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| Lucille Caillemotte; Camarilla Nosferatu violinist | |
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| Topic Started: Sunday, 20. March 2016, 19:59 (452 Views) | |
| Shelley | Sunday, 20. March 2016, 19:59 Post #1 |
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Childe
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Edited by Shelley, Thursday, 24. March 2016, 07:46.
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| Shelley | Monday, 21. March 2016, 21:34 Post #2 |
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Childe
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Player Handle: Shelley Name: Lucille Caillemotte Age: 52 (born 1963) Place of birth: Paris, France Age of Embrace: 21 (in the year 1984) Clan: Nosferatu Sect: Camarilla Species: Vampire Derangement: none Disciplines: Appearance: Lucille used to be a good-looking blonde. The Nosferatu curse has left her body alone, apart from a limp, but has transformed her mouth into a monstrous maw and her nose into a dark pit. Her eyes have been grotesquely enlarged and yet, there is something distubingly human in them. She still has her beautiful soprano voice and she still dresses elegantly, conservatively, usually in black dresses. She washes daily and smells of soap and lilacs. Background: This is the story of Lucille Caillemotte, my story, and then again, it isn’t. It is the story of the Phantom of the Opera. You may object that the Phantom of the Opera is an old story, told time and again, in various versions, from the 1909 novel by Gaston Leroux to the musical adaption by Andrew Lloyd Webber. You will probably think the tale is nothing but fiction, but that just goes to show the power of the Camarilla’s propaganda machine. The tale, as Gaston Leroux tells it, is about a monster living beneath the Opera Garnier in Paris, a talented musician who has to hide his grotesquely disfigured face from the world. He falls in love with a choir girl, Christine Daée, and teaches her how to improve her voice. The monster lures the young woman into the catacombs under the opera. In a dramatic finale, it has to decide between its own happiness and hers: It loves her so much that it releases her back to the surface where she marries a young gentleman she is in love with. There is a tale behind the story, a tale unknown to the kine, the tale of envy, a tale of beauty. It is a tale of how I came to be what I am. I cannot guarantee for its truth, but I knew my Sire well and believe he was a man with a healthy respect for the truth. It started, long before I was born, in Napoleonic Paris. The vampire Erik Quasimodo, a Nosferatu and master of music, had claimed the Cathedral of Notre Dame as his Domain. There, he gave midnight concerts that were the talk of the local kindred community. His success irked an old and powerful Toreador vampire, the Baronesse Charlotte-Louise d’Églatine, who considered and still considers herself the first patron of the Arts in Paris, especially of the salons littéraires. She had Victor Hugo compose the novel ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’. None of it’s true, of course. I have been unable to learn how she influenced the famous writer. Maybe she used her female wiles, maybe she entranced him with the discipline of Presence, or maybe she made him a slave to her undead blood. Anyway, when Hugo’s novel appeared in 1831, the mortal community was captivated – and it became fashionable among young gentlemen to explore the Cathedral. Needless to say, Master Quasimodo was forced to abandon the site. I have reason to believe that my Master and the Baronesse clashed several times during the 19th century but I will spare you the particulars. In the early 20th century, Master Quasimodo had established himself at the Opera Garnier, where he was treating the Kindred of Paris to new musical delights. You can probably guess what comes next. The Baronesse found another romance novelist of questionable talents, M. Gaston Leroux, to write his book in order to dislodge my Master once again. But her plot failed, not only because the novel failed to attract much attention but also because the Prince of Paris interceded on my Master’s behalf, making clear he would not tolerate any further attempts at jeopardizing the masquerade like that. So the Baronesse asked her childer and allies in different cities to keep the tale alive by producing various adaptations, all published beyond the Prince’s reach and without her direct involvement. You may start to wonder how I fit into this story. My name is Lucille Caillemotte. I was born into a musical family: Both my parents played the violin in the Opéra Garnier Orchestra. I was an only child, dreamy, quiet, romantic, and obsessed with music. It was my parents who told me stories about an opera ghost and who bought me Leroux’s book. It was 1981. The novel struck a chord with me. Why was everyone worried about that superficial slut Christine? Wasn’t Erik the one truly deserving of love? Wouldn’t loving him be pure – free from superficial vanities: a love based solely on music and true feeling? I finished school and went to study music at the Conservatoire, all the time trying to learn more about the Phantom of the Opera. Because of my parents, I had access to the tunnels underneath the Opera, and there I went to seek out my Angel of Music, singing, playing the violin, calling out to him, leaving letters. I didn’t really believe in him, but he was so unlike the young men I met, all of them fixated on my body. And then, one night, I found a letter from Erik. He told me to leave him alone. I didn’t. I kept coming back and begged him to show himself, and when he did eventually, I didn’t flinch. I adored him. I wanted to be with him forever. He warned me that he was a monster, he told me everything about the nature of his curse, and yet, I insisted. It took me two years to convince him to embrace me. The embrace is cold and painful. The dying body teaches an urge stronger than love: The need for blood. I don’t blame him for doing what he did. He had warned me time and again. So I became like him, and although it was our monstrosity and our loneliness that now linked us, we remained together, sharing our music and our loneliness. It was 1986 when Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical version that the Phantom started becoming famous enough for hordes of tourists to show interest in the Opera Garnier. By then, of course, the construction of the Opéra Bastille was well under way so my Master didn’t need the old Opéra anymore, and we relocated. I am in London now. I am alone. My master is dead. I read his letter again: -------- My dear Lucille, my only childe, When you read these lines, I will be dead. I have finally found the courage to end my cursed existence and free myself. I hope that there is a God that forgives all I have done in my life and unlife. I want to thank you for the years we have spent together – I have never met anyone like you. Please forgive me for sending you away. You can still try to purchase the Stradivari if you want to, of course. Enclosed in this letter you will find will a letter of recommendation for the Prince. You will also find a credit card that will allow you to establish yourself here in London. Transfer the money to a different account a.s.a.p. Do not return to Paris if you want to live: You wouldn’t stand a chance against the evil plots of the Baronesse. Maybe this is your chance to find new companions and to form an orchestra of the night. Look for allies but do not give your trust lightly, especially when you are dealing with the cursed Toreador. One last piece of advice: Do not make my mistake and embrace. I will live on in the music. Yours, Erik Quasimodo of Nosferatu ----------- Merits: Languages (French, English), Concentration, Acute Hearing Edited by Shelley, Wednesday, 23. March 2016, 06:48.
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2:03 AM Jul 11