In the Dark of the night comes he

In the Dark of the Night….

(A:N//: There was a picture here....it isnt copying)

…Comes He.











Parte I




Prologue


She laid in bed, asleep. Of course, in her three year old mind, it never would occur to her that she was being watched. Every movement of her tiny frame observed, every lash had been noted, every hair had been mentally caressed and the crème color of her skin had been sipped in slowly. The child, for future reference, would grow to dislike being alone and in life would crave attention and would need to feel loved, mentally and physically.

He watched from the closet. The door was cracked and thus, the closet being directly across the way from her bed allowed his eyes easy access to her sleeping form. “Think of me.” He muttered. Had the room not been void of any and all noise, with the exception of the child’s breathing and beating heart, then his words would not have carried over to her. There was a pause, an intake of his breath, and he said it again. His words had an effect, albeit a small effect, but her eyes fluttered behind her lids faintly.
“Come to me.” He spoke this a little louder this time. She moved to the side a bit. A hand, encased in a black leather glove, moved the door open another two inches. “Love me.”

Her eyes actually opened this time, and she looked at the ceiling. A word consisting of toddler gibberish escaped her mouth. Then she sat up and by observing the darkness and the silence around her became aware of his presence.

Pleased with her reaction to him he thought for a minute about whether to open the door and reveal himself fully or to leave her with the appearance of his hand. Settling on a third action, he extending his index finger, gestured for her to come closer. Then he moved back into the shadows and waited.

She stared, sensed danger and then comfort. She saw darkness and light, and she felt scared by the dark around her. Something about him frightened her, but she left the safeness of her bed anyways. Crawling off her bed she teetered over to the closet door, and the closer she got the more her apprehension grew. Apprehension of something bad eventually gave way to apprehension of something wonderful. Although she couldn’t place what either the wonderful something or the bad something was; it was curiosity that that hailed victory over her emotions, and it was her unsatisfied curiosity that made her reach the closet door.

‘So easy to control,’ he thought to himself, smirking and still half hiding in the distance. ’She seems a little reluctant…more so than the others.’ He extended the one hand he had offered her to her sight before and lowered it down to her level. There on his flattened out palm lay a red box with a black ribbon that sealed its contents inside. Red as the Red Death and the ribbon was as black as the plague.

It was with great difficulty that she opened the box. A child’s hands are small but the ribbon gave no room for her to slip her fingers under it. When the task set before her (simply open the box) had been accomplished, she opened the lid and out a porcelain figure of a ballerina. No bigger than her thumb the Prima Ballerina stood, in her tiny palm, in Arabesque. It seemed to have been imitated from a Dumas’ painting, although which one I couldn’t quite tell you, but her make up was exactly what he would be driven to capture.

As the child turned it over in her hands a tinkling sound came to her ears. The man in the closet held a music box that played a familiar tone to all our ears. From what she could see of the music box it was large, taking to hands to hold, wooden, and square, with engravings. As “Dance of the Reed Pipes” continued to tinkle its music the porcelain began to grow hot in her hands. Within seconds the Prima’s out had become satin and the previously hard skirt had become a flimsy sheer material.

The prima brought down her leg, from arabesque, to sit beside the other one on the child’s hand. She then began to dance to the music. The child watched in amazement at the precision and accuracy with which the dancer danced. The prima continued to dance and delight throughout the tune. She went through wonderful positions, some hard to hold, some requiring a turn or leap. As the music wound down so did the child and ballerina. The last note hit and the prima brought her leg back to arabesque. The child was confuse and she looked up at the closet.

The door was shut. The magical music box gone. Gone with the night, gone with the man, gone with times help in the form of a second. Apprehension and Understanding began to dawn on the child as she set the ballerina down on a table top and climbed back into bed. The Prima ballerina, now porcelain again, would not dance because the magic man with the magic box was gone. One thing however was not gone, and that was her memory. Throughout the next twelve years of her life she would always remember …and he new it.


END PROLOGUE.