Status: Completed.
Songbird
Engraved
A dagger of affliction plunged through the heart of the young writer, as rationality began to disintegrate. The melancholy wordsmith stumbled out into an emerald haven, though due to his disregard for anything but the preceding incident, to him it was merely the debris of a broken land, engulfed by an army malevolent moss. The young woman who had caused this agony was oblivious to the distress which she had caused. In fact, she was seemingly oblivious to the identity of that particular guest. The garden offered tranquility to Anthony, when the company of jubilant aristocrats was no longer comforting.
An illustrious moon dazzled in the night sky, as it left every resplendent maiden and respected gentleman dazed and breathless. Still disorientated by his sweetheart’s neglectful memory, the youthful author staggered to a nearby stone bench, where he rested his body for a while. Posture slumped, hands clutched around the stone support. How could his darling songbird fail to recall any memory of him? Surely after ten years of friendship, he would be somewhat memorable? Perhaps his new-found wealth somehow altered his appearance. Perhaps a simple reminder of what was once may refresh her memory. Their secret code, their private language, a shared sentiment; A beloved’s melody. His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Eliza Green. Her beauty grazed the night lights until the stars were ashamed to sparkle in her presence. A soft, delicate voice pervaded the ears of the bohemian scribbler:
“Are you not finding the party enjoyable, Master Silvers?” inquired the dainty goddess, placing her body a few meters across from Anthony. He tilted his head to face the divine being at his right, grasping his opportunity to win back the heart of his most treasured possession. Now sporting a welcoming smile, he kindly replied.
“Quite the contrary, Mademoiselle, I believe it is the second most magnificent thing I have ever laid eyes upon.” Her pale cheeks blushed a tone elsewhere seen on the buds of a cherry blossom tree.
“Monsieur, your compassion is most pleasant. Have you a sweet maiden to keep you company?” replied the enchanted damsel. This inquiry evoked an array of hope to strike Anthony with such vigor that his smirk was no longer forced.
“I did, Miss Eliza. I did long ago. Before the existence of my career, I possessed the heart of a glorious maiden. Hair crafted from the sun’s rays, and eyes as deep and blue as the ocean which parted us. Long ago, Miss Eliza, I had in my possession the most precious thing any man could wish for, for she is the divine being which we all aspire to be. Love paints us as fools, Miss Eliza, in irreversible ink, forever engraved on our souls.” exclaimed the youthful artist, rising from his stool to perform his soliloquy of painful romance. Eliza’s pupils fixed upon the grand outline of her former companion, her sympathetic gaze shifting from the poet to her wedding ring.
“Master Silvers, I am truly saddened by your tale, is her refusal of your hand indisputable?”
“Miss Eliza, your harmoniously vermilion mouth is the only thing that can convince me otherwise.” His sudden words startled the sublime maiden, clearing her face of all sorrow, replacing it with an expression of confusion.
“Sir, I can assure you I have no idea what you’re-”
“your face could not escape me, not even after five years parted.” Interrupted the cunning writer. He continued:
“I had seen your face in my slumber during our separation, the image will never detach from my mind. Your lustrous hair, now held prisoner under an ivory comb. Your eyes, which reflect the starry sapphire scenery in which we stand. The roses in this illustrious Eden should be ashamed to show their petals in the presence of your beauty. The slight tarnish above the left of your lip, it is a mark of beauty. It is a mark of beauty, Madame!” Anthony placed a fragile hand on the cheek of his distant flame. The sudden outburst of poetic desperation startled Eliza, her disbelief swiftly transforming into disgust. The soft visage which had once appeared welcoming was now stricken with remorse and resentment as she gradually removed her head from the mould devised from Anthony’s fingers.
“It is a mark of a married woman, Master Silvers. Please do not neglect the metal bar which curses my fingers, nor the gown in which I lost my freedom, nor the seemingly worthless scrap of parchment which bears my signature, yet restricts me from living! Sir, I can tolerate my marriage, but I can not tolerate your senseless pleas!” A shrill scream occupied the garden, disregarding the ears of other occupants. The illustrious mistress portrayed a painting of agony upon her face, whereas her assailant beared a countenance of grievance and frustration.
“...For you do not remember me, my Eliza? My fair songbird, can you not recall the melody which we produced? It is our child, Eliza, crafted from us alone, we raised it. It is our child!” Eliza turned her face from the lethal nuisance. Viciously grabbing her hand, Anthony descended to the ground.
“Unhand me, insolent miscreant! The only memory I recall of you is pleasantly welcoming you into my abode, which I am vastly regretting!”
“Had your maid laced your corset too tight, Mademoiselle, or are you naturally simple?” scolded Anthony, rising from the ground to grimace at the fallen angel.
“I refuse to be a martyr to your rage, Sir.” announced Eliza, hastily evading the scene.
The forsaken wordsmith gazed at the estate. As beautiful as it was, it slightly disturbed and alarmed him, as it represented the beauty that he lost in Eliza many years ago.
An illustrious moon dazzled in the night sky, as it left every resplendent maiden and respected gentleman dazed and breathless. Still disorientated by his sweetheart’s neglectful memory, the youthful author staggered to a nearby stone bench, where he rested his body for a while. Posture slumped, hands clutched around the stone support. How could his darling songbird fail to recall any memory of him? Surely after ten years of friendship, he would be somewhat memorable? Perhaps his new-found wealth somehow altered his appearance. Perhaps a simple reminder of what was once may refresh her memory. Their secret code, their private language, a shared sentiment; A beloved’s melody. His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Eliza Green. Her beauty grazed the night lights until the stars were ashamed to sparkle in her presence. A soft, delicate voice pervaded the ears of the bohemian scribbler:
“Are you not finding the party enjoyable, Master Silvers?” inquired the dainty goddess, placing her body a few meters across from Anthony. He tilted his head to face the divine being at his right, grasping his opportunity to win back the heart of his most treasured possession. Now sporting a welcoming smile, he kindly replied.
“Quite the contrary, Mademoiselle, I believe it is the second most magnificent thing I have ever laid eyes upon.” Her pale cheeks blushed a tone elsewhere seen on the buds of a cherry blossom tree.
“Monsieur, your compassion is most pleasant. Have you a sweet maiden to keep you company?” replied the enchanted damsel. This inquiry evoked an array of hope to strike Anthony with such vigor that his smirk was no longer forced.
“I did, Miss Eliza. I did long ago. Before the existence of my career, I possessed the heart of a glorious maiden. Hair crafted from the sun’s rays, and eyes as deep and blue as the ocean which parted us. Long ago, Miss Eliza, I had in my possession the most precious thing any man could wish for, for she is the divine being which we all aspire to be. Love paints us as fools, Miss Eliza, in irreversible ink, forever engraved on our souls.” exclaimed the youthful artist, rising from his stool to perform his soliloquy of painful romance. Eliza’s pupils fixed upon the grand outline of her former companion, her sympathetic gaze shifting from the poet to her wedding ring.
“Master Silvers, I am truly saddened by your tale, is her refusal of your hand indisputable?”
“Miss Eliza, your harmoniously vermilion mouth is the only thing that can convince me otherwise.” His sudden words startled the sublime maiden, clearing her face of all sorrow, replacing it with an expression of confusion.
“Sir, I can assure you I have no idea what you’re-”
“your face could not escape me, not even after five years parted.” Interrupted the cunning writer. He continued:
“I had seen your face in my slumber during our separation, the image will never detach from my mind. Your lustrous hair, now held prisoner under an ivory comb. Your eyes, which reflect the starry sapphire scenery in which we stand. The roses in this illustrious Eden should be ashamed to show their petals in the presence of your beauty. The slight tarnish above the left of your lip, it is a mark of beauty. It is a mark of beauty, Madame!” Anthony placed a fragile hand on the cheek of his distant flame. The sudden outburst of poetic desperation startled Eliza, her disbelief swiftly transforming into disgust. The soft visage which had once appeared welcoming was now stricken with remorse and resentment as she gradually removed her head from the mould devised from Anthony’s fingers.
“It is a mark of a married woman, Master Silvers. Please do not neglect the metal bar which curses my fingers, nor the gown in which I lost my freedom, nor the seemingly worthless scrap of parchment which bears my signature, yet restricts me from living! Sir, I can tolerate my marriage, but I can not tolerate your senseless pleas!” A shrill scream occupied the garden, disregarding the ears of other occupants. The illustrious mistress portrayed a painting of agony upon her face, whereas her assailant beared a countenance of grievance and frustration.
“...For you do not remember me, my Eliza? My fair songbird, can you not recall the melody which we produced? It is our child, Eliza, crafted from us alone, we raised it. It is our child!” Eliza turned her face from the lethal nuisance. Viciously grabbing her hand, Anthony descended to the ground.
“Unhand me, insolent miscreant! The only memory I recall of you is pleasantly welcoming you into my abode, which I am vastly regretting!”
“Had your maid laced your corset too tight, Mademoiselle, or are you naturally simple?” scolded Anthony, rising from the ground to grimace at the fallen angel.
“I refuse to be a martyr to your rage, Sir.” announced Eliza, hastily evading the scene.
The forsaken wordsmith gazed at the estate. As beautiful as it was, it slightly disturbed and alarmed him, as it represented the beauty that he lost in Eliza many years ago.