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Post by Twilight Path on May 14, 2011 22:51:30 GMT -5
Sarah found herself sitting in the theater that Acteur showed her in the beginning of her journey. The beautiful theater held memories, but not as many as she'd like. She had only practiced and had begun using her piccolo in rather unfortunate ways. However, one must see the darkness before seeing what effect it has on the world around them.
She stood up, approaching the stage and walking towards the pillow that once held the piccolo. Now all that sat there was the beautiful mask that Acteur had worn, in a smile. It was still cracked, but she felt the porcelain and smiled again. If Acteur could smile, then so could she. "If only we could play that Piccolo together. I'd love to play an instrument with you some time, my beloved."
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Post by Atticus the Fallen on May 23, 2011 7:44:49 GMT -5
"Regret?" whispered a terrifying and familiar voice all around her, the voice seeping from the abundant shadows all around her. As she stood there, they would seem to spread outward, becoming thorn-covered tendrils of evil, threatening to overtake this theater just as they had once overtaken a certain puppet of darkness.
"Why do you pine for times now lost?" the voice came again, its owner making himself apparent as he stepped from behind the curtain, throwing it aside as the force of the motion tore them down from their rigging, betraying the strangely sudden transition from a brilliant, beautiful opera house to a dark, dilapidated, and forgotten house of the arts. Dust kicked up where the red velvet fell, the backstage area in shambles and covered in cobwebs. Atticus stood there, yellow eyes glaring hatefully out from the shades under that tall hat of his.
"After all... this is all your doing, isn't it?" he continued, continuing to walk forward. His every step was deep and resonating. He approached where the pillow sat, directly across from Sarah. A clawed hand lifted, stretching his fingers out with the palm up as though to gesture to the woman as he spoke.
"By your own hand is your lover dead. You betrayed him, tore him apart without even trying to save him from me. Once that legendary blade was in your hand, you didn't pay a second thought to his tragedy, but merely sought to bring it to a swift and painful end."
He paused, reaching up to adjust the feathers around the cuff of his raised hand which he tilted upward slightly, revealling the heartless symbol on the back. "How many more then, hm? Will you betray his memory yet further? Will you kill me, the man who gave him life to begin with? Will you march like a crusader into his home and murder his friends? His family? Will you let others do the same? The Keyblade is in your hands, it would be easy..."
Those eyes fell on her again, seeming to rip through the flesh directly into the soul, seeking it out for weakness, or any trace of darkness to exploit. Then, he found it.
"Acteur would be ashamed of you..."
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Post by Twilight Path on May 23, 2011 9:48:18 GMT -5
"He asked me to!" Sarah spoke, feeling the tears begin to flow again. "He told me that that's what he wanted. I was only doing it to save him from the pain he was feeling. How could someone who only loves darkness understand how we felt for each other?" She answered, grasping the mask into her arms quickly. The way the fallen spoke did scare her, but not enough to think that what Acteur wanted was betrayal. Up until his last moment, he had said he loved her and gave her a way back to the Rose. Even when he was crumbling into pieces, she still supported him.
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Post by Atticus the Fallen on May 24, 2011 20:41:13 GMT -5
The dark monster before her seemed almost amused by her words. As she clutched to that mask like it were still living, he merely tilted his head, eyes bearing down on her.
"Did you even try?" he asked, pointing out the error in her logic. "You had the keyblade at your disposal, all the immeasurable power of your own heart ready to make fantasy reality, and you resorted to the path of the assassin..."
Walking forward, he smacked the small pedestal away. His shadow engulfed all around her, those dark wings spreading outward as though ready to wrap around her and pull her kicking and screaming into the night. Points of yellow glowed brightly over her while clawed hands gestured.
"In the end, the darkest being is one who turns against their loved ones. The deepest circle of hell is reserved especially for them. Murderess... backstabber... charlitain... falsehood..."
His words were driving at her, attempting to pull out something far worse than himself, her self-destruction. "You never really loved him. You killed him at the first opportunity. The only mercy in your act is that he, who only wanted to be as real as the deepest shadows, will never know the hypocracy of your heart..."
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Post by Twilight Path on May 24, 2011 20:49:13 GMT -5
'I wanted to kill them.' She thought as she listened to the form of Atticus in her heart. 'My parents died and I wanted to get revenge for everything that happened. Yet, I stopped caring about it once I realized the truth. That I was the one not listening to them.' Her arms started to loosen a bit on the mask. Her knees hitting the ground. 'Now I've killed the only other person I've loved deep in my heart. After all this is over, what will they do with me? Have I killed the darkness so much that twilight is impossible?' The mask was on the verge of falling as she felt the darkness coming every so closer.
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Post by Acteur de la Noir on May 29, 2011 19:45:19 GMT -5
At that very moment when all seemed lost--the encroaching darkness swirling around the distraught songbird in perfect harmony with her mounting despair--there came a voice from the shadows. But instead of the sinister, monstrous rasp of Atticus the Fallen, this new voice spoke in the cultured, elegant tones of another nocturnal being...one who embodied the more noble and romantic aspects of the night, and with whom Sarah Appleton had shared a much closer kinship. And the words that came were not of condemnation, but reassurance...
"When does something become 'impossible,' cherie?"
It was then that the sound of footsteps made itself known, depicting one's casual stride across the dilapidated stage with nary a care for the strewn debris or the seething, thorn-laced darkness. Gradually, one could perceive the source of the sound--a lanky silhouette, moving with the jaunty grace of a born performer. From what one could make out through the darkness, the figure seemed to be stroking its chin, contemplating a philosophical quandary aloud.
"For some, something becomes 'impossible' when confronted with the limits of physical ability--a regular human trying to push a mountain, perchance. For others, something becomes 'impossible' when another proves it beyond any shadow of doubt--when the accused is vindicated by virtue of new evidence which secures their innocence; when the so-called puppet is able to pull its own strings despite its master's insistence to the contrary. These are certainly things of impossibility, which can be proven beyond point of argument."
The figure was much closer now. Pausing in mid-stride, it stopped as if struck by sudden thought...and then, in defiance of the mournful, despairing atmosphere of its surroundings, gave out a hearty and theatrical laugh.
"But hearken to me, cherie...there is a secret that so few realize: that so very often, something becomes 'impossible' when one believes it to be so. For some, it is out of lack of imagination; unable to think beyond the proverbial box to realize an unorthodox solution. For others, it is out of despair; so wracked with guilt that they fail to realize that redemption is indeed possible--that their friends and family are ready to help them back to their feet. And for others still, it is because they misconceive their situation; believing themselves to be murderers when in fact they granted their victims their dying request--that they freed them from a living torment whose only remaining release was death. In all of these cases, 'impossible' is but a certain point of view...and not one that is truth inviolate."
At that moment, a spotlight snapped on from somewhere overhead, bathing Sarah in a dusky silver radiance akin to a moonbeam cutting through stormy clouds. From the darkness around the spotlight's perimeter, an arm sheathed in a Victorian tuxedo-sleeve reached out to pick up the mask, gently lifting it from Sarah's trembling fingers and lifting it back into the shadows--true shadows, not those seething constructs of Darkness that Atticus had formed. A few moments passed in silence...and then...
...he stepped forth into the spotlight. Gone was the leeching aura of darkness; his elegant finery was that dusky-yet-vibrant purple-and-black that Sarah would remember from the Jidoor Opera House. Gone was the deep, scything scar where her Keyblade had struck him free from the wretched existence of being Atticus' mindless slave; his jacket and ruffled silk shirt were untouched and whole. And gone was the air of cruel malice that had permeated the final act of his drama; he was once more the enigmatic-yet-charming trickster who had ultimately insisted that Sarah was perfectly fine as she was.
"To walk the path of Twilight is no easy task...but it only becomes impossible when you give up, cherie. Take heart, my lady...and stand."
Thus did Acteur de la Noir offer a hand to help Sarah to her feet. Was he a lingering spirit kept alive by her Heart? The embodiment of her memories of him? It mattered not--he was here for her. And always would be.
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Post by Twilight Path on May 29, 2011 21:26:29 GMT -5
Sarah's eyes watered again. She had panicked when the mask was taken from her arms. Still, to hear that voice had brought her away from the thoughts that threatened her. It wasn't hard for her to revert to old habits if she gave up. To give up on something that they would walk together is not what she should do. She took his hand in her own, feeling the familiar and comfortable material.
She smiled, hugging him and burying her head into what she knew was him. She didn't know any words that she could use. No music that she knew that fit better than the strangely comforting sound of his words and her cries of happiness just to see him in a form that she knew so well. His true face and voice, even if it wasn't something others could completely understand.
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Post by Acteur de la Noir on Jun 3, 2011 1:37:01 GMT -5
The Acteur apparition--was he just an apparition?--gently slipped his arms around Sarah and gave her a reassuring hug, letting her use him as a cushion to ride out her tears of relief. A gentle chuckle escaped the crescent-moon of his mask's mouth, and a gloved hand reached up to ruffle her silky hair. His body was artificial beneath the elegant finery, and yet he seemed to project a sort of warmth as they embraced--really, it was the aura of kindness; that sensation created not by some mere stimulation of electrical impulses in the nervous system, but from an emotional realization. How strange, that one once born of Darkness was capable of such warmth…and yet, so instinctive that there was nary a second thought. Here was irrefutable proof that went against the grain of everything that zealous “divine” priests and devout abyssal worshipers had been proclaiming for centuries—that it was impossible for Darkness and Light to ever find common ground and coexistence.
After a moment, Acteur relaxed his arms enough to lean back somewhat, so that he could better meet Sarah’s eyes with the spooky-yet-lively orbs that glowed behind his mask. “Like so much in our relationship,” he noted with thoughtful amusement, “I rather didn’t see this coming. I’m not certain how it’s come to be; your Keyblade acting on your memories of me, perhaps? My lingering sentiment taking residence in the memento that became your new Keychain? The glorious, infinite possibility of dreams that lets us meet those who have passed?” A pause, and then a shrug of those lanky shoulders. “Ah, well…I suppose it matters not how I came to be here, does it? What matters is that I am…and so long as you wish it, I will be your guide. Let the talents and experience that were mine in life be yours to wield. My ear, whenever you wish to speak your concerns. And your ally, however a lingering sentiment might be of aid.”
At this moment, the Acteur memory/spirit/whatever blinked as if struck by realization. “On that note…” Those eerie yellow eyes turned to Atticus, and one arm slipped loose to make a rather dismissive wave at the Fallen and his legion of seething shadows. “You, oh former Maestro—“ the word was laced subtly with elegant sarcasm—“Are intruding. Off with you now…slither back to your tall tower and wait. I daresay the heroes will come knocking on your door any day now.”
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Post by Twilight Path on Jun 3, 2011 9:41:09 GMT -5
Sarah wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. "It looks like nothing around us is explainable in rational terms." She noted that Atticus was still around, but this was her heart. The heart that Acteur had protected with more than his life. He was still protecting that heart, even when his body was gone and his heart had come to stay within her.
She focused on the Fallen's presence, creating a strong fire beneath him. The power of a fire in her heart, rather than that of one that burned wood. When the fire had burned whatever was left of the Fallen away, she kissed Acteur where that mask was smiling. "We'll be working together, so ask anything if you need it of me." Her eyes began to shut, her mind beginning to move away from that area. "Our path is still going."
**To Where Darkness and Light Collide, Hyperspace**
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