Sing Me Forgotten

If they want me to be a nightmare, then a nightmare I shall be.

I pretend to be human, but the mirror does not lie.

You may not have loved me,' I whisper, my tears dropping onto his face and trailing down the smile lines around his mouth. 'But I loved you, and my love was never a lie.

But I have heard you sing. I've felt the vibratos and crescendos of your soul in every part of mine. You are no more a monster than I. You are a song. One composed of a thousand different instruments all perfectly harmonizing into the melody they were crafted to create. A masterpiece.

I would have loved you forever,' he says, his breath hot on my mouth. I meet his gaze. 'And I will.' His mouth dips against mine once more, but this time it is soft and gently, quiet and questioning, as though he is exploring every inch of my lips with his so that he might memorize them. They are gentle kisses. Kisses that know they cannot last. Kisses that beg for just a breath longer. Kisses that mean goodbye.

They think they can keep me here. That the iron and stone will intimidate me. That darkness will break me. They forgot I was raised in the darkness, that I've been imprisoned my whole life. They can threaten me with blade or poison or death, but they cannot make me afraid. Not anymore. I close my eyes and wait.

You've seen my past. You know I'm not perfect.' 'That's not the point.' His jaw hardens. 'That's exactly the point. We're all monsters. Every single person in this Memory-damned world.' He places his hands on either side of my face. 'What someone looks like isn't what determines their humanity.' ... 'I may not be able to see your memories,' he murmurs, 'but I have heard you sing. I've felt the vibratos and crescendos of your soul in every part of mine. You are no more a monster than I. You are a song.

Before you, music was just music. But not anymore. Where everything was dull and mute before, you've brought brightness and life. I don't want to lose that.' He grasps my arms and pulls me around to face him. 'Please don't go to that ball, Isda.

You're right, though. You do deserve to dance, wear pretty dresses, and eat fine foods. You are worth celebrating.' Words have stuck in my throat. My body has gone completely numb. 'But they'll kill you if they find out the truth.' He pushes a lock of hair back over my shoulder. 'And a world without you in it? That's not a world I want to even imagine.

So let them come for me. I will burn them up until nothing remains but ashes and smoke.

Destruction is a music all its own. One comprised of drumbeats and a percussion of passion and pain.

The catacombs deep beneath the opera house are my domain. In them, I fall into the sweet, accepting embrace of darkness and the unassuming simplicity of silence and secrets.

Should a person's whole life be defined by what their face looks like, some power they wish they could have been born without or some fate they never asked for, never wanted?

Now this stage belongs to me. Now the music is mine. Now the world pays for its cruelty. This is what I'm capable of.

He gives me a devil's grin. "So should I call you 'mademoiselle,' or have you got a name tucked somewhere behind that mask of yours?