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[madamemoiselle]

{Diva is lounging quite comfortably on a couch she's brought to the Plane, wearing very little. Propped against her knees is the The Poetical Works of Lord Byron that Sam has given her. She's also brought a few magazines, one of which seems to have a picture of her on the cover, but it's mostly obscured by a knife that she's been meaning to return.

But in the meantime, she reads aloud, occasionally stammering over a word or two.}

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light...

{But after that bit, she stops, smiling brightly}

Ne, that sounds like the Plane, doesn't it? Well, maybe not so much the last part, but I bet some people here would think that anyways. I can't, though. It's too nice here. Still, how lovely! Did Lord Byron get to come to this place, I wonder?

{She shakes her head though, laughing} Ne, it wouldn't really surprise me. There isn't too much about this place that surprises me anymore. But it'd be nice to actually meet him! I really do love his poems.

{But the thought is soon dismissed, and she reads the rest of the poem quietly.}

Comments

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

[The clothing (or lack thereof) doesn't fluster him all that much. He's met Ariel, who technically wears even LESS, after all.]

What are you reading?

[madamemoiselle]

Poems from Lord Byron! They're absolutely lovely, I think.

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

Lord Byron? [Not ringing a bell.] It didn't really rhyme much, though.

[madamemoiselle]

Well, not all poems have to rhyme. It's the story that matters, or the pretty pictures that they make.

{Warmly} He's one of my favorite poets!

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

The pictures, huh...?

Would you mind reading some more?

[madamemoiselle]

{Nods enthusiastically before she continues}

"And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black."

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

[Roxas looks... unsettled. It sounds almost as though the poem were describing a world being consumed by the Heartless.]

[madamemoiselle]

{Diva however, is oblivious, and really getting into the poem. So she just continues to read, a smile growing on her lips}

"The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food."

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

[And Roxas continues to listen. When it seems she's at a pausing point, quietly—] That... seems kind of depressing.

[madamemoiselle]

It is. It's called "Darkness", after all. But it's beautiful too, right? I mean, you can very clearly imagine what he's writing about.

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

Y-yeah. I guess so.

[madamemoiselle]

...What about a happier poem, maybe?

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

Sure. If you want to.

[madamemoiselle]

"She walks in Beauty", I think!

{Diva flips through the pages until she finds it, reading the entire, short poem softly}

"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies...

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent! "

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

[All but the description of the raven tresses have him thinking of Naminé, so he's smiling a little by the time Diva is finished.]

I think I like that one better.

[madamemoiselle]

It's a lovely poem. I memorized it in French a long time ago because I liked it so much. I always wished for the day that someone would recite this poem to me, but! Ah, I got old, and I forgot this poem, a little.

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

Old? Oh, well—there's always time to relearn it.

[madamemoiselle]

{Giggles} I'm an old lady. 174 years this year.

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

Wh-whoa! [Stares! And then... nervous little laugh because that was a horrible reaction.] Y-you don't look it at all.

[madamemoiselle]

Of course not! I'm not human after all, so I don't age.

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

... Ever?

[madamemoiselle]

Never!

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

That's [lonely] kinda cool.

[madamemoiselle]

Ne, you're the second person to say that recently! I've never really thought of it as "cool". It's just what I've been forever.

[sunkenlight.livejournal.com]

I am? ... well, that makes sense.