White silence radiating through voided stone walls of reflective mirrors. Different domains, connecting to its twin serving as the eyes for the one within. Respite touches against the mirror's mosaic silver fringe, observing those from the dimensioned world that have yet to attempt on approaching the unknowns roaming the sinned realm under a rufescent sky paneled with a Luciferian pentagram sigil. All to the idiosyncrasy had seeped to reluctancy of appearance.
Only a few could have remembered. Only a few could have seen.
A gothic cathedral, decorative casements; filtered to a haze as the light outside reflected off the mirrors below along the side aisles. Granted, the light to illuminate the endless halls below as the decorative mirrors resting solitary on stone pillars labeled were each led as all were different shapes only for the face to be seen if wanted.
A spare body with the smooth shimmer of their skin. While an evanescent tint of green. Stepping away from the decorative mirror. Refulgent short hair much, like a mirror, appeared as shards of glass, each smooth and evenly placed so not one collided but rather oscillated as small pieces would float off like dewdrops on a window. If one is curious enough to, touch then they shall find that it felt like hair being illusioned. Black pins of small flowers placed back the small hairs as not to interrupt or obscure the dancer. The round-shaped and glass-cut eyes, holding dulled green color hues and slit-shaped pupils.
Bending back gracefully with the slightest effort as softly. Tinted green lips like a glass gloss parted to run their tongue briefly along with two fangs on either side of their mouth growing from the top jaw barely passing the sides of their chin as a preferred way to not look uncivil. Twinkling freckles of silver speckled; across the bridge of their nose like the stars of a once remembered ether.
The mirrors hummed. Tune of silence for their keeper who walked down the nave as a sound of respect. Past the bay pillars to enter the transept were above the chancel haze filtered; through the decorative glass, panes enriched like a stage light onto a grand painting just above the axial chapel. Brown and green colors of a silk tree branches some full and sprout while some have turned black and wilted, each budding with a new title of a name and knee of which no longer extends as if out of the canvas as the pollen of silk flowers dusted onto the polished stone floor.
A mirror does not need to be, made of glass. For a mirror that can be catalyzed by a simple canvas. Any form of satin will make a reflection even if blurry.
In a lissome ballet bow, bringing an arm down like a ribbon removing the pollen with the soft grace of their fingertips bringing it back up. Extending their body upwards into a roll left leg back with the toe touching, and gentle leap with their right leg extending forward twirling on their left toe bringing both arms up like a swan, left leg becoming bent as a breeze blew from a cracked stone above collecting the pollen from glass pointed fingertips into its dance leading back up to the painting.
To the one that dances, the ballet was not just the only thing to have to dance as amongst what was, remembered when alive as the stylistic rhythmic and rhyming chant of speaking music became introduced when a teen along with the ever-growing popularity of silver screen amongst a newer amusement land. Although, when one is mirrored by an unbending life of Victorian depression, by doubtful and timeless progenitors. A pulverulent conflict.
In a pondering glance lifting their head to the painting, squinting their glass-cut eyes as if seeing was made by hand but as a purgatorial reflection to the ones separated with a blackened mirror. Lips parted, briefly as if to speak to the painting like it was a person, but that would just bring the concern of losing what was left, of their humanity.
It was almost becoming too easy to forget there was another world outside. A world of life and one that was missed dearly.
Bringing their arms to fold around the middle of their abdomen returning, their body to a natural standing posture amicably turning, never takes their focus away from the painting. Pivoting their attention to the ambulatory turned to a welcoming living space of cushioned furnishings and chairs that hide stairs leading to the top balconies of the cathedrals praying rooms as common bedrooms.
The only place for a home. One could call it for protection. A cage for their soul as to forget the deep-seated smell of mucus and eyeball secretions upon arriving. Once upon a time, of all the wrong directions having been told to avoid. The misjudgment if not for black eyes. How their peregrinate could have been much more well-ordered such as a responsible host having the audacity in welcoming its newer guest from exiting the flawed above.
Flicking their eye's attention downward amongst the west-side aisles of the cathedrals as fine glass particles to dance in between gently smoothly filled claws, something of an impasse for a persona.
A soft ring came amongst the mirrors. A feeling of excitement fluttered in their chest as they waved their hand to dissipate the particles to the ribbed vault ceilings smiling excitedly, revealing pristine white teeth. A glean over their eyes like cleanly polished glass.
Hastily, running across the rope aisles to a middle grand mahogany door. Inside pure darkness safe for only a dressing mirror and a while sheet covered over it. Excitement shining away in their glass-cut eyes.
It was rarely a coincidence to have such an opportunity to, once more have the chance to show off their work if not for the practiced patience of an experienced patron to take up the work of leading one back to their normalized stature.
Delicately with a graced stance. Hair shining with the black blouse and transparent skirt weaving itself together like spider silk as the music was heard, rising as the spotlight, could be, seen moving searching for them to give the audience the performance that once was behind and waiting.
An ancient umbrose theater auditorium. A mother of a golden stage reserved for the chance to be used for once a decade to welcome its spectators with its still existence shiny wooden floors and rich lustrous currents to be open once more for performance, be remembered till the next time. For when a goes dark there will be nothing but utter silence across all of the hereafter.
Miles of lines. Keeping many awaiting to be seated, many if not all dressed to the nines for a cue of rich. Attendants of silhouette stitched gnomes helped the awaiting inside, making all arrangements for those who entered to be as satisfied as they pleased even if it meant giving up their service for the guest's pleasure and fund.
A grand audience amongst the theater's auditoriums high floors almost shaded the lower floors to those who gazed down from in the cushioned high throned booth's above cradled with golden walls and red satin curtains separating their neighbors from the possible distractions for when the long-awaited performance starts. Many glanced around in anticipation. Tapping claws and glowing red eyes meeting across to another and some taking the opportunity, to quickly greet groups of those lucky to have entered.
It wasn't often a banal denizen to accidentally miss a facile performance. For all glances would be upon them in harsh judgment burning them as if they were falling back into hell like the first time they had fallen. Although the berating and life suffering images of the now we're left. The altered show biz has more ways of broadcasting along for those on the outside to not, be missed. Perched above the open-top dome roof for when those below looking up the would be no sign of a camera to block any view of possible aerial performances.
While the stage lights flickered to life as did all guests. Anticipation could be felt from the intense staring at the stage with the utmost intensity that all non-mortal eyes gazing could almost be tearing apart the curtains if they had to be kept, waiting for any longer. Those with a sense of power, are already becoming amused. Laughing at their much lower class friends while they sit back and wait patiently as all of the above.
All at once, all whispers were created just as the lights dimmed until only the stage lights remained bright. All eyes glowed in the darkness, tilting and stretching their necks for a foreseeable performance. There was a burned movement amongst the red curtains only for a moment before raising revealing glimmering stitch mouths partnered with fire-haired humanoids in the grace of a bow of greeting their audience. A small assembly but with the promise of well a practiced and traditional performance.
The audience applauded a signal of those to being. Each stitched mouth leaped with their stage. The orchestra suddenly started to play a very skipping flute note that made all fire-hairs skip along with each time the flute passed in between notes till all four reached the center stage. The stitched mouths were left to be overlooked, as the fire-hairs distracted the audience from the black ribbons that seemingly weaved amongst their bodies like snakes.
One fire-hair turned to the audience opening their hand as if asking for them to dance just as a stitched mouth from behind skipped and jumped kneeling before them gingerly taking their hand passing them into a waltz. None could see their face for the fire-hairs always changed their appearance with brimstone alchemy granting them the abilities of smoke and fire morally used for performances compared to their medieval ancestors.
All around many applauded the performance. It was neither graphic nor overly romanticized as to what was usually avowed. A relaxing performance with humorous music and graceful performance where no intangible words are needed to express. All performances took a bow before having smoke wipe them away as they spun back.
The stage was cleared once again for the next performance to begin in another moment. The lights in the theatre remained off safe off the stage as the orchestra raised their instruments to begin. Doors may be closed but never locked in case of an unlikely panic but none had ever left.
Performance after performance each a different story of hell from different religious depictions to the biblical writings in old texts with a more humoristic adding for the cynical to be watching. There was a brief pause at the end of the third performance, an announcement for the audience to take a moment for themselves to gossip amongst their neighbors as well as to banter on what tributes were made in the final months of the theaters opening.
Much to some annoyance.
The most mysterious of the crowd remained in the shadows not wishing to be bothered only crawling or climbing down when favorited performers came to greet their admirers while some discussed seeing backstage to see just how everything is performed after waiting for a decade for practice performance.
The few performers that had come glanced at each other sharing a pointed look before giggling like school children and looking back at their admirers "You are in for something more mesmerizing" they whispered, each cupping the side of their side stitched mouth as if telling a secret.
The announcement to return had endeavored much to the audience's delight. The curtains that seemed to have been dropped unnoticed had been drawn back once more but to an abstract set up of different mirrors.
The music turned to a sift piano with the accompanied violin. Nothing seemed to be happening but only for a moment until the stage lights turned to violet-blue leaving one as moonlight upon a silver-rimmed shattered mirror right in the left-center. Nothing could be seen from the up top making most eager as the fiends below seemed to be able something within the mirror that they were not.
Like a glare, the mirror revealed itself. A beautiful soft-faced maiden spinning on her toes of strapped laced pointed shoes, hair reflecting the light, curtain skirt never touching their legs when introducing themself to the audience with slightly parted glass lips. Bringing one arm to cradle at her hip while her other arm graced upwards with her right leg sliding backward for a slightly arched reach position.
Many whispered never expecting to see such a wonderful display. Yet none would have expected for the ballet maiden of glass to appear for none knew of one. The newer arrivals. It was all very interesting to a higher becoming a tickling obsession brought on by prolonged curiosity. Nothing was said not even a clap of applause was uttered. For when the maiden had jumped onto the stage. When the curtains had closed off the last performance the lights came back on, and all who looked around held the same fascinated expressions.
The red light for the backstage guests had appeared while the rest remained going home filled with satisfaction as always of the decade theater auditorium. The backstage was welcoming and excited for questions but, none seemed to have seen the maiden, not even a reflection or speck of glass, and only just a mirror, a rustic wooden looking mirror that sat in the corner near some dressing racks.
Those who entered shortly, after all, were taken care of by the entourage of admires thanking for gifts many that were addressed to their delicate performer. Laughs emitted when taking glances at the rustic wooden mirror even though they could not see the dimensioned world they were always aware that there was a watchful eye on them.