June 26, 2010 - 8:44pm — faunet
The ballet practices and routines were tough,but I never minded.It is the only way for me to live,to survive in this world.With nothing to my name,and no family that was alive I dpended on this job at the opera.I did other various jobs at the opera fixing costumes,and other things.The stage often felt like a second home your heart beating as you performed in front of the audience,such things always made me smile. La Carlotta was pushing the new manager to the breaking point at rehearsal,threatening to leave.
Tears were shed voices shrieked and begged till long last she complied and stayed. Nothing new really we often saw this.The only other excitement was the supposed phantom who roamed about the opera.That was another source of gossip around here.While I am unsure about the phantom
I know there is a voice that I hear late at night when the others are asleep.It sings and it sends pleasurable chills through me as it does.
June 26, 2010 - 2:29pm — Seed
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The rainy air has its own smell; it has a little rot in it, and a little bit of the promise of new growth. It smells like the bottom of ponds and, I think, of mystery. Today the rain smelled like cool northern lands, and of distant icy seas.
Today, also, it smelled like I wasn't going to be doing much. I wandered around, exchanged gifts of flowers with a stranger, watched two deer give each other spells and turn into crows, sat with a crow-deer, and wandered over to the Oak, where I sat and watched the rain for a while. Eventually, a few others joined me under the great cavern of the oak, who told me little dreams about the rain.
The rain, she told me, is the tears of a crying idol so big that no deer can make sense of it, and so they call it the sky -- we're all inside her, and her tears drip down over all of us on a day like today. The rain is music the gods are playing on the instrument of the world, shaking the water and making a gentle sound where it strikes the ground. The rain, she told me, is the often unseen sky reminding us that it exists. I may have elaborated, here and there, but that's what she said, at the heart of matters.
Eventually, I noticed the sound of Virgil -- the distinctive fall of his hooves, the little humm made from the light of his name, and so I went to see him. He was sitting with some company. Poltergeist was breathing heavily – I think her baby was finally on its way, lured out by the smell of rain. I know we know little of each other, but I was glad to be able to offer whatever feeble support I could as she shifted restlessly in the rain – eventually Virgil left Poltergeist, Trees, and I in the rain, which pittered down around us, until we all eventually fell asleep.
When I woke up, Saosin was next to me. He gave my rain-soaked back a nice rub, the ridged sound of bone on scale not unlike the sound of rain on hard treebark above us.
