Ummm... how long has it been since I put up a Phantom story? LOL!
This was inspired by a story I read a LONG time ago, but I don't recall what the title was or the author. It was very similar to this, and if anyone could direct me to it, I'd like to credit the author for inspiring me.
This was actually written like two years ago - maybe even more. But I decided today that I wanted to rewrite it, so I did! The girl's original name was Maria, but I decided that didn't fit her. So now it's Rose, which is FRENCH. How did I know? A baby name website! Love those things.
Anyway, I hope you guys like what I have so far!
Rose looked out the window, sitting there on the bench by the piano. She never could play it well, but she would fill the mistakes with her voice. She knew she would never be perfect, but singing brought her pleasure. It was just that today, nothing much seemed to inspire her. Perhaps she would take her daily walk out in the woods early... it was a beautiful day out, though winter was fast approached.
She stood up, sliding to the end of the bench so she would not have to swing her legs over it - that wasn't ladylike, Maman told her. "Maman," she called, slipping her sweater on. "I think I might take my walk out in the forest now. I'll be back before dinner."
Maman, who was sitting there on the sofa mending up clothes, looked up. "You go out there every day, Rose," she commented, looking back down at her work. "I don't know what you hope to find."
"Que?" Rose giggled. "A young lady can't get any fresh air?"
"Not every day, no. What do you do out there?"
She shrugged, walking toward the door. "I sing. I think. Among the trees is a very calming place to sort out your thoughts, Maman."
Maman waved her hand, shaking her head. "Yes, yes, go, Rose. But you be careful, you hear me? There are wild animals." She always said that.
Rose nodded. "Yes, Maman, I'll be careful." With that, she kissed her fingers and wiggled them towards Maman, then opened the door and walked out.
The air was bracing today, colder than it had been yesterday. She'd been right to put on her sweater. She walked, waiting until she was past the windows of her house, and she ran.
She loved running through the forest. She could hear every sound of nature at a speed that surely they were never meant to be heard. The birds chirping, crickets humming, every thump of her flat-shoed feet against the dirt. The wind rushed across her face, whipped her hair back, and nearly blew her sweater off her arms.
She ran until she reached a small clearing, and fell against the trunk of a large tree. She took a few laborious breaths in, and sunk down to sit against its base. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the bark, smiling. Then she opened her eyes again, letting sunlight filter in through the leaves to come on her face.
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord," she sang out, drawing each note out as long as she could.
She had to admit, she certainly wasn't expecting to be answered. But a soft, clear, deep voice rang out, from somewhere above her, though she couldn't tell exactly where. "He hath trampl'd out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored..." And the voice paused, as if waiting for her.
She sat up a bit, straightening and smoothing out the hem of her dress. It had almost come up above her knees. "He hath loos'd the fateful lightning-"
The voice joined her, a marvelous counter and blend to her own. "... of His terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on!"
Rose sat up even farther, pressing her palms to the crisp, slightly damp grass and looking upward. "Your voice is beautiful," she called, not knowing if he were even still there. If he didn't reply, she'd surely feel a fool.
There were a few seconds of silence, then came his voice. He was speaking this ime, but that didn't make it any less mellifluous. "Merci, ma cherie. Please, don't stop now. We may keep singing."
Rose blinked. "But monsieur, who are you?"
He chuckled. "Mademoiselle, I have been watching you come here for a while - to this same place. L'Ange de la Musique - c'est moi."
"The Angel of Music?" Rose smiled brightly, standing up. "Oh! I knew there must be such a thing! I believed it, you know. Papa says there is no such nonsense, but I knew he was wrong. I knew. Ange, I've been having so much trouble with the piano. I have never been good at it, and Maman wishes for me to be so, as she is. Oh, you should hear her play! I think it should make you weep."
"Perhaps." There was a gentle lilt to his voice, as if he were amused. "But there is no piano here, and I sincerely doubt you might get one all the way out here without trouble - in every sense of the word. No... I cannot help you with that. But, sing for me."
"Mon Ange... we just sang together. I have just done so!"
"Oui, I know. I mean, I will help you with your singing."
"I know I am not good. You will really help me, Ange?"
"Of course. For what other purpose would I exist, ma belle?"
She thought about that. Well, of course, it made sense. If the Angel of Music did not tutor people and help them progress with their abilities, why else should he exist at all? "I see, Ange."
"Very well." He made a sound akin to clearing one's throat, and there was a clap. "B flat arpeggio, please, mademoiselle."
Well! I suppose I should, uh, translate the French, huh?
Maman = Mama/Mom (pronounced the same as Mama)
que? = what?
merci = thank you
ma cherie = my dear
monsieur = mister/sir (in this story, unless a surname follows, the second is implied)
mademoiselle = miss/ms.
L'Ange de la Musique = the Angel of Music
c'est moi = it's me/that's me (he's using the second)
mon Ange = my Angel
oui = yes
ma belle = my beautiful one
Well! Thanks for reading, and reviews are SO welcome. Always! In fact, they make-a me SOOOOO happy! I get a review, and I dance-a for joy! ^^