The Art Of Manipulation Teaser

1.5K 45 28
                                    

|| The Art Of Manipulation ||

-Teaser-

In my bedchambers, I wandered aimlessly around the room I haven't seen in over four years. I went around my circular bed, bending slightly to brush my fingers over the soft, cream colored sheets. What I had lived with on Earth was nothing compared to the size of my bed here in Asgard and the material of the bedding's fabric. Many would argue that Asgard, that shining city in the sky, had the best of everything. I, however, find myself more content with what Midgard has to offer. Then again, I have never really been picky with my belongings; nor have I cared if I have belongings at all.

Reaching my walk-in closet, I stopped in the doorway, resting my hands on both sides of the door frame. I took in the never ending rows of dresses, seeming to stretch farther than the eye can see, all of them bathing in the golden light the torches shed on them. Most of them are gifts; gifts from the being who summoned me back from Earth. I would never buy myself this many dresses. What use do I have for them? I can only wear one at a time after all. And to wear all that is now hanging in my closet, I'd have to live to be a thousand years old. Not that that's a problem for an immortal such as I...

I didn't bother looking through my new dresses, instead going straight to the section that held all the dresses I myself had collected over the centuries. Surprisingly there aren't many. And most of them have aged, their seams becoming weak and their fabrics becoming faded and wrinkly.

I passed my hand over a blue dress I had bought in Paris many, many years ago. Arguably, those days in Paris, working at the Opéra Populaire, were the best days of my existence. This blue dress here holds many memories of my time there...and with Erik. Sweet, sweet Erik.

I forced away the image of Erik in my mind, grabbing a different, simple strapless dress using unnecessary determination and haste.

I peeled off my work blazer, the one I had worn this morning as I left my job at the Metropolitan Opera house. I reached back to undo the one button on my shirt, moving to unzip my black pants once my shirt and blazer were folded and carelessly thrown onto one of my chairs. After tossing my pants to join my other clothing on the chair, I unhooked the back of my black lace bra, also sending that through air to land on the chair piled with discarded clothing.

Taking the dress I had picked off of it's hanger, I unlaced the back and stepped into it, pulling it up my torso and pining it with my arms so I could redo the lacing. However, before I could reach back to find the ribbons, cool fingers trail down my spine, followed by icy breath on the curve of my neck.

Without turning around or looking behind me, I said through the smile that had slowly appeared on my face, "Hello, Loki."

The Angel's Shadow || The Phantom of the Opera || Book TwoWhere stories live. Discover now