Dancing to no music

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Damian gently wrapped his arms around Clara’s waist and joined her in staring at the crystal river.
It killed him that they had to hide some thing so pure as their love for one another .....


My first attempt at some thing other than a shock story, written as a small competition with my friend and fellow writer, Andrea Sime (check her out at http://www.booksie.com/WhoSpokeSilence) to see who got more comments, her story written in competition to mine will be up soon so check her page often. Leave comments on what I should do better because this stuff is completely alien to me but be nice please.

Submitted: November 09, 2007

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Submitted: November 09, 2007

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Damian gently wrapped his arms around Clara’s waist and joined her in staring at the crystal river.
It killed him that they had to hide some thing so pure as their love for one another . Clara snuck out of her home every evening and made her way to the clearing in the middle of the forest in which they now sat, through the window in her bedroom. And slinked through the deserted, sleeping town, always careful not to be seen, the not that her father would notice. He held the proud title of the town drunk. The embarrassment of this didn’t really bothered Clara, after all she had grown up with it but her father, looked on women as more possessions than people, to be used in any way he wished. In Clara’s case she was his key out the gutter.
She was a beautiful young girl, with curly, golden blond hair, deep blue eyes and a voluptuous figure, he could easily marry of to any rich member of nobility or at least sell for a servant, but Clara valued her self more than that. She could easily do better, as Damien was not a overly handsome man he had dark brown hair and grey eyes with a rather scrawny build and lived off the income of a third rate blacksmith. But she wanted love, real love, not just a marriage of convenience. And in Damien this is what she found. True and unconditional love, she had nothing to offer him and he had nothing to give her except his whole self.
But that was the thing about young love, none of that mattered.
The pale moonlight bathed them both and seemingly washed any doubt in what they were doing from their minds.
Damien gently kissed Clara on the cheek. She slowly turned her head to look at him.
“And why, kind sir, did you do that?” she softly asked. Her voice rung like bird song in Damien’s ears.
“Well, love, to be painfully honest, I simply felt inclined to,” he flashed a cheeky grin at her.
“It is highly indecent for a young lady such as myself to engage in activity like that, Sir. What ever will people think,” she turned her head back to the flowing river.
“Then, my love, you will be very unhappy when I do this.” He pulled her back and pushed on to the damp grass. Slowly and gently, he pressed his lips to hers and gathered her in a passionate kiss. He carefully pulled back to look her in the eye. Clara didn’t speak, there was no reason to, she merely looked back.
For a long time they stayed like this, with Damien supporting Clara‘s head to keep it off the cool grass. Until finally Damien broke the silence.
“Your skirts are all a shambles,” he whispered smoothing them down. She was not dressed in the most update of  Victorian fashions but her plain, violet dress perfectly highlighted her figure.
“And when have you been concerned with image?” she laughed ruffling his messy hair.
Damien stood up bringing Clara with him.
He held out his hand in front of him beaconing Clara to take it. “Would m’lady care to dance?”
She took his hand. He spun her around. And , they danced. There was no music, but they twirled, and spun and all but floated in the air all the same.
They often danced like this, together. Alone, they would often pretend to be dancing in the most beautiful ball rooms of Europe, with the best orchestra playing the most wonderful music on the finest instruments. One day they had vowed they would dance together in a ball room like the one they had fantasised about together.
Damien stopped quickly.
“Clara, may I ask you, do you love me?” Damien nervously looked down to the ground.
“Of course,” She giggled kissing him on the forehead, “Why do you ask?”
“Because, I want to know, if…” he paused “You will…”
“Speak up my love, dawn is fast approaching,” Clara jested.
He took a deep breath and looked deep into her eyes.
“I want to know if you will,” he reached out and clasped her hands together, “marry me?”
“YES! Why wouldn’t I?” she threw herself at him, kissing him once again passionately.
Damien pulled himself away from her.
He smiled widely.
“So where shall we elope?” Clara asked slowly so as not to offend.
“In the chapel, a town over, the priest is the man who took me in when my parents died, he’ll marry us for free, we can go now! We don’t have to tell any one,” Damien jumped to his feet. And babbled excitedly and incoherently about his whole plan for them to be wed.
“But, Damien, what about my father? I doubt he’ll let me get up and leave.” Damien looked to Clara and smiled.
“That’s the best part! By the time he finds you are gone, it will be to late. We’ll be long gone!”

Suddenly, a sickening bang spread through the cool forest.
Damien’s face froze.
He looked to Clara and slowly raised his hand to the back of his head.
He brought his hand to the front of his face, and for what felt like a long time he stared at the blood covering it.
Clara screamed, furiously trying to wipe off Damien’s blood which covered her.
Damien slowly slumped to his knees. Uncovering Clara’s greying father, who stood  with a pistol in one hand and a cruel smile across his face.  “Like hell you will.” he growled. Clara sat bolt upright in her silk laden bed.
That night had haunted her since it happened. Tears welled in her eyes and one of the servants rushed into her bedroom. “M’lady, its time to get ready for the wedding.”
Her father had dragged her home that evening, and she still had the scars his belt left on her back as a reminder of where disobedience got her. That happened when she was 16 and she was now 19 years old and to be married to a man she had never met. In a whirl of fabric and powder she was quickly dressed in her wedding dress. “Oh, m’lady you look simply beautiful,” the kindly old servant whispered to her.
Glancing in the full length mirror she had to agree. The wedding dress was ivory white, with bleu flowers stitched in down the bottom of it. Her blonde curly hair was pulled up on top of her head and a mesh veil, was held in place by a silver tiara covered with clear diamonds.
She wished Damien could see her. The servants all left the room and Clara still had a couple hours until she had to get in the carriage to travel to the chapel two towns over, the very one Damien wanted to be married in, so she decided to stand on the balcony she had often climbed down in her younger years to escape the hell that was her home.
Stood out on the balcony and looked down to the ground. Suddenly over whelming grief over took her. Tears cascaded down her face. She couldn’t stand the idea of marrying another man. She wouldn’t allow herself to marry for any thing but love and how can she love a man she had never met. She refused to be like her mother and devote her life to a man she hated simply because she was told to. There was only one way out of this unbearable fate she think of, nut any thing was better than a love less life.

She climbed up on the balcony railing.
The last time she had stood on the railing, looking at the ground was also the last time she had seen Damien. She sobbed harder, making her start to lose her balance.
She slipped off the banister and as a reaction grabbed onto the side of the balcony. She looked down again, in the past she had used rope to climb down safely but landing softly was not her intention this time. She was five stories up, on the top floor of a run down block of flats, surly she was far enough of the ground.

She looked up to the sky.
Closed her eyes.
And let go.

The she hit the ground with a huge thud. It should have hurt but she couldn’t feel pain.
Come to think of it the wind no longer cooled her, and her dress no longer felt like water against her skin. She opened her eyes slowly.
She saw him. Damien. Standing with his hand out stretched, asking her to dance with him. She instinctively took his hand and he pulled Clara to her feet. She looked back to the cobble stone streets and saw her body lying sprawled on the floor. The blood pouring from her smashed skull told her, she was killed instantly.
Clara looked back to Damien. He pulled her into a deep embrace. She closed her eyes and lay her head on his shoulder. When she opened them again. The no longer stood in the dieses infested streets of her home town but now was in the middle of the most beautiful ball room she had ever seen. The floor was carved from snow white marble and the walls were covered in silver leaf with paintings of flowers and birds painted on it. In the very centre of the room directly above where they stood was a chandelier made from diamonds and pearls. She suddenly noticed that Damien was dressed in a fine black suit, instead of the worn out slacks and shirts she normally saw him in. Clara was still wearing the wedding dress she was wearing earlier. The only thing missing was the orchestra but Clara secretly loved the freedom she felt when dancing to no music.
“Would m’lady care to dance?” Damien whispered. Clara simply nodded, to speak would have ruined the moment completely.
He spun her around.
And...

They danced.
There was no music, but they twirled, and spun and all but floated in the air all the same.


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