The Difference in Angels and Demons by Stirack, literature
Literature
The Difference in Angels and Demons
I’m living a dream, in a fairytale land,
Surrounded by music and beauty!
The Angel, you see,
He watches over me,
My wonderful Angel of Music!
I’ve nothing to fear,
When my Teacher is near,
For his voice- like a prayer-
Scares the shadows and demons away.
My ingénue dear
Should not believe all she hears;
For what a scream she would cry
If the dreams faded by
And a monster then stood in their place.
What would she do,
If none of this were true?
And that true love’s kiss
Could not turn this frog into a prince?
I love my Angel,
And he loves me!
I’m a charlatan, true,
But now there’s little I can do.
And
After walking around by choice
I heard a beautiful voice
Where have I heard this lyric?
Is this the angel of music?
The voice said, yes he is
But, who is this?
Soon, he came to me
Still, who could he be?
So strange and mysterious
His mind seemed so delirious
The white mask he wears
He needs it, so no one fears
For him there was no place
To sing and show his face
This is all what it seems
The voice of my dreams
Taking me was not grand
But I felt happy when he held my hand
In his eyes I saw desire
His spirit was on fire
A voice within me said run and go
But why was my heart beating so?
He set me free after all this mess
But will be able
The Dream I Wish to Live pt. 1 by Stirack, literature
Literature
The Dream I Wish to Live pt. 1
“Erik, where are we going? I thought you said we’re going on a carriage ride in le Bois?”
“We are, my darling, we are. This is merely a shortcut.”
“Since when do shortcuts outside lead up?”
“Just trust me, my dear. You know these walls tell me their secrets and heed my wishes.”
“If you say so, Erik.”
“I do say so, you inquisitive little thing!”
Everything must be perfect, absolutely flawless for my flawless Christine. She is an angel, after all, and does an angel not deserve perfection?
We exited the confining safety of my
The Words I Long to Hear (One-shot) by Stirack, literature
Literature
The Words I Long to Hear (One-shot)
“…C-Christine, what I’ve been t-trying to explain is that I truly do l-love you, more than life, more-more than MUSIC! …And I w-would be the l-luckiest man in the world if you would agree to be my… w-w-wife!” Sweat dripped down my face and dampened my mask uncomfortably, my fingers laced together almost in a sign of prayer at my plea. I waited expectantly with baited breath and a tightness in my chest which I could not attribute to fickle health.
If horses had the ability to laugh, then César was surely doing so, snorting into my face and pushing his nose to the center of my chest. I scowl
THE PHANTOM IN LONDON: 7, THE LADY PROTESTS by lucybond, literature
Literature
THE PHANTOM IN LONDON: 7, THE LADY PROTESTS
CHRISTINE
Fainting is dreadfully inconvenient. I opened my eyes to see the concerned faces of the Persian and his servant leaning over me, but I could also see Erik, sitting in the bed behind them and clutching the covers anxiously in his fists. His expression was hidden, as usual, by a mask, but I was certain from the way he held himself that he felt deeply relieved that I was unharmed.
I could only stare for a moment, unable to make sense of my emotions, until suddenly I knew exactly how I felt.
“How DARE you lie to me!”
I have always been complimented for my s
THE PHANTOM IN LONDON: 8, THE PATCHWORK MASK by lucybond, literature
Literature
THE PHANTOM IN LONDON: 8, THE PATCHWORK MASK
ERIK
My Christine came to me! Not a fever-dream, a mannequin nor a voice from an ingenious machine, but the living, breathing Christine! Later, when questioned, the Daroga explained that she had followed him here, and made her way to my bedside unseen and uninvited. Most curious and resourceful girl! And with such intriguing news. It is true that for love, I gave up all claim to her as my wife, and wished Christine and her little Viscomte every happiness together. But I would be colder than the porphyry caryatids in the foyer if I did not give out an inner cry of vi
His Living Wife Continued... by MaskedNightingale, literature
Literature
His Living Wife Continued...
Chapter 8: His Living Bride
Claire left the house rapidly only to find that she would have to swim. By the time she reached the middle of the lake her temper had cooled off. Yet it was replaced with hurt. Her limbs were growing tired of treading the dark waters of the lake, especially with her skirts that hindered her. She could feel her emotions coming to their height. I will NOT allow myself to cry. I will NOT…But as she reached another dark coated shore, silent tears began to fall and so she just curled up, shivering, while sobs racked through her soul. Her head lay on top of her knees.
"I'm such a baby. I hardly know him and I'm a
His Living Wife (Story #5: Leroux POTO fanfic) by MaskedNightingale, literature
Literature
His Living Wife (Story #5: Leroux POTO fanfic)
Chapter 1: Free-falling
Claire woke and yawned; she stretched and looked about her. She knew she must get up, but the coziness of the small attic room was comforting.
Before her aunt swung open her bedroom door she knew she was there.
"Claire, its past five thirty. You know you must make breakfast before your uncle gets up." By this time Claire had sat up. "Up, up, up, now!" Claire was now already out of the bed.
"I'll be right down, ma'am." She took a dress out of her closet that looked warm. It was green with a flared skirt. She hurriedly pulled it over her head. She got her bag and slipped out the door and downstairs.
She went through her