yearnsforheavenxsecretly:

 

♪ —         Wasn’t it funny, how the nature of the Opera Ghost pulled him when he was at his weakest back to the darkness?
In the dead of night he’d been birthed. In the depth of darkness he’d grown. And even now, it held him prisoner, begging for the light.

                   And yet his only comfort was music. Music, sweet and kind. His voice, the voice of an angel…! And his Angel….. his Christine—-

     But concentration and syllables were broken by the sound of another being, some sort of human— It tore him away from the melodies of his anguish and sent him into churning silence, backing into the shadows of the outside as if trying to meld with them.   Golden eyes, alone, shone past the mask to pierce that inky blackness.

                 Was that—-? A woman. A woman with a tender face, sweet and young, and unbearably  familiar.
  No, he did not know this woman, but he’d known one with such tender features as her before.

           Giovanni’s daughter, who he had killed by only showing her his face.

      But her words sent him back into that world of his own, the one spiraling with chords and notes, of key signatures and harmonies. And so his voice resumed n the darkness, wavering at first, but growing in 

temulous, angelic strength.

      If she desired him to sing, he’d most certainly sing.

There was silence, a long note of silence as she waited. Her mouth opened ever so slightly with a stilled breathe, for so long she wished to hear such song. It made her feel as though she was at peace, she was at home – home. What was that even anymore to a wanderer? The voice; It made her feel comforted and doe-like eyes that shone of no reflection, not even that of the darkness to which she entered without fear, were anxiously searching the darkness pleading silently for that voice to return, to renew those feelings - if only the memory of them.

Amalthea’s face washed over with soft joy as the voice began once more. It was lovely; no human had such a talent, human’s were once so simple and now so cruel. They had hunted most unicorns for this world had been changing those many, many years ago when she left her lilacwoods to find her kin. She had not realized then, through all the tragedies she faced that in the end she would not win, because they all would be hunted to extinction and that was the greatest tragedy of all. That was the sharpest pang of regret she felt - that guilt.

Except for she, for she held both a blessing and a curse, she held onto the magic of a magician long since dead, He had saved her immortality with the illusion of a mortal life that came at her beck and call. But what use was living forever in a world so empty for she.

Amalthea breathed in deep, eyes closing as she remembered life so long ago and all of the warmth there was – she felt it in the voice that sang to her and she dare not disturb the voice from singing.