[ P ] Night unfurls its splendor

and sweetest
in the gale is heard

Eloise waded slowly through the saltwater, her eyes closed. She'd been here all afternoon, admiring the crystalline pools that peppered the shore. She'd come in search of inspiration, and she'd found it. Maybe the pools held some sort of magic. Or maybe the inspiration had been inside her all along, just waiting to be let out. She supposed it didn't matter. Either way, she'd found it. And it had carried her away into the realm of her imagination.

An empty theatre. A gleaming mahogany stage, framed with curtains the color of freshly spilled blood. Cushioned seats, long since abandoned—rows upon rows of them climbing into the darkness. Warm pools of light from golden candelabras, offering reprieve from the shadows. Such grandeur.

Such desolation.

But then! A woman appeared. Her gown was the color of midnight. Across her chest and above her brow, starlight danced. Every step she took across the empty stage seemed to echo into oblivion. But she moved with purpose. She knew why she had come.

Before long, she reached the center of the stage. The theatre itself seemed to listen. The curtains drew closer. The little flames in the candelabras quivered with anticipation. The woman took a deep breath and began to sing.

All the while, Eloise continued to wade through the saltwater, her path parallel to the shore. A soft smile graced her features as she kept her eyes closed, listening to a song that only she could hear.

template by bean

@Mercury

Drink Of Calamity

He moves like a snake, a graceful slither that winds his inky-black form along the edges of the stone until he comes to rest at the edges of the pools. Drawn by a sirens' song it seems, or rather drawn by the prospect of something interesting. His shoulders roll as he draws himself up, sitting to assess her performance, though it seems she is yet unaware of his arrival. Of course, he does not make it a habit of making himself known unless he wills it so, and thus he clears his throat with a sharp 'AHEM' to gain her attention. Still, ever-grinning, the showmans' face remains tilted in her general; direction with sightless eyes settled upon what appears to be her face--or perhaps her soul, as he seems to stare through her, though not quite behind her. A strange thing, since he lacks any pupils to speak of at all which makes his gaze somewhat more unnerving.

"Well, that's not a tune I've heard before, and I do so pride myself on my knowledge of the arts. Dare I ask-- would that be a personal composition? Might I offer pointers? Oh, but please, do continue. I was enjoying the ambience." A chuckle threatens to bubble up within his throat, but he clacks his teeth and slams his jaws shut, refusing to allow it to escape which results in a long, broken hiss between exposed teeth.

@Eloise