veiled melancholy

All I want

His blue eyes glanced one last time at the empty space on the other side of the table, spot where a porcelain plate laid untouched next to a festive napkin under recently polished silverware. He had lost count already of how many minutes in total he had been longingly staring at the chair separated only by the small banquet he had prepared previously that same day. Although, in all honesty, he would say he was better off without knowing, that was one of the few topics that he would rather stay ignorant about; being aware of that significant detail would only make the knot on his stomach grow heavy.

The blond shifted slightly on his sit, the decorative red cushion with greenish ribbons moving underneath him as well, no longer being centered on the place it had been set hours ago in anticipation, when the flame of excitement shined bright without a care in the world inside his soul, a really strong contrast when taking account of the current state of the glimmer, barely alive at the moment. His enthusiasm had slowly started to die down a couple of hours back, as soon as he saw the elegant sunlight disappear in the horizon, the lasts of its golden rays reaching for the windows of his apartment as a final goodbye before vanishing into thin air.

Will rested his chin on the palm of his hand, leaning forward slightly, careful not to knock any of the dishes he had spent most of his morning setting up to the floor. It wasn’t that late yet, the fact that there was no one there to held tightly the fragments of his breaking heart didn’t mean no one weren’t to appear, that no one would knock on his door or to ring on his doorbell at all.

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Never Alone Part 1 by Maren Klemp

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Veiled Melancholy/Book Narratives : Film Collages. #4 by Russell Moreton
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“Spatial turn” The increased attention to matters of space, place and mapping in literary and cultural studies, as well as in social theory, philosophy, and other disciplinary fields. Spatiality, Robert T. Tally Jr. Routledge 2013 Spatial Intervention into Historical Site/Text. “He rubbed his eyes. The riddle of his surroundings was confusing but his mind was quite clear - evidently his sleep had benefited him. He was not in a bed at all as he understood the word, but lying naked on a very soft and yeilding mattress, in a trough of dark glass. The mattress was partly transparent, a fact he observed with a sense of insecurity, and below it was a mirror reflecting him greyly. Above his arm- and he saw with a shock that his skin was strangely dry and yellow - was bound a curious apparatus of rubber, bound so cunningly that it seemed to pass into his skin above and below. And this bed was placed in a case of greenish-coloured glass (as it seemed to him), a bar in the white framework of which had first arrested his attention. In the corner of the case was a stand of glittering and delicately made apparatus, for the most part quite strange appliances, though a maximum and minimum thermometer was recognizable.” H. G. Wells : The Sleeper Awakes. 1899/1910/1924 Spatiality : The Spatial Turn, Robert T. Tally Jr. 2013 Immediate Architectural Interventions, Durations and Effects : Apparatuses, Things and People in the Making of the City and the World. Alberto Altes Arlandis, Oren Lieberman.

I’m covered by a dense veil of melancholy that’s isolating me from the world and keeps falling over me no matter what I’d do

The day after Christine had vanished before his eyes in a sort of dazzlement that still made him doubt the evidence of his senses, M. le Vicomte de Chagny called to inquire at Mamma Valerius’. He came upon a charming picture. Christine herself was seated by the bedside of the old lady, who was sitting up against the pillows, knitting. The pink and white had returned to the young girl’s cheeks. The dark rings round her eyes had disappeared. Raoul no longer recognized the tragic face of the day before. If the veil of melancholy over those adorable features had not still appeared to the young man as the last trace of the weird drama in whose toils that mysterious child was struggling, he could have believed that Christine was not its heroine at all.

She rose, without showing any emotion, and offered him her hand. But Raoul’s stupefaction was so great that he stood there dumfounded, without a gesture, without a word.

“Well, M. de Chagny,” exclaimed Mamma Valerius, “don’t you know our Christine? Her good genius has sent her back to us!”

“Mamma!” the girl broke in promptly, while a deep blush mantled to her eyes. “I thought, mamma, that there was to be no more question of that! … You know there is no such thing as the Angel of Music!”

“But, child, he gave you lessons for three months!”

“Mamma, I have promised to explain everything to you one of these days; and I hope to do so but you have promised me, until that day, to be silent and to ask me no more questions whatever!”

- Chapter 10: Forget the Name of the Man’s Voice, from The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. Illustration by Greg Hildebrandt.