Phantom

They say that the eyes are the windows to your soul. Lazar had learned many things over the centuries, and one fact remained; there are many windows to one's soul. Take for instance the reflective jewel of truth before him. How many moons have passed in which he's searched for his beloved upon its dark deceptive surface? How many glimpses has he had of Aleksandra's daughters? There have been too many disappointments to count. Still he can never let go of the hope that during this century his sweet love will return.

Lazar lifted his hand and flexed his shadowy fingers near the candle flame. Not quite solid, there was little feeling or lifeblood coursing within his translucent palm. There were times when he could recall his life and more vividly his death. The acrid smell of his own flesh burning as heat dissolved tissue from muscle, and hell’s flames boiled his bones to ash. Afanasiia's dark promise was only fulfilled in his suffering. That was his price. Aleksandra's was greater since she remained in purgatory beyond his reach. It was wrong to lust for his humanity now when she suffered so. Life would forever remain beyond his grasp.

Here he can exist, but only when the moon grants permission. Most nights he remains the shadow that haunts the scant traces of light along the lower squalid halls beneath the theater. Each day the beast in him that was born in darkness grows stronger. He vows to control it and honor his promise to the children of Afanasiia. Only then will he be allowed to reunite with his dearest Aleksandra. However, the creature lurking inside is a lustful host. From the moment Lazar laid eyes on a descendant of his dearest, he longed to sample her purity.
These predator urges weren't his true nature. When he rediscovers love with this beauty named Christine, he will prove it. This time. This is his vow.

Darkness crept closer and Lazar inhaled the cold dank aroma of the creatures stirring in the lower cellars in the night. He is the unseen, but one blink from him and they scurry to their corners, hissing, glaring with red beady eyes. He beckons them, his children and the followers of Afaniisa to wait, except for his favorites. Ninka and Mikalieh are to follow Ivanski and do his bidding.
On a full moon like tonight, he can sense her desires once more. Taking a deep drag of her atmosphere, he detected her floral fragrance and it's peppered with the sweet musk of her perspiration and the heady feminine aroma moist between her thighs. It strengthened his arousal over the aria she is to perform. It is a wonderful scent that is all her. The lovely flavor of her essence swirled beneath her skirt as she approaches the microphone under the blaring glare of studio lights. Her pulse raced, and a flutter of excited breath escaped her small nostrils. Another deep inhale revealed the most pleasurable truth. She has not been touched. A woman, touched by another, pheromones are elevated and her suitor's mark on her heart always leaves a trace. He smelled no one else. This was just her. But the mirror has misled him before. This time, he needed to be sure. Once again, he trained all his senses on the lovely image before him. Aleksandra's mirror was now the window to Christine Madison's soul.

Lazar swallowed the smirk forming on his lips and restrained the beast in him. It awoke after one whiff of her lovely innocence and clawed at the inner walls of his cursed soul to be free. But he was a master of control, and no harm would come to her if she became his willingly. Not to this lovely daughter of Aleksandra.

Lazar rose from his chair and approached the mirror. His reflection was nothing more than a shadow moving behind a dark veil of smoke. Focusing on her, and the promise made that cost him his soul, he was able to welcome the light found in her voice. It's full of life. It's burning force returned him to a solid state, chasing away the phantoms and bringing him forth.

She walked across the theater floor where a piano awaited; her skirt swayed around shapely hips. Her hair was shorter than he cared for, reaching just beyond her ears with layers and long bangs that cascade over her brow into her eyes. He had seen it before even on the darkest of beauties, a modern look not suitable for women of his time. The piano player said something and she laughed, sending her fine dark tresses away from her cheeks. Her skin was a lovely hue of brown. It appeared as if it had been brushed in ginger and covered her long slender shapely legs and delicate arms. She laughed and the beast in him calmed from the mere sound of her happiness. His madness abated. For a brief moment, he felt normal in the shadow of her light.

Today, she wore a yellow dress with a splash of pink along the trim. She's petite, but her heavy bosom and feminine curves gracefully define her womanly allure. He is certain she is a descendant of his fair Aleksandra.

Lazar clasped his newly formed hands in front of him. His dark cloak pooled at his feet and his porcelain mask covered half of his face. Some say a woman knows her heart, and once she chooses for it, the love can be everlasting. That was true of his Aleksandra but not of her many descendants who turned away from him. They had chosen men before he could make his claim. Yet, his burn to know them brought about a darkness that ended tragically for each, including Christine's dearly departed mother.

But she wasn't like them.

Christine was pure.

Lazar’s head dropped to the left and then the right. He rolled his neck, now feeling his body stitch together bone and sinew, as his lifeblood began to course through his veins. When she sings as the piano player plays, his transformation will complete.

"Oh yes, Christine, you are the one: my Aleksandra."