Talk:Rebecca Tulane

From Changeling Venue

Music-box Ballerina by Hannah E., Ypsilanti, MI

She stands inside her music box,
She dances for all to see,
But the one thing they don’t notice -
She’s longing to be free.

Thin and gentle, delicate and small,
Her perfection makes them sigh,
She shows them all a smile so bright,
But inside she wants to cry.

Trapped in her box, nowhere to go.
She hasn’t got a choice,
All she longs for is to get out,
But her pain hasn’t got a voice.

Her arms are growing weary -
From holding the perfect pose,
Her body’s getting tired -
From standing on her toes.

Inside herself she’s screaming,
To make them stop the show,
She’s tired from performing -
But they can never know.

She stands inside her music box,
She performs for all to see,
A break is all she’s asking for,
But wait ... that dancer’s ... me.

Dancing Partners

Hael's Wyndstaff - I am for him and that is enough, I hope.
Excerpt from Tori Amos' song Mother
Dancing dancing girl And when I dance for him
Somebody leave the light on just in case
I like the dancing
I walked into your dream
And now i've forgotten how to dream my own dream
You are the clever one aren't you
he's gonna change my name
maybe you'll leave the light on
just in case i like the dancing
i can remember where i come come from


Val - Can fire ever die?
Excerpt from Bonny Tyler's song Holding out for a Hero
Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
Somewhere just beyond my reach
There's someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder end rising with the heat
It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet

Up where the mountains meet the heavens above
Out where the lightning splits the sea
I would swear that there's someone somewhere
Watching me

Through the wind end the chill and the rain
And the storm and the flood
I can feel his approach
Like the fire in my blood


Uriel de Lenormand - I could bend and break and still be happy for his art.
Excerpt from Sinead O'Connor's song Jump In The River
There's been days like this before you know
And I liked it all
Like the times we did it so hard
There was blood on the wall
And if you said jump in the river I would
Because it would probably be a good idea
And if you said jump in the river I would
Because it would probably be a good idea

OOC Background

When I was four I believed I would be a world champion figure skater. We all have dreams, sometimes they come true. As I grew up it became clear that I was never going to be that world champion skater, but I learned how to skate, and that led me to dance. It became clearer that I was gifted with grace. My parents were proud and at the tender age of 8 I was quickly becoming a ballet prodigy. I was so good that they had considered sending me out of the country. Instead, we found an alternative in a NY school of ballet.

I attended the NY school of ballet for 7 years, and it worked me body and soul. I felt forged by fire and passion. On the day of my 16th birthday my parents received a call from a strange and reclusive uncle who lived in upstate NY. He had heard through the family grapevine of my talent in the art of dance. He agreed that if I would come out and meet him that he would love to support me in my pursuits. Dance is expensive, I jumped at the opportunity and I went with my parents to meet him.

The house I vaguely remember, it was big, old, and covered in ivy. It was my uncle that I can not forget. His face was covered in dark thick hair. If I had been more knowledgeable in such matters I am sure I would have realized it covered his body was as well. He was tall and wide, carrying himself like an oak tree. We stayed there in his house for several days and he and I spoke at length about my life. He was so interested in me and I was young and eager to tell it all.

On what was to be our last night and the end of my vacation, I took a walk in his garden. It was terrible and beautiful to behold. It was overgrown, but almost cultivated to be such. Throughout, trapped in the greenery were stone images of fairy folk and humans alike, trying to get out. Their faces were grimaces of pain and suffering, but the fountain statues were different, they were hauntingly beautiful. I don’t remember much of my thoughts, but I do remember thinking that this was what I was - a graceful beautiful image to be treasured and I started to dance.

The center of the garden was a stone patio and there beneath the moonlight I danced. I explored the meaning of my soul through the movement and I poured myself into every step and breath and I pirouetted across the stone. That night I performed for an audience that I couldn’t see. I generated appreciation for my limited talents. And, I garnered one of the Gentry as a benefactor.

He came to me after I finished that dance and wooed my adolescent soul with words of love and beauty which I had only heard in fairy tales. The problem is that that was what his words were – fairy tales. I went through the hedge into the exquisite world of beauty. My memories have become somewhat shattered. He gave me the ability and will to dance as I never had before. Across crystal surfaces I leapt and spun for my Keeper and his guests. I danced until he commanded me to stop. At night I would strike a pose and be a living statue for him. I pleased him, I was for him whatever he needed me to be.

My memories of individual days and nights fades and I can not remember them exactly or what dances I performed, but I do remember when things changed. If I had been allowed to serve my Keeper, I might have done so forever and willingly. This like my figure skating was not to be. My Keeper took a lover who was beautiful and terrible to behold. She was jealous of my Keeper’s dancer. She hated me for giving him pleasure that she could not give. One night she and asked for me as a token of his love. He willingly complied in much the same way as I had when I followed him here.

She took me with her in a box. I was no longer treasured, I was lost. When I would be commanded to come out I was shown that I could die a little each night for my skill. She fancied herself an artist. And, in the mad dream that followed, I was stripped, cut and sliced. When sufficiently bloodly I was commanded to dance. My blood splashed upon a frightening canvas painting grim and dark scenes while I spun like a whirling dervish sacrificing my life for art. When even this did not break me and crush me, when even this torture and the thousands of cuts did not stop the beauty of my dance she sold me. Why she did not choose to kill me I don’t know, I wish I would have died.

Next I was put in my box and left there for I don’t know how long. My legs ached to dance, my body felt tight and tense. When at last the box lid was lifted and I was commanded to dance, it was terrible. It was wrong. I was commanded to dance with others and to amuse those who watched as our bodies pressed and moved against each other in the oldest of art forms. It was then that I learned of the exquisite torture of sexual awareness. Sexualized, brutalized, and given no release I came to adulthood a twisted remnant of the innocent, naive child who crossed the hedge.

The dance consumed me, my body still craved it and underneath it a lust for craven depravity had joined it. I was never at my best unless the cruel savage whips bit into my skin or the needles and thorns decorated me like a living porcupine. One night I was forced to dance while my eyes bled painting my white alabaster face in a macbre masque. When my body at last collapsed, a lover carved hearts of love into my skin. It was then that I had a revelation about what I had become, and from that moment on I knew that I had to get away.

I escaped 11 years ago. No fetch was left in my place. But, I could still not go home. I had emerged a young woman who should have been middle aged now. Can one ever truly go home again? If they can, god speed, but I can’t and I never will. I fear that I will be dragged back to the Fae Stage and I will expire upon it, and in the dark of Winter I dream that I am back upon it and I dance my last dance, it is with my Keeper and I die in his arms as he tells me I have pleased him and that I may rest now. No one knows what it is like to love and hate the dreams and nightmares with equal passion except other changelings.

- Rebecca Tulane