The Art of Manipulation || Phantom of the Opera & Loki the God of Mischief ||

-Unfamilar Feelings-

-Unfamiliar Feelings-

*Flashback*

"Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying to hard to put you from my min-"

I cut Carlotta off by telling the orchestra to stop playing. All of us hid our sighs of relief once Carlotta's screeching voice came to an end.

I ignored Carlotta's offended one raised eyebrow expression and said, "It still needs work-" or you need work "-but it's coming along."

I glanced at the clock offstage and felt the twinge of annoyance eat at my dwindling patience.

3:48 pm? Is that all it is? Can't time go by any faster?

Sighing and scratching my head with my pencil, I spoke to the cast, "Alright, that's enough for today. You need to get ready for tonight's performance."

I left the stage before they could tell me the show is still five and a half hours from now and went back to my office.

In front of my precious piano once again, I let out a heavy sigh. Five and a half hours. What am I to do for five and a half hours? The doors open at 7:20 pm. I'll need to be backstage before that to make sure everything is in its place. That itself takes away a half an hour. So what will I do with the remaining five hours?

I spread out the pages of the aria I had written in a mere three hours and critiqued it for another two hours. Not that it needs critiquing but it's something to do.

When 5:35 pm came around I stood from the piano bench and tied up the finished Hannibal score, placing it safely in one of the drawers in my desk. Closing my eyes I listened closely to the floor above me for any sounds of humans around my room. I heard three heartbeats, maybe four, all of them maids. I checked the floor I was on as well, just for good measure, before I pictured my room directly above me, concentrating hard.

Opening my eyes I found myself no longer in my office but in the room I had envisioned. With stunned eyes, I raised my left hand to my face and counted to myself, "One, two, three, four, five." I raised my other hand and counted those fingers, "One, two, three, four, five." I wiggled them and smiled, "They're all there." I looked down, "My clothes are still on." I let out an excited giggle, "I did it!" I hopped up and down and and squealed. "A little winded but I did it! I teleported!" I looked up to the ceiling and smiled brightly, "Did you see that, Heimdall?!" Imagining his smile I giggled again and clapped my hands like an excited child. I'm sure that if I could hear him he would congratulate me. Someday I'll be able to hear him, someday I'll be strong enough. That's what Frigga tells me.

Skipping to my closet I swung open the door and twirled inside. I fished through my dresses and grabbed four...or eight...and piled them all onto my bed.

Eight dresses and one hour later, I stood in front of the mirror for the eighth time. Smoothing down the fabric in the front I turned sideways, trying to see my appearance from every angle. Through my window, the setting sun casted a warm glow on the blue material, making it look like the golden sun setting on a vast ocean. Turning the other way I bit my lip. Do I wear blue too often? Does the neckline plunge too low? Should there be more sleeve?

I faced forward again, the skirt of the dress wooshing as it moved against the floor. Tilting my head to the side I stared at my reflection. I guess it'll do. It is the nicest dress I own. Or, the nicest Midgardian dress I own. The dresses on Midgard cannot compare to the dresses on Asgard. However, the amount of flesh usually exposed in Asgardian clothing would be scandalous here on Earth. Even for Paris' standards.