The Violet Hour - Chapter One

Violet Destiny

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Jasmine

           When I awaken this summer morning in Venice, I have no premonition that I will be fighting for my life before tomorrow’s dawn; or that my mentor and would- be lover, plans to kill me.   Memories of the last eight pain- filled years, like a pale puckered scar, remind me that I have been able to heal, through music and love.   Music has always saved me, I think.   

           Several hours later, before the violet dawn flushes a new day, I walk into the American Opera Center theater theatre, in New York, to meet my lover, but really, the stage has been set for my death.

            I rush into the  theatretheater, only thinking about his arms and his kiss.   I halt briefly, noting that hundreds of candles have been lit and the stage set for Violetta’s death scene in La Traviata.

            I call to my lover, and my voice echoes in the acoustical theater then fades into silence.   I have one thought, and that is to run, but despite my instincts, I still hope that my beloved waits for me there, and my legs move slowly towards the exit.   Then his arms encircle my waist and his breath, heavy with the rich scent of the fine vintage 1787 Bordeaux that we shared in better times, you could say, tickles my ear. Immediately I realize that something has gone desperately wrong.

            “Ah, but you were expecting the other one. Sorry to disappoint, my dear. But you will see that I am the better choice. I offer the better life.”

            “You just startled me,” I choke as my throat closes with fear. “Come, are you chastising me for missing a rehearsal? Did I forget something?” I chide him lightly, even though the words stick in my throat and my mouth is dry.

            “Nothing has been forgotten. This is the most important night of your life. Tonight, you will truly be immortal. I offer you this, and fame. What girl has had such an offer?”

            He turns me so that I gaze into his familiar face. I recognize the dark stubble that ripples along his angular jaw and a wave of dark chocolate hair that falls into his cobalt eyes, which are now steely.

            “I’ve been traveling all day,” I say. “It’s wonderful to see you, really. Can’t we continue this tomorrow?”
            “Tomorrow is a day for beginnings, but tonight is for endings. Say goodbye to the mediocrity that shadows every step that humans take. Au revoir to servitude, and fear and folly. Tonight, you will become the queen of your life, and mine. Together we will rule the operatic stages of the world. Just a brief time of pain, and an eternity of song and power will follow.” He touches his cold lips to mine, and I feel ice bubbles run throughout my body.

             “Come, my dear. Have a drink with me. There is no need to hurry. I have wanted to taste you since I first smelled your blood. It is quite magnificent, you know, like your voice.”

            He leads me to the stage and I sink onto Violetta’s deathbed, praying that it will not be mine.

            “I offer a toast, to our new union,” he says. “We will reign forever, Tseylulu.”[

            I flinch at his pet name for me, which translates as ‘I kiss you.’ He often shouted that during our rehearsals over the past year, but now his vocal caress pounds in my ears, like a Lady Gaga recording that is poorly synced. I am determined to hold onto another melody, one that was written for me.

           “I sought him whom my soul loveth: I held him and I would not let him go.” The phrase from the Bible’s Song of Solomon races through my mind. So, I am to be this monster’s immortal bride or destroy the other man who has become my soul. This totally bites, I think, and then choke back hysterical laughter.

           I don’t answer, and my silence enrages him. I feel a rush of wind flying past me, but it is I who fly across the stage when the demon hurls me. My body feels mangled, and the harsh stage floor thuds against my head before I lose consciousness. The last thing I hear is my beloved’s music. It comes to me as through a mist. I hold onto that. I will take that to my death. I think of the aria that my love wrote for me, “Questo Il Mio Momento Finale”—the aria that I was cast to sing in the New York premier of his opera, on this same stage—while another stabbing pain rocks my body. And so I will not die alone, or in vain. My love and his music will survive. And the world will be a better place for that…

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To End is But to Start - Juilliard's Curse

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Prologue

             If I am to save Wendy and myself I must get to the island of the dead before midnight. Phisto, my conductor, and lover, has his cobalt eyes trained on my every movement now that I know what he wants.  I inhale deeply and sing the fifth lied in Mahler’s Ruckert lieder, “Ich bin der welt abhanden gekommen,” for my third encore.  As I sing the exquisitely painful words,

            “I am dead to the world's tumult,

            And I rest in a quiet realm!

            I live alone in my heaven,

            In my love and in my song!

the now familiar scent of lavender blooms and fills the packed church.  The audience seems to fall into a trance as they turn dreamily to identify the source.  They discreetly sniff themselves before they check out their neighbors. But I know the source of the heady fragrance.  And I feel that this is the last time that I can sing this piece, broken-hearted as I am.  This is a bitch, I think.  All I want to do is sing my last encore and then slip into my soft jeans and glide over the black waters of the canal that will take me to his resting place.  I want to lie on the cool earth beside his sepulcher to see if he is the man that’s been obsessing my thoughts and actions, or if it was some mad fantasy.  I move quickly after the curtain calls because I know that Phisto will be following me.  He suspects my love and my intentions.  I don’t have much time and I need him to believe that I want his insane future as much as he.  As if I think.

            “I’m wiped tonight.  I’m not up to dealing with a bunch of hysterical Italians. Please explain for me.” Then I touch the conductor’s lips so that he is not suspicious.

            “I love you.” I say and calculate how much time I have while I wait for Phisto’s response for he is always punctilious.

He pauses, such a drama queen I think impatiently, because I feel the weight of each lost second.  Then he traces my jaw and moves his hand down the curve of my neck to the top of my right breast.  His touch freezes my skin, but I miss something else, the sensation of

fire that follows.  Did he ever do that to me or did I just imagine it?

            “You were brilliant.  Your voice has grown like a mighty warrior’s prowess, now you are the most powerful weapon on the stage. It’s a battle field my dear.  Don’t let the gowns and sparkling jewels fool you.” He touches the yellow diamond necklace that he gave me, now nestled in my throat, where I feel my rapid pulse. I see that his eyes are fixed there.  He is mesmerized by the frenetic dance that he sees.

            “I’ll be refreshed and waiting for you later.”  I turn and look over my bare shoulder, “I’ll have my answer for you then, love.  You won’t be disappointed.”

            I turn and head towards my dressing area but see that his SNAKE waits for me.  Not tonight I think and slip into the ladies room. I’ll have to go in my concert gown.  Not exactly the comfort that I was looking for, but it will have to do.  Wendy is waiting for me outside.  We don’t have much time.  It’s almost midnight, the last half hour of November 2, the day that the Italians make pilgrimages to the Isola di San Michele where their dead are buried.

            I’ve bribed a gondolier who finally agreed, after intensive haggling, to take me to the island of the dead.  The Italians are very superstitious and no living person is allowed to step onto the island after the sun has set.

            “Affrettatevi signorina. Non possiamo ritardare. Avete il resto dei soldi?   

            I hand him the balance of the money and kick off my heels and step onto the rocking gondola. And now I will cross over to the island to view the sepulcher of the man that I love, and whom I am now sure, has returned my love.  The sky is a lush deep purple but the wind begins to gust and a flash of lightening scars the sky the darkest violet. So he realizes that I’ve slipped away, and he is angry, I think.  I shiver in the Fall Italian air and pull my hooded black velvet cape more closely to my body.  I know that I love the composer’s music and perhaps that is all of him that I will ever have. And I acknowledge that it has, in some ways, been enough.

            “Chill Wen, this was your idea.”

            “One thing in theory,” she says and huddles against me as the gondola bucks in the angry winds.”

            The gondolier begins to lose it and yammers about the weather and how we have disturbed the dead.  I hand him another 250 euros and tell him to calm down.  I barely hop off the gondola with my heels in my left hand, before he pushes off. Another flash of lightening illumines his terrified face as he makes the sign of the cross against his straining chest.  I panic then because without him we are stranded here until morning.  I reach for Wendy’s hand, it is cold and she is uncharacteristically quiet.  I can see her fear as well as her determination.  My black sequined gown glows in the eerie night shadows and I think that I must look like the bride of some demon. Better this than the bride of the other one, I think.  Wendy and I switch on our flashlights and consult the hand scrawled map that the gondolier had given me earlier.  It directs us to Luca’s grave.

            I abandon my shoes entirely and my Donna Karan stockings hold up valiantly before they tear against a stone. 

            “Ouch, this is like some bad 1930’s horror flick,” I say

            “Yes, but then we’d have a film crew and they’d have some freakin transportation back to the living.”

            “Good point.  Stop, do you smell that? I ask.
            “What are you… you mean the”

            “Yes the musky lavender scent.  He is here.  Dead nor not, he will protect us.  I’d bet my life on it.” I reiterate.

            “Uh, news flash, you are betting our lives on it.”

            “It’s okay, Wen. Promise.  I wouldn’t put you in danger.”

            She squeezes my hand and we follow the map with our flashlights trained in the same direction.  This is the path that will lead me to him, finally, after a year has passed and another Fall is upon us.

            “This must be it,” I say and move the flashlight to read the name on the massive ornate mausoleum.

            “There it is, Cantanta.”  Wendy screams.

            As for me, I’m filled with warmth and terror.  What if I’ve been wrong? What if he was just a brilliant composer who fed my fantasies, and somehow triggered my post-traumatic stress disorder that I’d suffered from after my parents were killed?  I pull myself together and raise my flashlight.  Someone has affixed photos of him to the sheer surface of the stone.  Those eyes, those lips.  My body feels heavy and it’s difficult to move, but perhaps it is only the weight of my longing.  Then I see something else, a bouquet of purple flowers, they are fresh so someone must have left them earlier today.  I can’t identify them but they fill me with dread and I almost drop my flashlight.

            I turn to choke down the bile in my throat when I feel him, as close to me as my skin.  My body seems to have no bones and melds in perfect symmetry with his.  His lips caress my ear and his sound is a melody that interprets the jumble in my soul.  He speaks of love, but I know that doesn’t exist.  Those whom I have loved are now dead.  Only memories remain, like dried blood on a white carpet, a dark scar against a once unsullied tapestry, ruined forever.

            “We will never be parted again.” His voice caresses my throat.

            I turn my mouth towards his lips. Since he won’t stop lying, I silence his voice.

            He takes my face between his well-formed, muscular hands and I glimpse the violet in his eyes before I close mine.  He covers my mouth with his and even though death invades our private moment, I feel as though I am no stranger here.  My mind fills with the sound of his aria, the one that now forever links us in fame’s fickle web. His arms hold my weight as I drift on the beauty that he created.  The sound and his kiss deepen until I gasp for air.  But I make no effort to retreat.  He is what I have longed for and since I can not find him in life, I will follow him through death.  

            There is not much time left and I struggle to tell him that I love him, that I have always loved him.  And I close my eyes welcoming the serenity that will follow. 

But we are torn apart and I realize, as my lungs fill with sweet air, that he is fighting for our lives.  The soft earth is covered in blood.  But I don’t want to fight anymore.  I want to follow him to a world beyond this.  I want the calm that will silence the voices and the loss. I want to make sure that Wendy is safe and then, I want to go home.

Fame's Seduction - Power's Control

Lorenzo led us to the magnificent Cappella dei Magi, one of the crowning jewels of the palace.  For a moment I lost even the image of Fiora’s eyes.  I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the frescoes painted by Benozzo Gozzoli, one of the most gifted 'equine' Medieval painters, (and disciple of the famous Florentine painter of angels, Fra Angelico).  I began to understand how wealth and power could seduce a man.

            “I should like to have you write a Motet for my niece’s wedding. You may remember the young woman who sang for you last night.”

            My mind returned to the young woman with a protruding nose and mediocre voice at best.

            “Yes, very accomplished,” I managed.

            “We would like to cultivate her voice. It is an accomplishment when used in the right setting.  I think that you will be an admirable composer for her talent.”

            “I am honored, naturally.  And I am at your service.  May I suggest another talented singer with whom we can work?  Fiora di Moretti.  You heard her sing last night.”

            “Yes, a remarkable voice to be sure.  I should like to consider that. But this commission will feature my niece.”

            “Isn’t she the bride?”

            “Yes.”

            “Would it not be preferable for her to enjoy her wedding feast and to sing for another ceremony?”

            “I am a family man and given to indulgence.  This is her request and a small one. She wants to present it as a gift to her husband.  Romantic notion isn’t it?”

            Cesco’s words wrapped through my head.  I hadn’t even begun to ponder how I was now able to hear him.  I’d assumed that we were so well acquainted that I could imagine every word that he would utter.  But that was not the case.  His conversation resided in my head.  I’d only to look into his intense eyes to verify the messages that he sent me.

Violet Destiny Chapter One - Death by Music

Violet Destiny

Jasmine

            When I awaken this summer morning in Venice, I have no premonition that I will be fighting for my life before tomorrow’s dawn; or that my mentor and friend, plans to kill me.  Memories of the last eight pain filled years, like a pale puckered scar, remind me that I have been able to heal, through music and love.  Music has always saved me, I think. 

            Several hours later, before the violet dawn flushes a new day, I walk into the American Opera Center theatre, in New York, to meet my lover, but really, the stage has been set for my death.

            I rush into the theatre, only thinking about his arms and his kiss.  I halt briefly noting that hundreds of candles have been lit and the stage set for Violetta’s death scene in La Traviata.

            I call to my lover and my voice echoes in the acoustical theatre then fades into silence.  I have one thought, and that is to run, but despite my instincts, I still hope that my beloved waits for me there, and my legs move slowly towards the exit.  Then his arms encircle my waist and his breath, heavy with the rich scent of the 1787 Bordeaux Chateaux Lafitte that we shared in better times, you could say, tickles my ear.  Immediately I accept that something has gone desperately wrong. 

            “Ah but you were expecting the other one.  Sorry to disappoint my dear.  But you will see that I am the better choice.  I offer the better life.”

            “You just startled me,” I choke through my throat that is closing with fear. “Come, are you chastising me for missing a rehearsal?  Did I forget something?” I chide lightly, even though the words stick in my throat and my mouth is dry.

            “Nothing has been forgotten.  This is the most important night of your life.  Tonight, you will truly be immortal.  I offer you this, and fame.  What girl has had such an offer?”

            He turns me so that I face his well-known face.  I recognize the dark stubble that ripples along his angular jaw, and a wave of dark chocolate hair that falls into his cobalt eyes, that are now steely. 

            “I’ve been traveling all day. It’s wonderful to see you, really.  Can’t we continue this tomorrow?” I ask.
            “Tomorrow is a day for beginnings, but tonight is for endings.  Say goodbye to the mediocrity that shadows every step that humans take.  Au Revoir to servitude, and fear and folly.  Tonight, you will become the queen of your life, and mine.  Together we will rule the operatic stages of the world.  Just a brief time of pain and an eternity of song and power will follow.”  He touches his cold lips to mine and I feel ice bubbles run throughout my body.

             “Come, my dear.  Have a drink with me.  There is no need to hurry.  I have wanted to taste you since I first smelled your blood.  It is quite magnificent, you know, like your voice.”

            He leads me to the stage and I sink onto Violetta’s deathbed, praying that it will not be mine.

            “I offer a toast, to our new union. We will reign forever, Целую, (Tseylulu).”

            I flinch at his pet name for me that translates as ‘I kiss you.’ He often shouted that during our rehearsals over the past year, but now his vocal caress pounds in my ears, like a Lady Gaga recording that is poorly synced.  I am determined to hold onto another melody, one that was written for me.

            “I sought him who my soul loveth: I held him and I would not let him go.”  The phrase from the Bible’s Song of Solomon races through my mind.  So, I am to be this monster’s immortal bride or destroy the other man who has become my soul.  This totally bites, I think and then choke back hysterical laughter.

            I don’t answer and my silence enrages him.  I feel a rush of wind flying past me, but it is I who fly across the stage where the demon hurls me.  My body feels mangled and the harsh stage floor thuds against my head before I lose consciousness.  The last thing I hear is my beloved’s music.  It comes to me as through a mist.  I hold onto that.  I will take that to my death. “Questo il mio momento finale,” I think of the aria that my love wrote for me, the aria that I was cast to sing in the New York premier of his opera, on this same stage, and another stabbing pain rocks my body.  And so I will not die alone, or in vain.  My love and his music will survive.  And the world will be a better place for that…

            

Santa - Jasmine's Golden Shaded Persian Talks About Vampayre Luca

Santa - Jasmine's Golden Shaded Persian Talks About Vampayre Luca

I heard Luca in Jasmine's thoughts before he entered her life for the second time.  Flashes of violet overtook me as I played with the potted ficus tree that turned towards the sun at the edge of our living room. Luca's energy filled me with wonder as I heard his music and remembered my days on the stage in my last incarnation.

Jasmine's sound was woven into the notes and the rests that he notated carefully.  He wrote for Jasmine, I knew.  As I knew that her music would also attract the other one - the dark one - Phisto, a Vampire.  The fourth trial was upon them and that is why I'd re-entered this sluggish earth plane so that I could assist Jasmine at this pivotal moment.  Such was her young life that she didn't trust humans and so I entered in a form that would reassure and comfort her.  I'd been a beautiful and feted woman in my day and was grateful at least that I retained my blonde hair and had luminous green eyes that saw everything - everything.

As Luca drew closer so did Phisto.  My eyes would widen as I stared into the abyss that was his soul. You understand that he didn't think that he was evil.  Evil does not think in those terms.  Phisto believed that his choice were wise and prudent.  Each choice bought him nigh his goal and that is all that he desired.  Now he desires Jasmine.  Phisto knows that she is Luca's love and understands that her talent will heighten his fame and vanquish his enemy.

And so I watch and I wait as I enter Jasmine's dreams offering messages that I hope she will interpret and not ignore.  I love Jasmine and Luca so I must remain vigilant.  I would offer my life for their safety but that will not clear the debt.  And so my journey continues, parallels hers.

It's in the Vampayre's Kiss

When I was thirteen my parents plunged to their deaths while driving the Amalfi Coast.  How could I have known that the country that had taken my parents would give me my greatest love and held truths about my past lives that I wasn't then ready to confront?

I stopped speaking for six months when my grandfather, Grappa, a well known biotech entrepreneur, heard me humming one evening and then subsequent evenings.  That had become my only pattern of communication after my parents' death.  He tried to join my shadow world and held me late into the unfolding nights, humming songs that were popular during the 1940's.  I remained frozen in my midnight melodies, unable to reach out in any meaningful way.  Then he had a flash of insight and took me to a famous voice teacher.  Renee bought me back to life and realized that I had a world class talent simply through my breath work, humming and physiognomy. My greatest tragedy would bring me my greatest triumphs, a love that felt like it transpired time, and my most brilliant heartache.

"You don't want me to audition for your opera?" I asked Luca, avoiding the deeper purple tones that belied his impatience and concern.

"This role should go to someone who is already well known.  You will have time to prepare for the European premiere and you and I can work together then." He answered with a level tone.

"You mean it will keep me away from Phisto." I answered with more edge than I'd intended.

"His influence on your music has been, in my opinion, destructive." He reached for my hand but stopped and bent his head.  Violet eyes were hidden by the shadows that the candle cast across the table.

"He believes in me." I retorted.

"As do I." He managed and I knew that his temper had ignited.

"Why do you want to delay my success?  A premiere in Europe is nice, but it's not New York, now is it?"

"It is better this way.  What does he encourage but big sound and dramatic phrasing?  Tools for the career not for the artistic development.  I want you to sing for your soul, not for the paycheck."

"Then you'll be paying my bills." I said unkindly.  I watched his mouth move as he responded and remembered how it had felt just hours before.  Why did Phisto's existence create such problems for us?  It was as though Luca hated him.

"I'll support you in any way.  I hope that you know that."

"Grappa has said that he will support me for only a few more months.  I need to start my career now, not in six months.  I'll be waiting table by then."

"Let me help you." His dark beard created a sculpted shadow across his face, highlighting high cheekbones and a sensual mouth

"Allow me to help myself by giving me the New York debut."

"It's not possible.  I'm sorry," he said,  and stood abruptly, overturning his chair as he reached for me.  His lips were on mine and I felt him once again take me to a familiar land where only saftey and desire existed, danced like well loved partners, came together, released and then joined again with seamless efforts.  I felt as though we burned castles in the air and that the tidal waves responded to our rhythm.

I had to understand why he opposed my starring in the New York debut.  I didn't realize that my life depended on it

Vampayre New Year Kiss

It was a critical juncture in Jamine's life and career.  She had been pursued by two supernatural beings, though she did not realize the true nature of their power or sexual charimsa.  Luca, the famous composer, with eyes the color of pre-dawn light, a mystical, mythical violet, that represented the highest level of spiritual attunement spoke to the inner depths of her being, like her fingerprint, he was that close.  And Phisto, the famous conductor, who seduced her with his uncanny musical coaching and interpretation.  His eyes flashing a deep cobalt that indicated his level of engagement and passion.  Phisto wanted her to join his journey and to fatten herself on fame and achievement.

 Luca wanted her to live.  His deep amethyst colored eyes explored the caverns and crevices of her soul, leaving no interior thought or desire hidden.  His touch was at first cold, then burned with the passion of one who knew her well.  His kiss took her to inner regions where she met the essence of her soul and traveled, like a native, on that welcome journey.

Jasmine didn't realize that she was not only at a pivotal juncture in her career, but at a defining moment in her soul's journey that would dictate her future incarnations and relationships.  Vampayre;s are turned at the time that they are ready to advance spiritually.  They are gifted with the ability to remain in their physical forms until they are ready to leave the earth plane and explore higher regions.  First, each, must   pass the fourth trial in their spiritual evolution before they can leave their physical form.  Jasmine, though mortal, was facing a similar trial in her mortal incarnation and her choice would dictate her future.

Jasmine understood that with change she could grow or slip into the choices and patterns that had constricted and confined her life.  Her soul wanted Luca.  Her mind, and ambition wanted Phisto.

"I embrace you in the violet dawn of a New Year," Luca said as he held her to his body and drew her breath with his kiss.

His lips were at first cool, then burned with the fire of a thousand suns as Luca's kiss deepened, as his tongue explored the center of her feminine passions.  Gradually she heard the aria that she'd sung for him at the defining audition, the audition for his new opera.  If she won the role, her future was assured.  She sang each note, felt each rest and silence as intimately as her breath.  She knew the piece for it had been written for her.  The aria's signature was her individual sound that called her froth from dust to the consciousness of a sentient being.  She lay within the expanse of his kiss like a child in the womb, so protected and sated was she.  Luca called her home.  Her breath became shallow and the petty concerns of the world receded.  His kiss was all the remained, and the moving shadows of her many lives.  She was complete in that moment.

Her Golden Shaded Persian interrupted, deep green eyes alive with wisdom.

"It is not time," Santa said, thumping her tail against the woven silk amethyst duvet cover.  The pear shaped golden candlelight flickered in the New Year's light and remained steady against the power of their passion.

"I lost control." Luca admitted and released Jasmine as his being shuddered from the desire for completion.

Luca kissed Jasmine's closed eyes and called her back to the earth plane, summoning her with his desire to share an earthly journey.

Jasmine's eyes, green, like deep mountain ponds, flickered before registering consciousness.  She knew that a decision must be made.  Her being remained suspended in the space between Luca's kiss and her life.  The New Year had dawned.