eccentric lord seemed hesitant, perhaps even unsure on how to answer her, making Meg lean her head a little more into the room, surprising seeping into her curious expression. Was it possible he was as unsure as her of what she should call him? Or did he just not know why she was asking?

"My name? ... Erik."

His reply surprised her, not just because he'd actually answered her, but because he'd only offered one name – most of the time she expected people to give their full name, as she did. But she let that slide, instead mulling over the name itself. Her expression grew very speculating as she stared at him, mentally trying to place the face, or rather back, with the name. Finally, she seemed satisfied, her lips twitching into a small smile as she spoke up. “Very well then, I'll make sure to remember that.”

Turning back around, she actually took the time to grasp the knob in her hand to close the door partially behind her as she went. But before she disappeared again she allowed her grin to grow into a full smile and gave a nod of her head in goodbye. “In any case, it was nice meeting you, Erik.” Finishing the comment that sounded more like a goodbye, she closed the door until there was only a gap left, remembering the cat that had been boring holes in her skull half the visit.

Once on her own again, she had to take the time to dwell over what had happened, staring up at the hallway ceiling that was really too shadowed to make out with a long sigh. Gathering herself back together, she scurried back across the third floor to the stairs, grateful that the upper floor wasn't nearly as confusing for her to navigate on her own as the one 'her' room was on probably would be.

She only stopped once she was back in the main entrance way, pausing on the landing of the second floor to look down at the front doors. Quietly she started down the lower stairwell that she hadn't taken yet, at least while conscious. If anyone had been looking it would appear that she was completely ignoring Erik's comment of leaving that way being impossible, but she came to a stop only halfway across the grand room, her gaze no longer ahead of her on the front doors, but above her at the amazingly realistic sunset sky that hovered overhead. It appeared she'd only wanted a closer look at the dome, at least for the moment.

- - -- -- --- --- ---- ---- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------- ------- -------- -------- --------- --------- ---------- ---------- ----------- -----------
There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on
Though what I used to be I still depend on
For now I realize that good can come from bad
That may not make me wise, but oh, it makes me glad
Giry • ◊ •