*edit* - I had the violin part of Frederic Chopin's "Nocturne" in mind when I wrote this.

The faint, restless cries of a violin could be heard in the distance as Lizbeth stirred from her sporadic, deadened slumber. Her vision was smeared as she peeled her eyelids open, the world about her vague and painted with mute colors. She lifted a priggish hand to her face, massaging the gossamer twilight that plagued her vision like a bad dream. Her sight sliding into focus, she panned across the narrow space searching for signs of life or familiarity, but only to find strange and almost frightening images decorating the rock interior.

Dark figures, fiery landscapes, and other unexplainable artworks and tapestries lined the walls, making the young girls heart start to quicken. Dear God, where am I? She thought to herself as her thoughts began to try and rebuild how she arrived at such a house so adverse to her own. She quickly sat up in the bed only to sink back in as her head pounded with intense pain. She clasped her hands around her auburn hair, closing her eyes until the pangs in her mind subsided.

Now, ever slower than before, Lizbeth tediously lifted herself from the warming embrace of the feather-filled mattress and carefully swung her feet out from under the covers, dangling just a few inches above the ashen chiseled-stone floor. The violin in the distance was still lamenting a sweet sorrow and Lizbeth, her mind now somewhat mended, gingerly rose out from the bed and walked towards the door, it's dark cherry complexion giving some warmth to the chilled walls of cadaverous stone.

Her hands were shaking as she reached out for the iron latch, for what could she know of who would be waiting on the other side? Still, no thought or memory made any sense of her circumstance. Her mind stood agape with foggy glass between thoughts and dreams.

The handle quietly slid through it's loops and the door calmly eased open into the faintly lit hallway. More otherworldly paintings and frescos decorated the arching walls and the ceiling in the hall, giving the manor a haunting feeling of apprehension and despair. Although she did not want to, Lizbeth could not help but peer into these images of fascination and mortality. Anxious became her thoughts when gazing into the eyes of inhuman shapes, but she almost felt a sense of belonging in their bone wings and feral gazes.

As she continued barefoot down the red carpeted hall, the violin seemed to sense her approach. Every step she took towards the desperate serenade made it almost sounded sweeter, perhaps more heartbroken than the step before it; a lover lost in the dark, it's passionate strings lamenting for solace like a wolf howling into the wind for it’s lost mate.

Lizbeth came to the end of the interminable hall, the aching call of the violin just behind it's foreboding oak slats, reinforced with strips of aged iron. Her hands were clammy as she gripped the folds of her white nightgown for comfort. For an age, it seemed, she stood there at the gateway with her eyes dimmed, just listening to the anguish emanating from the tortured soul within it's walls. She couldn't bear it, the pain flowing from behind the mask.

Now somewhat collected, Lizbeth lifted a hand to the latch, slowly pulling the door towards herself. The smell of Jicky perfume flowed into her senses as the heavy door swung wide into the hall and she again eclipsed her eyes and breathed in the sweet bouquet of lavender and citrus that permeated her brain. Akin to a cold marble statue, she stood there in the doorway with the emanating beauty taking her over.

She didn't know what to think, how to move, or what to say. Forever she could stay there with the delicate sliding of a beloved's hand. Man or monster, she did not know. But somehow she knew, without any sense of fear or doubt, that this phantasm of her prison could always bring her heart comfort with the gentleness of his tears.

__________________

"Impossible Love" by Bluefley