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((Private RP. Only Karma and Lu may post. Everybody else may feel free to watch :3 ))


The black voids of the hallways seemed to stretch forever in every direction as Melidora attempted to navigate Castellum Umbra's labyrinth of corridors and passages, half-heartedly seeking familiar faces and places.

Where WAS everyone? He seemed to remember much more bustle and activity before the curse had befallen him and now there was nobody at all. Maybe Astra had scared them all off with her primadonna tantrums when no one cared to pause long enough to hear her sing.

Or maybe she had left with their parents after he had been trapped in that blasted window. Well, what was done was done. It didn't matter and Melidora wasn't particularly one to dwell on things that couldn't be changed. He just liked to better understand HOW things had changed, that was all.

As he passed one of the arched windows, he paused to examine its sill in curiosity. Amid the dust and cobwebs was the huddled corpse of a small mouse that had, perhaps, died in the night's chilled draft.

He extended a finger and gingerly turned the tiny beast over, examining it more closely with the same sort of rapt attention a young boy might read a good book. He noted the lack of luster in its eyes, and the way its limbs had stiffened, frantically committing all he saw to memory.

His fingers itched to write and he was suddenly very annoyed at himself for not having pen and paper handy. There was nothing quite so inspiring, he found, as tragedy and death. Or both. It had been the subject of nearly all of his songs, scribbles, and poems from the time he'd been old enough to write.

Unbidden, he hummed faintly as he continued to study the dead mouse. The song was in a minor key, somewhat sporadic in beat, but without any lyrics, his youthful voice made it hold a certain sweetness.

Melidora continued humming, completely unaware of Dionaea's presense as he tweezed the tail of the mouse between his thumb and forefinger, lifting the small body into the air to look at it from that angle as well.

To an onlooker, it might have seemed incredibly disturbing, but that was the way Meli was built -- death, to him, was one of the most beautiful puzzles offered. It was something that no one ever truly understood until it came upon them, and then they could never share their comprehension with anyone else because they would never return from it.

Meli himself did not understand death very well due to his young age, but he knew that it was powerful. And in its power, was beautiful.

Gingerly, he laid the mouse back where he'd found it, trying to adjust it so that it was in precisely the same position and location.

As though the encounter had elated him, the humming swelled into full-fledged song as he turned from the sill to continue on his way.

"And the reaper passes through the gate
To his appointed place
A realm created through bitter hate
Behind an empty face...."

...But that was an -old- song, he needed badly to write a new one.

Suddenly and without warning, Melidora stopped in his tracks and changed his direction back the way he'd come, the words tapering off to humming once more. He'd already been this way, he was sure. It was easy to lose your barings in a place like this, after all.

His china blue eyes were drawn to the sill once more as he passed it, but then, out of the tail of his vision, there was something else. Something that contrasted against the black and flecks of starry white of the castle.

Something rouge. He turned his head reflexively to bring whatever or whoever it was into his field of vision.

His brows shot upward as he both saw and heard the stranger nearby. There WERE others! His delight at this remained inward, though, betrayed only by a smile as he inclined his head slightly.

"I'm Melidora." he told her, following it with a gaudy sort of bow that only a performer would be capable of. While his mother had taught him the finer points of singing, his father had been the one to teach him about stage presense...and that you should always conclude a performance, no matter how bad, with a bow.

"I was starting to think there wasn't anyone else." he admitted, righting himself again. "Its as quiet as--" the grave, he nearly said "--midnight here."

"Today." he answered immediately. "....or maybe it was yesterday." a hand strayed upward to scratch idly at his tawny feather-like hair. He couldn't remember. Sleep did a good job of making one lose track of time.

"Dionaea..." he murmured, trying the name out. And then, switching tracks... "You haven't seen anyone named Vates or Fidicina, have you? Or Astra?" He knew the answer would likely be no, but it was better to be disappointed than to be left wondering. If his family was still in existance, surely -someone- would have heard of them. The castle couldn't be THAT big.

If not, then he would carry on on his own. There wasn't much of a choice when you came down to it.

His brow furrowed a bit as he realized that this didn't help him at all. Hm. Oh well. Perhaps he'd run across the source of said songs as he continued his wandering. Even if it wasn't one of his family, it would be interesting to meet someone with like interests.

And an open mind would be nice too. Those were hard to come by if his previous experience with his poetry readings and song performances had been an indication.

Speaking of which...

"I have other songs," he said, changing the subject once again. He didn't seem to like to linger on any one topic too terribly long. "Poems as well. If you would like, that is." A captive audience was hard to come by (even moreso if he and Dionaea were the only ones in the castle) and the attention-monger in him made itself known by the twinkle in one blue eye.

If only he had a lute, he would feel right at home. For now, he had only his voice and it would have to do.

His gold-and-blue membranous wings fluttered a bit on his shoulders at her willingness to hear. He was already pulling to mind some of his favorites that he had thought were some of his best work and that his mother had called 'brilliant', even if they HAD indirectly been the cause of two members of one of his recitals attacking one another.

As long as he could remember, his writing had had that sort of effect on people -- if they didn't shy away from it entirely, it seemed to stir feelings of anger and hatred.

But he would recite for her, yes.

"There is no wrong place to perform." he chirped. "That's what Father used to say."

The twinkle in his eye at being called a great performer gave way to a slightly wistful look as he brought the memory of Vates and Fidicina to mind.

"Mother liked to take her harp into the woods, write about what she saw and then come back and play them in the tower. Father would walk the castle and sometimes go on journeys looking for new people to perform for."

Of the two, his father had most definitely been the performer and where Melidora had picked up much of his presense from. His mother, while she took great pride in her talent for the harp, was less concerned with audiences and more concerned with perfecting her songs to her own ideals, whether it was in the presense of listeners or by herself.

"They were going to teach me and my sister, Astra, everything they knew, but..." he shrugged. He didn't need to tell her about the curse as obviously she'd gone through it herself.