Phantom
(#16640357)
In dreams he came | he/him
Familiar
Deadly Reflection
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Male Nocturne
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.95 m
Wingspan
7.52 m
Weight
520.38 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Crystal
Crystal
White
Facet
Facet
White
Okapi
Okapi
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Nocturne
Max Level
STR
120
AGI
10
DEF
7
QCK
61
INT
6
VIT
30
MND
7
Biography
 P H A N T O M♫
. . .
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I N F O Gender: Male Mate: Exclusive ╰━━━━━━━━╯
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R E L A T I O N S  MATE  KING ╰━━━━━━━━╯ |
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"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation Darkness stirs and wakes imagination Silently the senses abandon their defenses Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender Turn your face away from the garish light of day Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light And listen to the music of the night" - Andrew Lloyd Webber ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ Phantom got his start in the Shifting Expanse. He was an eager composer who wrote all kinds of songs, from sweeping arias to simple ballads. Yet he was unfulfilled, for here in the Stormcatcher’s domain, “Get back to work!” was the anthem. If he wanted to succeed as an artist, he would have to go abroad... “Indeed, a composer of your caliber will surely achieve more.” Tall, beautiful, and sumptuously garbed—Phantom stared at his visitors in awe as much as in hope. The two Imperials had approached him after a performance of one of his songs, for they were putting together an opera. “Your compositions are so vibrant! The spirit of Lightning is within them.” The female Imperial smiled, her eyes alight with excitement. “I daresay your songs will electrify our audiences!” “We wish to recruit you into our company,” stated the male. He dropped a bag of gold coins onto the desk to punctuate his offer. It was for gold and glory that Phantom came to the Cathedral of Eyes, but it was for love that he stayed. Masquerade—that was her name. She was an Imperial, a singer similarly recruited into the opera. When Phantom first met her, she was singing, her voice soaring in a magnificent crescendo as she spread her wings. He looked up at her, and he couldn’t help frowning. “Those notes are too limited for your voice range.” The singing broke off. “Is that so? And who are you to say that?” Despite her pout, the Imperial didn’t seem offended. Her gaze was speculative rather than suspicious. Phantom hovered before her. He introduced himself with a courtly bow. “My name is Phantom. I was brought on as a composer for the company. Please understand, I’m not disparaging you; far from it, in fact! Your singing is excellent—but with the right songs, it could be utterly amazing.” “So we shall be working together, hm? Very well,” and the Imperial smiled demurely back, “my name is Masquerade. And just how will you make us ‘utterly amazing’?” Those early days in the opera company were among the happiest Phantom had ever known. He was as good as his word, creating compositions to display the singers’ voices at their greatest ranges. He worked with each of them, but he and Masquerade had a special bond from the very beginning. They frequently sang together, talked together, laughed together....Eventually they were planning their future together. Together. It was itself a song in Phantom’s mind. He hummed absently as he and Masquerade walked down the corridor. By then, they were a mated pair, and even when they were not performing, they spent all their time with each other. “Yet another composition?” Masquerade teased gently. “You know, your mind is always working. You need your rest as well.” “A vacation? I suppose we could ask Oberon or Titania...” Phantom trailed off uncertainly. Since his arrival at the Cathedral, he hadn’t seen either of his patrons much. He hadn’t actually spoken to them in months either. Still, if Masquerade was interested in leaving, he would make the effort. And that was how, one evening, he found himself wandering the Cathedral’s corridors. His message to Oberon and Titania had gone unanswered, and he figured he’d have better luck if he spoke with them personally. He’d heard that they were nocturnal, and so he had decided that he’d have a better chance of running into them at night. He imagined the conversation, trying on different voices: “...Well, we’d like to visit Masquerade’s homeland, the Southern Icefield.” — “And you are from the Shifting Expanse, are you not?” — “I don’t want to go back there, haha! They’re always screaming ‘Get back to—’” He smelled it before he saw it: a stink that tinged the air, as sharp as an iron blade. Then he rounded the corner and saw it on the floor. Blood. It was black in the lantern light, but the smell left no question about what it was. Phantom stared in mute horror, tracking the wide smear with his eyes.... It ended abruptly at a blank stone wall. It was almost dry.... “Did I hear anything earlier? How long ago was this? What happened here?!” Phantom knew he ought to leave, but instead, he looked at the wall. He pressed his paws to the stone, near the bottom. The panel swung open on heavy iron hinges. Silently—someone was maintaining this door. “I shouldn’t be here.” But curiosity’s siren song could not be ignored, and he moved onward, into the shadows. The blood smear ended a few feet beyond the doorway. The surrounding passage was made of stone bricks, but the farther Phantom went, the smoother the blocks became, and the thinner the gaps between them—until he was in a corridor as polished as mirrors, and instead of gaps there were veins of different-colored rock. He marveled at the translucent walls, the rainbow glints within their depths.... And then he heard a sound. The corridor was lined with closed doors, and Phantom tracked that sound to one of them. He pushed the door open. The room beyond was wide, its walls lined with different-sized cushions that floated above the floor. Depressions on their surfaces showed that they’d been recently occupied; a hatchling was still curled atop one of them. “Is this someone’s nest? Why is it hidden here?” The little Tundra didn’t stir as Phantom approached. He carefully shook her....No response. If not for her breathing, he would’ve thought she was dead. No dragon could sleep that deeply. Something was wrong. “Is she enspelled?” Phantom looked around for some clue. Intricate carvings swirling across the walls; beautiful marble pillars; another door, and it was opening... He ducked behind one of the pillars as a pale Skydancer entered the room. Phantom didn’t recognize him; he wore a wolf cloak that masked his face. Behind him, through the open door, came a female voice: “Are there any left? Titania grows angry with us. She demands another sacrifice.” “There is one left. I shall have to go out and find more children if this one is insufficient.” The Skydancer carried the Tundra out, through the open doorway. “A sacrifice? To Titania?” Phantom’s throat went dry. He crept towards the doorway and peered through the crack...and the next instant, the hatchling screamed. She was awake now, struggling and crying frantically. She’d been roped down atop an altar. Phantom thought it was made of dark stone at first—and then he realized it was thickly coated in blood. Another Skydancer drew near. This one was garbed in a gossamer dress, and a black iron claw glinted upon her forepaw, ominously poised over the hatchling’s throat. “You’d better make a clean job of it, Lilith. The one that nearly got away earlier, well, Oberon wasn’t pleased about that,” the cloaked Skydancer said tiredly. “The demons will have their fill tonight, and the King and Queen will regain their strength. They’ll have no cause to complain,” Lilith droned. And the hatchling was screaming, “NO! Please, Miss, don’t hurt me...No, no, please don’t, it hurts; it hurts...!” Lilith drew the iron claw over the hatchling’s throat. Blood bloomed, racing across her fur, down channels carved into the stone. It poured into a drain set into the stone floor, and as the hatchling’s cries faded, new sounds pierced the air: harsh cackling and growling, and the frenzied gnashing of teeth. Demons drinking down the hatchling’s blood. Lilith looked up—and Phantom’s heart slammed to a halt as their gazes connected. For a single horrifying moment he and the Skydancer stared at each other through the gap.... “What now, Lilith?” “We will await further instructions.” And she turned away. Phantom didn’t pause to wonder at this. He sprinted up the corridors, shutting the panel behind him, and fled back to Masquerade. Phantom was known for his mischief, but the terror in his eyes convinced Masquerade that he wasn’t lying about what he’d learned. His claws trembled as he clutched hers, but he still smiled bravely and said, “We’ll have to go on that vacation sooner than expected, eh?” “And we’re never coming back,” she agreed in a whisper. The Cathedral was full of magical artifacts. One of these, perhaps, would help them: a compass with which to navigate away from the Cathedral’s distortion fields. Phantom had pilfered it from a study he’d found empty; he hoped its owner wouldn’t miss it. It had been weeks since he’d discovered Titania’s and Oberon’s monstrous secret, and he wondered if Lilith had reported him. She hadn’t ratted him out to that other Skydancer....Perhaps they were safe. Perhaps... Dawn. Time to flee—while the demons hid from the light; while the doorkeeper was away; while Oberon and Titania, hopefully, slumbered. While— It was the way the doors receded that told them something was wrong. And by then it was too late. Suddenly the lobby was as bright as noon, a cage of glittering ice. Masquerade and Phantom pressed together, trembling in terror. The compass dropped from Phantom’s paws... And appeared with a clink in Oberon’s grasp. “Phantom,” he growled, and the very air trembled with his anger, “you filthy thief. If only you were as stealthy as your name, hm?” He clenched his paw, and the compass wafted away in a puff of smoke. “Now,” he began in a chillingly soft voice, “what shall we do with you?” A shimmer in the air, and Titania arrived, seeming almost to step through a curtain. She smiled sweetly, poisonously, at the captives. “Shall we reduce you to lost souls, fluttering like tattered trash in the wind? Shall we turn your blood to ice that stabs unceasingly into your veins?” “No...P-p-please...My mate...” Phantom struggled to answer. He was so cold and scared, his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. He thought he’d lost his voice.... Beside him, Masquerade whimpered fearfully. And now he managed to speak: “Please spare my mate! It was my idea; I was just joshing; you saw me holding that compass! I convinced her to go along with it...!” “You dared steal from the King and Queen of Faerie!” Oberon roared. And now Phantom was weeping, wringing his claws. “No, I...Please, oh gods, no...My love, my Masquerade, please, she can still sing for you. I’m just a worthless shadow—” Beautiful Masquerade, with the voice of an angel, garbed in shimmering white. Her eyes alive with passion, her scales glittering as she wove through the air. The vitality, the joy... “—nothing but a foolish wretch; I’ll atone for my crime however you wish. Only spare my beloved, please...” “Oh, I think he might be right, Oberon.” Titania’s eyes were wide in contrived dismay. “Masquerade sings so sweetly. She pulls in the crowds. But Phantom—” “His compositions belong to us now,” Oberon snarled back. And Phantom’s music sheets appeared, tightly clenched in his claws. A grim smile shone on the Imperial’s face as he concluded, “We’ll be hard-pressed to find another singer. But music written down is music that remains...even once its composer is gone.” And that was when Masquerade screamed. As all fairy punishments are, their separation was cruel. First they distorted Phantom so grotesquely that he was unrecognizable. Until he was no longer a Nocturne, but a goblin. “But she still recognizes him! See how she cries for her mate,” Titania pointed out. Beyond her, Masquerade was wailing, reaching in vain through the ice. Powerless to help Phantom, her beloved... “Perhaps if she forgets, she will stop crying! She will sing again....Hush, my songbird, let me help you forget that hideous, filthy thing you call your lover. Let me remove those disgusting images from your mind....” Bit by bit, Titania did just that. Masquerade struggled to hold on to the memories as they were torn away: her first meeting with Phantom...his claws entwined with hers...the tenderness in his eyes...his bright and cheerful voice... Finally, she was screaming only because she didn’t know how to stop. Titania had broken her mind. And Phantom was banished into the world within the Cathedral’s mirrors. There, behind the glass, he languished, unable to comfort his beloved. He could only watch. And wait. And hope... At last there came a day when Oberon and Titania were toppled, and it was as if dawn had broken over the Cathedral. Out of the turbulence appeared a Wildclaw, his silky mane flowing across his wings. “Who are you?” Phantom asked. And the Wildclaw extended his claws. “I am Jareth. Rise, goblin...and meet your king.” Music, once written, remains even after its composer is gone. Thus it was, unfortunately, for Oberon’s and Titania’s curse. Powerful though the Goblin King was, he could not completely break the enchantment. Phantom and Masquerade remain apart...except on this, the most enchanting of nights. Halloween. There is a party ongoing, but nobody dances, and the guests’ voices are hushed, almost respectful. The air is fraught with anticipation—they are waiting for something. “Would you like a drink, Lady?” The waitress offers a tray of mint juleps. Masquerade does not respond, but then, she never does. She’s as dark and still as a statue, swathed in ghostly white clothing, and she stares at the floor, awaiting... “A cue, perhaps? Some signal to begin performing? Poor thing, that’s all she knows,” Jezebel sighs inwardly. She excuses herself and moves on. She is correct, at least for the moment. For when the clock strikes midnight, Masquerade lifts her face. Watching awareness creep back into her eyes is like seeing frost melt beneath the sun. She stares at a great mirror set against the wall. Shapes move within it—and then he is there. Phantom bursts through the glass in a shower of silver, and though he wears a mask to hide his grotesque face, his eyes are still the same—they are warm, and filled with love. As are hers. “Right on schedule as always, love,” he murmurs, softly touching her cheek. Around them the guests applaud, and finally Masquerade smiles with radiant joy. Finally, she sings. This is the only time the barrier between their worlds falls, the only time Masquerade regains her memories. When morning comes, they will be torn apart again. Masquerade will forget, and Phantom will be imprisoned once more. The curse remains—but so does the love, the hope. They have lived through the fairies’ seemingly eternal midnight, seen the dawn of a kinder regime. Perhaps the future knows a bright new day when they’ll be free of their bindings at last. No more loss. No more tears. Just the two of them, singing and talking and laughing as they did before. Together. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) all edits by other users
Lore by Disillusionist (254672)
Layout by Kintsy
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