[cont] The Queen with the Broken Crown

The neckline was a jagged plunge, revealing the curve of her breast and the glistening glass prison which held the ruined pieces of her heart. The slow beating muscle was held together by nothing more than magic and the fractures that ran through it were visible to all.

Rosalie stared at herself in the mirror as her fingers brushed the cool glass. She had been like this ever since she could remember. No one ever told her how her heart had been broken when she was so very young, but could they hide the damage. Her feelings were different from most, subdued and sometimes hollow, and doctors had warned her that anything else might cause her heart to fracture further.

It could kill her.

It hadn't though, not yet. She'd never felt the race of excitement or the pounding fury of rage, nor even the truly splintering pain of sorrow.

"Rosalie?" The lean man whispered. "Are you feeling well?"

The genuine concern in his voice jerked her out of her thoughts. A diva's smile covered the lingering hints of introspection as the redhead grinned up at him. "Of course! I'm to go on stage any minute! I'm wonderful!"

Hawk eyes studied her thoughtfully before he shrugged. "You're all fitted and ready. I'm sure you can head to the main stage now if you're so eager."

"Thanks!" She called over her shoulder as she hurried out. Something about the look in his eyes always made her feel... picked apart. She shuddered a little before sliding into the main theatre room where she was immediately set upon by eager stage hands.

The show goes on...

Behind the curtain everything was still and quiet, but as soon as they parted there would be nothing but heat, light and sound. It set butterflies loose in her stomach, but never so much that she'd experienced such a thing as stage fright.

Then the curtains opened and the screams of the audience fill the theatre. Once more she'd the star of the stage as the announcer introduces her as Their Lady of the Opera, Their Rose: The Queen with the Broken Crown, Rosalie! She spreads her hands to welcome the audience as they roared with excitement. She swept a hand and flashed her sweetest smile, and all at once the cheers faded into an expectant hush.

Rosalie began to sing.

[Actual part 2 starts here. Woo.]

After the set was over Rosalie returned to her dressing rooms where doting attendants removed her gown and washed her face. Paint and decorations faded, but she still glowed like sunlight reflecting off of fresh snow under it all.

When at last she was alone and able to return to her personal room, she could finally relax. The stiffly perfect posture, the costumes. They were for the theatre. In here, she needed only a breezy summer dress, a good book, and -right on time as she always was- a dear friend with tea.

Nirn was a pale, lovely little waif of a woman. Not beautiful in the traditional sense of the word, but lovely nevertheless. She was too fair of skin and far too skinny to be called such but Rosalie found her enchanting. Her face was a splatter of delicate freckles and her eyes were so large and bright blue that one could feel lost in them. Unlike her, Nirn favored dark clothes in earth tones. It made them polar opposites in appearance, but maybe that's why they made such fast friends.

Sitting in the little reading nook with the windows wide open, they talked the day away over work and pleasure.

"Goodnight, Nirn!" Rosalie called as her friend slipped into the hall.
"May the moonlight watch over you, Rosalie!" The girl called back as she swung her light satchel over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow at our usual time!"

***

Then came Rosalie's hardest time: being alone. It was a painful feeling, the silence. It lingered in her bones and rang in her ears. Sometimes she sang to herself to alleviate the emptiness, but other times she snuck out onto the balcony to listen to the world around her.

The hum of people working, of other performers rehearsing, and the gossip of the artisans and stagehands.

Tonight their whispers were all about the strange man that had stopped by to meet with the master of the Theatre. He stayed all day and listened to everyone's performances and then he left with the master to discuss things. The rabble seemed torn between whether this man was handsome and exciting - or frightening and strange. They called him Hunter, Rosalie thought, and the ultimate decision was to be wary, at very least.

***

She must have fallen asleep listening to the staff gossip, because the next thing she realized she was starting awake to a loud shouting. One of the head butlers must have come through, because they were causing such an awful fuss that there was no longer any gossiping. Whatever was going on, it must not have been good. Rosalie's skin prickled as she snuck back into her room.

Quieter than the quietest mouse in the theatre, Rosalie pressed her door shut and then leaned against it.

For once, Silence was golden.