A young soprano named Y/n Kenobi becomes the obsession of a predatorial and murderous musical genius who lives beneath the Chandrila Opera House in Paris. When the Commander begins terrorizing the cast and crew while anonymously tutoring her, her ol...
A/n: Hello everybody! Today is July 26, 2021. I'm trying to get these out so quickly holy shittttttt help
Out of the blackness of the quiet theater steps Rey, a tiny figure in the darkness, vulnerable and frightened as she searches for Y/n. She steps into the crammed dressing room. The gas light is practically off, burning low. She moves towards the dressing table full of flowers, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
The gas lamp extinguishes.
Rey's eyes scan the mirror, finding it slightly ajar. She pushes it to the side more to find the now dark and damp hallway. It's no longer the magical place Y/n was led through hours before. She looks over her shoulder to see a window into the dressing room. A one-way mirror.
She begins walking through cautiously as a rat scampers over her slippered foot. She shrieks and kicks it off before a cold hand clamps on her shoulder. Rey screams out, whipping around to find...Madame Organa. With a scowl on her face. They walk back in complete silence to the ballet dormintories, where Vicrul is playing with the dancers, all dressed for bed.
"Like yellow parchment is his skin. A great black hole served as the nose that never grew," he says, gesturing with a spare piece of rope tied into a great big noose. He grabs one of the girls by her waist, pulling her towards him. He smiles smugly at her. "You must always be on your guard, or he will catch you with his magical lasso!"
Madame Organa steps through the threshold with Rey, who sits on her bed immediately, pondering what she discovered and why Madame Organa is hiding it. "Those who speak of what they know find too late that prudent silence is wise. Monsiuer Vicrul, hold your tongue!" Madame Organa spits. She wretches his hand up and throws the noose around his neck and hand, tightening it. the only thing saving him from being strangled is his hand. "And keep your hand at the level of your eyes."
\--/
The Commander is seated at the organ, playing with furious concentration. He breaks off occasionally to write the music down. He still wears his evening trousers, but a loose velvet robe hangs down, revealing his well-developed physique.
Y/n wakes up in the lavish peacock bed to find a small monkey and barrell organ music box sitting beside her, twinkling out a charming, lulling tune. It keeps her in a half-trance as she steps out of the bed and walks towards the mouth of the grotto. Her mind still not set back from speaking normally, she sings her thoughts as she rubs her eyes. "I remember there was mist...swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake. There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat. And on the boat there was a...man." Her eyes find the back of the Commander's head as he composes.
His mask and hair perfect, bare chested in the flowing robe, he is once again a strong sexual prescence Y/n can't help but find herself attracted to. He is trying to finish a melody, and as she approaches, she takes over the melody, and, vocalizing, finds a solution to it. He then plays the middle section over and listens to it. He senses her behind him, almost pressed against his back. Together they complete the song, musically, as one.
"Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?" She sings and asks to herself, lovingly caressing his face. The Commander responds dutifully, leaning back into her touch in comfort. Almost like a lover removing a veil, she takes off his mask. He springs up, seizing her and slamming her to the ground. As she loses her balance and falls, her fingers only ghost over the uncovered side of his face, finding nothing but smooth skin.
In his wrath, he runs to the huge mirrors around the lair, tearing off their dust covers. Y/n is surrounded by a hundred reflections of the Commander.
"Damn you! You little prying Pandora! You little demon- is this what you wanted to see? Curse you! You little lying Delilah! You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free. Damn you. Curse you," he loses his rage, settling down with his final curse. He looks back at her with a smug and curious look on his face, both sides perfectly shown.
He's beautiful.
"Stranger than you dreamt it; can you even dare to look or bear to think of me? This loathsome gargoyle who burns in hell but secretly yearns for heaven secretly, yes, secretly," he lilts, truly believing he is something of nightmares, something to be feared. "Y/n..."
Y/n is on the verge of tears from her spot on the floor, not hurt in any way but feeling deeply for this poor man in front of her. "Fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see, to find, the man behind the monster. This repulsive carcass who seems a beast but dreams of beauty secretly," his words trail off, at a loss for himself.
Pitifully, he holds out his hand for the mask, and filled with sympathy, she gives it to him, watching their eyes meet as he nods curtly, putting it back on and smoothing his ruffled hair. "Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."
He holds out his hand and Y/n takes it, delicately as always, as they make their way back through the canals and staircases together, this time in complete silence. Her eyes never leave his form. They walk through the theater together, her hand wrapped tightly around his own, almost like a child.
At the door into the grand lobby, he stops, nodding at her to go ahead. There are so many words on her mind and tongue, so many ways to apologize, but looking into his eyes, she finds fear and regret and...a plot. No words need to be exchanged between them but a simple nod paid her way. He opens the door and gently pushes her through before disappearing as she looks over her shoulder before descending the staircase.
Madame Organa is locking the door to the dormintory as she turns around and sees Y/n descending the stairs, still in her trance-like state. She rushes over, holding her, who almost faints into her arms. Unknown by them, Vicrul watches in the shadows.
And unknown by him, the Commander watches all.
I feel that it is very important to say that I didn't give Kylo any facial deformalities because as we know of Star Wars, he wears it because he wants to be more like Darth Vader, but also because he wants to be taken seriously. I truly believe he suffers from body issues and possibly body dysmorphia, so I won't be changing dialogue about it because I believe that he would view himself as a monster, honestly, as he explicitly states in The Last Jedi.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
