Stella (Book One of Dark Souls Series)

Prologo

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inizio- the start of something
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The theme for tonight was Burlesque.  

The song was a rebellious hit for the mood a man would want to be in when he was in an environment like this.

Sad keys from the piano in the center of the stage grabbed the attention of every man in the building. When the lights dimmed, a soulful voice filled the room.

"My heart and I were buried in dust. Free me; free us."

Whispers and murmurs of distastefulness circulated the room. No one was in the mood to listen to a woman sing a song like this. My lips twitched upward at the mysterious, yet rebellious voice behind the microphone.

"I catch my breath with just one beating heart. I brace myself, please don't tear me apart!"

My breath hitched in my throat at the raw emotions and perfect notes. There was pure pain in the woman's voice–a pain I hadn't seen in a long time–that made me move from the back of the room. It was dark unless you counted the normal club lights that moved about the room. As I drew near, I saw a huge, white spotlight pointed directly at the singer.

Dressed in a black bodysuit bedazzled in jewels fake enough to reject pawning, was a woman covered in bruises. She was sweating under the lights, so the makeup was running. The men didn't seem to notice. If they had, they didn't care.

I was left astonished by the beauty of the woman before me. With wide hips and a perfect hourglass figure, she swayed her hips to the sad melody and poured her heart into the song.

Suddenly, a loud thud from the left side of the room caught our attention. The singer looked to her side, and fear flashed across her face. I followed her gaze to see a tall, muscular man storming into the room. Sweat was on his forehead, and anger was in his eyes.

"Scendi da lil!" he hissed at her from in front of the stage. If I wasn't so close, I wouldn't have heard.

Instead of objecting, the woman clutched the microphone tighter and continued singing as if he was not there. "I embrace my fears. All that I have been carrying all these years. Do I risk it all? I've come this far just to fall. I am terrified to love for the first time. Can't you see that I'm bound in chains?"

Wonder settled on my face at the range of the singer's voice. The handful of women in the club applauded her unique voice. If I hadn't watched the movie, I would assume she was Christina undercover.

I looked to the floor, ashamed that I witnessed such a glorious person in this state.

"I'm going to kill her," I heard the guy from earlier mutter angrily. I caught him balling his fists together, and that's when I noticed it.

Dark purple knuckles painted his huge hands. When he was getting ready to charge onstage, I grabbed him by the forearm.

As expected, he looked back, confusion and anger on his face. "Who the hell are you?" he spat, trying to escape my tightening grip.

"I know this is no place to sing such a song, and something tells me she is not supposed to be singing it. But death is capital punishment and unforgivable." My eyes slid down to the tag on his shirt. "Giovanni."

"This is my club," he growled, turning away from the stage. A breath of relief slipped away from me. No one noticed our quarrel, and the bruised woman was still singing in the background.

"Is she your woman?"

"S-she's-"

"Did you birth her? Is your name written on her? Is there a license or contract needed for me to take her away from you? Did you pay for her? Do you own her as you so terribly own this club?"

"Listen, you well-spoken piece of-"

I took a step toward him. Since we were the same height, he didn't appear to be completely intimidated. "Choose your words wisely," I coldly interrupted him. "I can shut this place down before you find the right ones to say."

The angry man stood there, baffled. I smirked at his silence and the fear in his eyes when my hands trailed down to my waistband.

Soon, the song ended.

"Grazie," she mumbled bashfully as she left the stage.

I left the 'intimidating' club owner in his idiotic state and followed her to the back.

"You two better not have my wipes," I heard her say in a voice I didn't think belonged to her. This tone was cold, dismissive, and unapologetic.

"There are a group of men lingering in the back," an annoyingly high-pitched voice squeaked.

"Scusi," I tried to catch their attention as they continued walking down the long hall.

"And next time, dim the lights a bit more. My makeup was melting off of me."

"You mean the makeup you would not need if you left him?"

I froze in my spot. She was dating the owner? No wonder he was so adamant about killing her. Had he answered me by saying they were together, it would've been me standing there dumbfounded instead of him.

"Not now, Rose. I hear enough of this from Laura, and I am tired of it."

Despite the coldness, I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. She sounded like she was mentally tired.

"All I am saying is that you are too beau-"

"I heard enough of this from Laura, and I am tired of it," the singer insisted in a much louder tone. Although the woman was shorter, it was Rose who cowered in her spot and looked away.

Unfortunately, her eyes met mine when she looked away. "You cannot be back here!" she yelled. "You know the rules!"

It was bad timing because the performer sped-walked down the hall. I figured it was a means of escape from the pestering woman who was now glaring at me with angry eyes.

"I did not know," I replied smoothly. "This is my first time here."

She grunted as she threw one arm over her head with narrowed eyes. I followed her arm to see a huge, light-up sign above her.

NO MEN ARE ALLOWED, SINCERELY, STRIPPERS were in huge, bold letters.

I raised my hands in both embarrassment and surrender as I took a step back. "I am leaving," I muttered, reaching into my pocket. "Give this to the lady with the bruises, Rose."

Her eyes widened as I handed her a folded wad of 100-euro bills.

"This is for you," I said as I reached into my other pocket and handed her a few 50-euro bills. "For the troubles," I added with a smile.

As expected, she blushed profusely. "Grazie!" she thanked me as she took the bills. "I will make sure Estella gets this," she continued, holding up the thicker bundle of bills.

I nodded appreciatively and turned on my heel to leave.

"Estella," I mumbled silently with a chuckle. My mind instantly translated the name and reminded me of my favorite character from Great Expectations who was an orphan. She was a symbol of manipulation; a woman who had been wronged by so many people that she isolated herself.

There was a story behind the woman on the stage. The rawness in her voice, the passion behind her words, and her stoic demeanor reminded me of how I pictured Estella in Great Expectations.

I grunted in approval as I thought of the internet's version of her name. "A star."