Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

to die. The grand room was unlike the servants’ quarters where she had been held prisoner during the past few weeks. Here in the dim light, the woman who stood in front of her was one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen. This woman Violetta had seen before, glimpsed through the windows countless times over many years. The woman was perhaps a few years older than Violetta herself, but she seemed a universe more sophisticated. She moved with otherworldly grace, drifting as if in a dream.
    And yet, there was something strange about the woman’s beautiful eyes.
    Something inexplicably sharp and dark sparkled in the green depths of the woman’s gaze.
    “Here is the girl. Just the way you prefer them—young and innocent,” said Massimo as he held her loosely at the elbow.
    “What’s your name, child?” the woman asked, her voice lilting, mesmerizing.
    “Violetta.”
    The woman peered closer, grasping Violetta by the chin and tilting her face to and fro. “I know you from somewhere. You are…” Her lips pressed together in recognition. “I’ve heard you sing at La Fenice. You’re a soprano. You sang the role of Tosca last season.”
    “Yes, that was me,” Violetta said defiantly.
    “You were quite good, for a singer so young,” said the woman. “Quite a rising star if I’m not mistaken.”
    Violetta said nothing. She would not thank this woman, in whose house she had suffered such indignities. Who held her captive, who clearly intended to kill her.
    “What is she doing here?” The woman looked not at Violetta, but turned her attention to Massimo, waiting for an answer. “What did you do to her?”
    Silence.
    Violetta could not bring herself to voice the things they had done to her. She had shut those things away in a little box, deep inside herself. To open the lid of that box would unleash a whirl of shame, rage, torment.
    “How have you been torturing this girl, Massimo?” said the woman, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him. “Normally I would never ask what you Gatekeepers do on your own time. But this is different. It’s quite rare to find such talent.”
    “I did not take part,” he said quietly.
    Violetta turned to glare at him and thought, But you allowed it to happen. You stood by as the others did what they wanted. You did not prevent them.
    “Let me go,” Violetta demanded.
    “That’s not a possibility,” said the woman.
    “Then kill me,” said Violetta, surprised at the fierceness that came out of her own mouth. “If you’re going to do it, do it quickly. Don’t stand around talking about it.”
    “You want to die?”
    “I cannot remain alive in this house,” she said. “And if you will not release me, I would rather die and take my chances in death. At least then I might find some relief.”
    “The soul does not die, child,” said the woman. “Death is not the end.”
    Violetta lifted her chin high. Stared the woman in the eyes. “Then I will find out for myself. The devil cannot hold a soul who does not deserve to be held. ”
    The woman hesitated, staring deep into Violetta’s eyes.
    Then, after a long moment, she said, “Unfortunately for you, my dear, that’s not always true.”
    She picked up a knife from a nearby table.
    Violetta saw the tightening of the woman’s throat, the pause.
    Felt the blade tremble, the point of it sticking at her throat.
    Felt the razor-sharp tip of it, slicing into her skin.
    Felt herself melt toward the floor, supported by the woman’s arms.
    She wanted to scream. But she clenched her teeth, willing herself not to make a sound.
    I will not give them the satisfaction of hearing me suffer. Not this time.
    A thousand feelings, a thousand images rushed through her mind as she began to die.
    Anguish. Regret. Sorrow.
    The faces of her family, of her mother, father, grandfather, flashed before her…images of her smiling friends, her voice teachers, fellow singers in the opera company…all the scales she had ever sung, all the arpeggios and solfeggios and arias…all the hours spent practicing in her room at home…all the lessons she had ever had in little rooms in conservatories…endless rehearsals and performances on stages in theaters all over Italy…the desperate desire to cling to all of these people and experiences was what she felt in the final moments of her life.
    With her last, choked breath, she thought, If only I could go on forever.
    And in the next instant, there was an immeasurable pause, a