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Some golden afternoon, as the late summer sun slants over the parquet floors of the hallways, Phedre might hear an elegant female voice singing a graceful air, her warm, silvery notes floating through the open spaces of the Mansion, like a gentle siren's call. If she follows the voice, it might lead her to a south-facing salon. In a pool of light that slants through the many-paned doors that open onto the garden, a graceful figure in a violet gown stands, back to the room, face tilted upward but at an angle where she is careful not to put too much tension on her throat, hands clasped before her. As her song crescendos, she might lift her hands, extending them in a gentle supplication...


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Aug. 23rd, 2013 02:33 am (UTC)
She comes, dressed as usual in subtle elegance, her body sheathed in silk of crimson tones.

Phedre sits, simply, listening.

She'd say she thought she heard an angel sing.
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