Young Writers Society

A/N: Hello there! Re-wrote this chapter in the morning. Writing is the sole thing I have been doing today. I must say, this chapter means very much to me, I've put all my soul in it and I hope that you, too, can feel this. Warning: *spoiler* this might be one of the sweetest, most romantic things you've read until now. So if you're not into the genre… Eh. No, no, I am not that kind of cheesy, incurable romantic writer. I love making up love scenes, but I assure you that they're rather classy, instead of sickishly sweet.

I failed to do my homework again. But I can't help it. Writing is so much more interesting.

________________________________________________________________________________








Having not heard of Ralph for days, I allowed myself to forget about him. William and I had been going to the theatre together every evening, and usually after the play was finished we parted our ways, each of us heading for our home in separate directions. I did not want to be seen in his presence for the same reason that I was afraid to even imagine us being together…

I was afraid. Frightened by what could have happened if anybody had seen us together, scared of the thought that rumours could pass to Ralph's ears… but above all, I was scared of love itself. I had been hurt too many times in the past. I needed the reassurance that this time I would not bruise so easily. Somehow, William gave me this reassurance. There was something in the way he looked me in the eyes, something different than the other times I had been beheld by men. There was no rush, no selfishness. He was simply lost in the moment, his eyes lost in mine – two pairs of blue gemstones gleaming every time they met.

His company distracted me from reality. And for once, I was seen as what I truly was, and I was not sympathised, nor mocked at. One day, I wished so much to remain in his presence for a few moments more, that I ignored all the risks possible and allowed him to lead me home.

"Would you like to stay here for the night?" I asked him before crossing the threshold. To tell the truth, I did not wish to part with him. I would've gladly spent all night listening to him talking about unimportant, silly things.

"Is it not too soon for that?" he joked after having planted a tiny kiss on the back of my hand. Be it joke or not, I took it seriously and flushed right away. God knows that it was not what I had in mind right then. For once, I was free of any indecent thoughts.

"No, not for that… I… Just to talk…" I babbled something barely audible, being completely embarrassed by his words.

"I am afraid I would not be able to keep my hands off of you," he dared to tease me again. At this, he tightened the grip on her hand; I paused, uttered some words rapidly and indistinctly and then stopped, aware of the fact that my cheeks must've burnt of shame. "Is the grand courtesan embarrassed by such a simple fact? You must be used to men that aren't able to keep their hands off of you, are you not?"

"No! I am not embarrassed!" I exclaimed, trying to sound as convincing as I could. "Who do you think you are talking to?" How silly had that been? Blushing at such an innocent remark! "Never mind, I apologize; I shouldn't have –" I stepped towards the door, but he stopped me right before I had the chance to open the door.

"Rose, you might have already realised this, but I do not wish to be just another man who shares the bed with you, just another lover. I want us to be together one day, for real." I nodded timidly, surprised by the words I had just heard. Since when could a man make me lose control so easily?

"I see," was all that I could say. Taking my hand in his, he attempted at kissing it again – an almost involuntary move. But… somehow… he mistook the back of my hand for my lips. I do know how it happened, and whether it was him that made the first move. All that I remember is that it had been bliss, and I did not want it to end. Never before had I felt this way when being intimate to any other man.

"I… I should go inside," I spoke after our lips parted. Confused by what had just happened and not really finding the perfect words, I did not say anything else. I watched William as he let go of me, turning around to leave. I knew there must've been something else that I wanted to say, but in the end I ended up calling his name and asking him to meet me the following day as well.



As he promised to me and I to him, the following day we had been wandering for a while among the never-ending streets of the town. Sometimes we talked, but most of the time we did not. Instead, I was looking inside the shops while walking. I stopped in front of a bookstore, not searching for anything in particular. My eyes roamed over the bookstand but then, noticing William's image in the window glass, focused on our reflection in the window. I did not have the chance to actually see us together until then. Our physical features complemented and contrasted with one another. Our eyes had the same shade of blue, our skin the same paleness, while his hair was darker than mine, his silhouette taller than me. He was standing behind me, and I knew that if I were to lean back, my head would've naturally rested on his chest. It looked as if we were made for each other. That was how perfectly we fit together.

He did not know why I stopped, though. "Is there anything you've seen in the shop window?"

"No, nothing. I was just curious what was inside."

At the end of our stroll, I wished him to show me where he lived, thus asked whether he could show me his apartment. Although not convinced at first, he accepted. I could tell that he was somehow uncomfortable with the thought of showing me his place. After seeing mine, I could not blame him. I was used to extravagance, whereas his apartment was nothing luxurious and as simple as it could have been. I must've seemed such a material person in front of him. He did not know, though, that the place I had lived in before I had bought luxury with the price of my happiness was more humble that this.

"So this is where you live," I uttered while studying his room. The manuscripts and writing tools on his desk, the cloak on a hanger, everything was in perfect order, clean and tidy. The bookshelf was full of books; there were so many that I doubt that there was place for one more volume.

"Yes. It is a humble place, not what you might have expected, I believe." I made no comments on it.

"Are these written by you?" I said while focusing my attention on the papers that were on my desk. William nodded, and I read a few lines from the page that was on top. I was surprised by the style he adopted, his choice of words and the elaborate descriptions. I had read various books in my entire life, and few had impressed me from the beginning. The first page of his manuscript was promising, though. Must've been the play he was working on. "They are beautifully written. You must be truly talented."

"Thank you. Hopefully Mister Wright will also find them great."

"Oh, I am sure that he will. Add a small amount of tragedy and drama and he will praise you forever," I said with an enthusiastic smile. "If you ever need my advice, I would love to give you a helping hand… not that I am good at writing, anyway, but…" I smiled to myself.

"I shall keep these in mind. And I would love to hear your thoughts on them."

"Are these some poems?" I asked, my hand revealing some pages underneath. He let me read the first one, but stopped me when I tried to read the other ones.

"I sure wouldn't mind you reading them, but I would appreciate it if you did not. Some are too personal. Too personal to be literature."

"But you will let me read them someday, I hope."

"You might be disappointed. Curiosity can be far more exciting than the things you want to know. But to answer your question, it depends on how much of our individuality we will be willing to reveal, should we ever be close to one another. Please," he said while gesturing towards the two chairs in front of us, "take a seat. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you wish to drink something?"

"No, thank you," I politely refused. "Just talk to me. Ask me anything you wish," I asked, suddenly feeling like I was prepared to reveal any part of me, any aspect of my life.

"Why did you stop from acting, Rose?" he asked after a while.

"It brings back painful memories. Many things happened while I was on that stage. For instance, I lost my parents while I was playing Titania in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'…"

"So this is why you refused to play that role again," he concluded.

"Yes. Scarlet does not know about this aspect of my life, so I suppose she did not mean to –"

"I apologize," he cut me off, taking my hand in mine again – the most intimate we had gone so far, with the exception of that kiss. It made me crave for that moment when the past would repeat. "I feel miserable now for insisting that day. I must've hurt your feelings by reminding you of –"

"It is alright. I did overreact a little, but I am not upset on you for that. And there are some other reasons as well… Besides, how could I blame you for that, when you did not even know?"

"Still, this does not make me feel any better." He raised his arm to my cheek to remove a stray strand of hair, causing my heart to skip a beat. "If I knew –"

"It is alright," I repeated. "Honestly. I assure you of this. There are some other reasons, as I've said before… but I am afraid it wouldn't be appropriate to mention them now. At any rate, the past is past. In fact, I would like to act again, even if only for once. There are moments when I miss those times."

"Well…" his voice trailed off, "I could offer you a role in my play. As a matter off fact, I haven't found the perfect actress for the main role yet. Would you like to be the one?"

"Truly? Would you really…? Oh, but I… I could not accept a role just because you have an affinity for me."

"Who says I will choose you on that ground? Here," he said while extending his arm to grab the papers, and then handed them to me. "Open to page fifty-two, I've written the number in the bottom corner." I did precisely what he told me to do. "Third act, read Esther's line, I'll be your partner in the dialogue." I looked at him, not sure of the purpose of all these. I then threw a quick glance over the dialogue to get an idea of what was happening in the play, and began to read:

"Oh, God, why punish me for fate's cruel ambition? Is there a sin more innocent, more sacred than love itself?"A few other lines came after, followed by his replies. We had been reading several pages. Having not acted for such a long, I was so passionate and willing to do my best, to give all of me and my emotion to its fullest. Within minutes, we were already on our feet, lost in the play itself, behaving, gesturing and speaking loudly when needed, until I, all of a sudden, stopped. The dialogue between us as only actors had gone too far, as well as the passion we put in our acting. I was effectively confined between his body and the wall behind me, his hands already on my arms, which were helplessly left loose at my sides.

"Excellent! This was perfect, you are perfect for this role!" he exclaimed then indicated me to go on and read the rest of it.

"Including the scenic indications?" His answer was negative. I read it in a low voice, though: "Esther heads for the door, but Alexander stops her. Etcetera etcetera… they kiss and part away." I stopped and startled. "And this is all. This is where the third act ends." Surely he did not expect me to –

"This is what you would say on stage also?" He fixed me with his glance, making my heart beat faster. I was too scared, too embarrassed by his eyes on me to even imagine any other part of him on me.

"Of course not, but we are not really performing right now, are we? That would be silly, anyway. You are not an actor."

"No, and I am not a noble either," he concluded with a frown.

"That was not what I meant to –" I did not have the chance to say anything else; his hands seized my body, pressing me against the wall. I opened my mouth to speak again, but he trapped my lips between his, refusing to let go of them until I gave in and returned the kiss with the same ardour that he put in this kiss. I did not notice up till then what a pleasant feeling was to kiss a man that had no moustache. It was a satisfying sensation that gratified the touch of our lips. In the end, I surrender to that kiss, savouring every second of it.

"You know, this was not part of the acting," he whispered in my ears later. He had withdrawn from me, but not completely. We were still cradled closely into each other's arms, his warm breath teasing my skin, making it tingle. "I would rather consider it as what might happen after the curtain's fall."

"Do not play with my feelings, William."

"Rose, can you honestly say that you love that old count? Will you meet him every day when he will be back?" And so the magic was gone, the spell undone. Why did he have to remind me of Ralph? "Forgive me for being straight to the point," he even dared to excuse himself, "but I must know the position I am in from the start."

A frown of disapproval began to catch shape while I drew apart, my eyebrows furrowed. In that moment, he had just made a mistake. "Is this jealousy? If it is, I must warn you, it might ruin our relationship before it even starts. You should very-well know that –" Before I even had the chance to finish the sentence, however, he kissed me again, erasing that mistake from my mind forever. I was caught in that spell once again.



Times had been changing and so was my relationship with the fairest courtesan of all. Her exuberance intrigued me; her devotion to me up until then amazed me, every little tiny detail made me love her even more with every day. She had been timid, and it made me question whether she was indeed a courtesan.

I started working for Mister Wright at The Royal Opera House and Theatre. This way I was able to see Rose every day, because she spent most of her time at the theatre, the actors I had just known and worked with were her friends.

What is more, she agreed to play the role of the main character. I sensed a hint of jealousy every time she and her partner that played her lover's role exchanged words, glances, the moment they had to kiss making me boil with jealousy inside. The boy was, however, too young and inexperienced to make me worry. It was obvious that he was merely playing his part, striving so intensely to be an acknowledged actor, that he could not care less for anything else. Somehow, it reminded me of the boy I used to be in the past.

There were days when we only rehearsed parts in which she was not included. During those repetitions, between the indications I gave to the actors and their lines, we took the risk of exchanging furtive glances. I was standing on the stage with the actors, while Rose was in the first row, watching the development of the play and clapping her hands from time to time.

At the end of the rehearsals, we would usually remain for a while inside the theatre and she would give me some suggestions and comment on the play and the acting. I was surprised by how many things I could learn from her. She had been truly of great help to me. Slowly, I was beginning to admire her.

I had been visiting her place many times… every day and sometimes even more often than this. One day she led me upstairs to a secluded room that I had not entered before. It was a dark and spacious chamber, a grand piano placed in a corner.

Stepping closer, I noticed it was an antique Bösendorfer, just like the one I used to practice on a while ago. From its appearance, I could say that it had not been used for a long period of time. "This was a gift from my father," she explained, "when I had become fourteen years old. I had wanted so much a piano that he spent all of his savings on it. And this," she added while showing me a golden necklace that was inside a jewellery box, "was my mother's. She said that it would protect me from harm, you know, like an amulet does. I used to wear it all of the time, but now… every time I see it, I remember the past; it hurts me too much to recall those times, I guess. My parents loved me that much. I suppose…" her trembling voice trailing off, "that if they were still alive, they'd be disappointed by what has become of me." And with those words, she shed a tiny tear in the corner of her eye. I instinctively raised my hand to her cheek to remove the dampness. Having closed the gap between us, she laid her petite head on my chest, awakening a certain instinct of protection inside of my mind. Her fragility and sensitivity was what I desired so much from her. It felt as if I needed the woman in her, while she needed somebody to protect her, to care for her. I wanted to be that somebody. In that instant, I would have done anything to make her happy, even if just for a few seconds.

But then, with the dignity of a true woman, she raised her head up, straightened her pose and forced herself to refrain from crying. "Though, your strength and power to go on with this life is admirable, Rose," I commented in a gentle voice.

"I am weaker than you think I am, William. But I am not complaining. I have no idea why I am telling you all these, I usually would rather keep my feelings to myself. I hate it when people sympathise me, but I see that you do not. You are different from the others, and I appreciate it," she said with a smile that touched my heart.

I wished I could tell her what was on my mind right then, that I loved her more than any other lover had before, but the moment we shared, while I was holding her, seemed to give her peace of mind. I could not find anything worth being said. I did not intend to disturb the peaceful silence that had just been established between us.

Pulling away from me slowly, she stood on the piano chair and started playing a few major chords. "Do you like music, William?"



"I do; in fact, I did learn the piano a few years ago."

"Oh, so you know how to play?" I approved with a bow of my head.

"Then I must hate you," she joked while hitting a discordant note, then stopped playing. "I am not much of a piano player, but I love Mozart, which I have just tried to play," she said with a pout. "Though, I could never perfect 'Rondo Alla Turca'*. It was my favourite melody as a child. My father had a tiny music box that played this tune. I used to open it before I went to bed and listen to the song until I could fall asleep." She smiled while thinking of her past. "Still," she pointed out, "my favourite is Strauss. I love his compositions."

"Then I assume you might enjoy Viennese waltzes and dancing? Or am I wrong?" I asked, and then she stood up, removing the curtains to glance outside through the window.

"Of course I do, I love them both, your guess was right. There is something special about Austria, something graceful in their music. Besides, I would love to visit Vienna once."

"And be the one to step on the marble ceilings of The Schönbrunn**?"

"That would be fascinating!" she exclaimed joyously.

"What waltz would you like to be played then, as you would dance in the huge ballrooms of the grand palace?" I asked out of curiousity. I had played the piano before indeed, and I had learnt a few compositions that I could still remember. I would have very much enjoyed playing a waltz especially for her.

"It is a hard choice, but 'Wiener Blut'*** has always been my favourite, so I guess this one." At this, I could not help but laugh, in spite of myself. "What? What did I say?" she asked, questioning my behaviour.

"Of all waltzes, you had to name one that I did not have the chance to perfect. I hoped that you would mention something that I am able to play and not ruin the melody. Although, with no orchestra, the simple sound of piano might have ruined it anyway."

"Oh, you wished to play me my favourite song!"

"If that brings a smile upon your face, I would gladly spend all evening learning it." At this, she sketched a warm smile. "But… still, do you think you could you play it inside of your head?"

"Of course, I listened to it so many times before that I learnt it by heart. But why do you ask?"

"Because I would very much like to share a dance with you; even though we have no music," I uttered, extending my arm to her. "I trust that both of us will remember the melodic line."

"That would be silly."

"No, it would be enchanting. We could both imagine us being inside of the most luxurious ballroom of the Schönbrunn. At any rate, nobody is watching us. I insist," I emphasised until she finally gave in, placing her small hand in mine, the other one resting on my chest, while I encircled her thin waist with my other hand.

"How could I refuse, since you have been so kind to me?" And so I swayed for a while, together with the blooming rose, humming the tune. We were two children, fooling around and acting like a couple of adolescents that had just discovered love. But we did not care.

It occurred to me that she was the most fragile flower, of the deepest red colour. Little by little, our relationship was growing. With the confessions regarding her past, she opened up her soul to me. Between dances steps and sways, I kissed her forehead and lips. I held her the closest possible, so that she would never feel alone, as she had previously been in her past.

I caught her blood-red lips – those that have been probably kissed by hundreds of lovers before me – between mine. She tasted sweet and soft, the scent of her perfume almost intoxicating me. I could not withhold from wondering what would happen when that count would return to her. I could not ignore the possibility that our growing relationship could be over when he would come back to her. Would she, who has been used to having multiple love affairs, change her way of being for me? Would I still be fascinated by her if she changed?

Those were questions that troubled my mind, but to which only time could find the answers.

________________________________________________________________________________

* Rondo All Turca, also known as 'Turkish March', a composition by W. A. Mozart;

** the imperial palace of Austria, located in Vienna;

*** Wiener Blut, also known as 'Vienna Blood', a waltz by J. Strauss.

Reviews, anybody?