The Phantom

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The clock sounds a second time.
The tolls echo through the room as eleven o’clock sings its presence from the clock across town.
The dress is one of my mother’s, the black one with the silver curls and a satiny ribbon around the waist. I slick down the midnight fabric memories of my mother rushing through my head; I miss her, a lot.
I stare at the grand ball room from my place in the shadow of the grand marble pillar. The warm milky marble has a warm glowing vanilla tint to it giving the room a rich air of grandness that is impossible to describe.
A small band consisting of violinist a harpist a chello and a pianist plays on the small stage built in an indention in the wall to open up the wall for the dancers. The rich music stirs a sensation that id suppressed for to long it pulls at my legs urging me to rise to my feet and join the other dancers.
No.
The desire settles in my chest making it difficult to breath. It would be so easy to give in.
NO.
I rip my gaze away from the dance floor choking down the scream of pure agony that rises to my throat.
Suddenly my eyes catch the sight of a figure across the room leaning into the chair with an air that could easily be mistaken for cockiness.
Confidence.
Even from across the room I can see his eyes, chilling blue, blazing with mischief behind his plain black mask laced with raven feathers. He shakes his head trying to shake his dark hair out of his eyes and failing miserably as more of the dark strands cover his perfect face that could have easily been snatched from a marble bust and placed on his shoulders.
As if sensing my gaze he turns his head and a new light flashes in his eyes.
Curiosity.
His head cocks to the side like a confused wolf as he stares at me unblinkingly holding me captive in his sapphire pools.
Making a decision he gets up and crosses the room to stand in front of me
“Waiting for the phantom?” he asks his voice calm and inquiring.
A rush of childhood memories flooded into my head. The Phantom every girls dream and nightmare wrapped into one menacing yet oh so charming form. The stories is centered on this very ball room were he came from no one knows but it’s said he comes before midnight and charms some poor incant girl into falling for him, and e he vanishes into thin air.
“I’ve given up on fairy tales” I reply not taking my eyes from the dancers.
“How ironic” He smiles “I’ve up on reality”
Suddenly, he offers me his hand.
“Care to dance” the question is more of a challenge than an offer. I wonder if he knows how much the music calls to me.
“Sure” I say a smile playing on my lips.
Just because I don’t like to dance doesn’t mean I can’t in fact my dance instructor said I was one of her favorite.
He leads me to dance; his eyes have changed again this time still curios but more relaxed. Even though I’m a bit nervous, he caries him self with a contagious air of confidence forcing me to relax as the next song starts.
Id forgotten how much I enjoyed dancing I was good at it and so was my partner. It was clear head been doing this for a wile he lead with a steady hand at my waist. He kept a pace that I could easily keep up with, but still fast enough for me to get a challenge from it.
We danced for what could have been hours time really didn’t seem to matter as long as I kept dancing with him.
Finally, he pulled me to the side and I all but crumpled in his arms lighting for absolutely no reason once so ever. I looked up and noticed he was smiling down at me.
“Come on” he whispers pulling me gently by the wrist until he caches my hand. And holds it
He took me out to the balcony over looking the courtyard’s gardens were the beautiful cresset moon reflects into the pond below were two plum swans sleep, there small heads tucked into there downy wings.
Leaning out onto the stone railing he looks out on the seen his eyes gaining a deep nostalgic look as he studies the seen before him.
The cool wind wisps around the building I shiver as it passes through me.
He pulls me closer to him shielding me from the winds grip.
“So you don’t believe in the phantom?” there is a bitter twang of sadness in the question that makes me look up at his stony face.
“Not since my mother died.” I whisper.
He nods his head thought fully still not looking at me.
“That’s to bad, but to tell you the truth” he pauses as the clock across town tolls sings midnight. “I don’t believe in you either” he smiles grimly, and disappears into the night, just like that. No poof, no warning, just gone, his arms disappearing from around me.
I gasp.
The clock sounds a second time.





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CrazyMK This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
May 9, 2010 at 6:38 pm
Wooooohoooo! I loved it, although that is nothing knew. Keep up the good work :)
 
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