Welcome to Gaia! ::

"True," Dante replied to her good at something you do alot. "I sing..... from time to time." he looked back into the hallway at his songbook. Then back at her.

"O.k. just not what I'm working on now it's incomplete til I find the right piano for it.... But I can sing you something," Questions in his eye's Dante waited for her.

Dante nodded "Thank you for understanding my need to finish." On impulse more then thought he picked up her hand and held it in his like it was a precious diamond. And with that Dante begin to sing dreamily his favorite song.
Where you are seems to be
As far as an eternity
Outstretched arms open hearts
And if it never ends then when do we start?
I’ll never leave you behind
Or treat you unkind
I know you understand
And with a tear in my eye
Give me the sweetest goodbye
That I ever did receive

Pushing forward and arching back
Bring me closer to heart attack
Say goodbye and just fly away
When you comeback
I have some things to say

How does it feel to know you never have to be alone
When you get home
There must be someplace here that only you and I could go
So I can show you how i
Dream away everyday
Try so hard to disregard
The rhythm of the rain that drops
And coincides with the beating of my heart

I’ll never leave you behind
Or treat you unkind
I know you understand
And with a tear in my eye
Give me the sweetest goodbye
That I ever did receive

He blushed realizing what he had done but Dante's hand wouldn't let go of hers. "What do you think...... Kat?"

"A favorite?"

She seemed to savor the question, rolling it around in her mind while a distant look glazed over her eyes. Suddenly, for all that they were standing close enough to embrace, she seemed worlds away from him. A dreamy smile bloomed on her lips, yet it somehow made her look sad.

"Ah, but there are so many! Shakespeare's 'Othello', and Dante's 'Divine Comedy'...Miguel de Cervante's darling mockery of romanticism and naivety in 'Don Quixote'. Even Bronte's dark tale of passion and betrayal in 'Wuthering Heights' captivates me, no matter the number of times I have visited it's pages..."

Shaking her head, she seemed to come back to herself, both smile and vagueness melting away so that she stared up at him directly. What would he do if he knew she was older than those tales? What would he think? It unnerved her that she almost wanted to tell him, to see his reaction; it was not her habit to toy with, or frighten a guest that way. Elaina stepped back, breaking the spell that their proximity was casting over her, and turned to lay a hand on the nearest shelf. Pausing, she flicked her hand over the spines of several books before pulling free a leather bound volume with gold-leaf scroll work on the edges.

"This though...this, I think, is my favorite. Though not, perhaps, in the way that you meant."

Slowly, she held it out to him carefully, as though it were something precious. Eyes of frozen emerald locked onto the manuscript, staring at it with mixed emotion; from her expression, it was hard to say if it was love or loathing she felt for the book. If he opened the pages, he would find them covered in faded black ink, written with a neatly curved hand, with entries dating back to 1580. On the front page, however, written in the same hand but in a seeming fit of passion, since it flowed angularly across the page, was: "Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it. ~Michel de Montaigne" Other notes seemed to have been added in the margins, again in that strangely violent corruption of the same penmanship. Elaina breathed out on a quite sigh.

"A diary, kept by one of my blood. At times, it's words, the memories described in it's pages...they consume me. The past is something that I often find...enthralling."