This is inspired by Gehayi and Zelda Queen’s sporking of Barbara Walker’s story “The Gargoyle” (from Walker’s Feminist Fairy Tales collection) in the das-sporking comm. That story is essentially ripoff!Gargoyles meets Twilight in France.
Yes, it’s every bit as awful as you think it sounds.
But here, I took the basic idea and, rather than having the Gargoyle stalk Marie for reasons unknown (and brutally killing a random guy who attacked her, right in front of her, because attempted rape is sooo Feminist u gaiz), I had him drawn to her because she’s a singer with a beautiful voice.
I hope you enjoy this little piece. And please don’t mind my bad French. It’s been over 16 years (!) since I was in high school, learning the proper tenses and conjugation from Mme. C-B. So, I did my best, with a little help from Google Translate and Wikipedia where needed.
What drew his attention was the sound of her singing.
She especially loved to sing “Au clair de la lune” as she went about her evening’s tasks. He couldn’t help himself but to perch upon the eaves of her home, so that he could continue to listen to her sweet voice.
His monstrous face was brought to a smile as she sang, “Ouvrez votre porte pour le Dieu d’Amour!”
Many nights he returned to the eaves above her home to hear her sing, closing his eyes in rapture as the melody she chose wafted around him, embracing his stony hide with the warmth of her voice.
Although he favoured “Au clair de la lune,” she sung many different songs. Some she sung alone, some with a piano accompanying her.
Through all his listening, he eventually learned her name was Marie, and that she was a chorus girl at the Palais Garnier. Often, she sang the parts that she was learning for her part in the soprano section of the chorus.
She did not have a voice as full and strong as the most-lauded prima donnas, but where such power was lacking, she made up for in enthusiasm and technical skill. Surely, he thought, only the angels of heaven would know the purity of such a voice.
Heaven was a little too high for him to reach, but he had his own piece of it listening to the mademoiselle’s singing.
It was months hence that he had silently followed her, flying overhead, to the opera house. He perched on the roof of the Palais Garnier and listened closely, trying to pick out her voice among the many others of the chorus.
To her credit, Marie blended quite well with her peers, and the results of so many voices lifted in song were truly glorious to behold.
After the opera ended, and the audience began to make their merry way to their homes, Marie herself exited the Palais. The streets were nearly empty, and Marie was alone on the street–though her secret guardian flew overhead.
She was unceremoniously yanked into an alley, and the gargoyle did not know what to do, as the ways of humans were quite a mystery to him.
But then he heard her voice, crying out in fear only to be suddenly muffled.
This decided him, and he swooped down, his heavy stone form colliding with that of Marie’s attacker. He let the man up for a moment, growling menacingly at him.
“Monstre!” the man cried and, wisely, ran for safer ways.
Hesitantly, the gargoyle then turned to Marie. He saw her eyes were wide in shock. She took a breath and, when he expected her to scream in fear, she instead surprised him with her soft words. “Merci, monsieur Gargouille.”
“N’en pense de rien, cher Marie,” he replied, his voice rough as the stone he was made of, yet gentle all the same. “J’adore écouter vos chansons.”
She smiled. “Vous êtes gentil, monsieur. Mais, je dois rentrer chez moi, maintenant.”
“Puis-je vous accompagner?” he asked, hoping she would agree to him escorting her home so she would be safe.
She smiled at him again. “J’aimerais beaucoup ça.”
Through the years, he continued to listen to her sing and provided a discreet escort to and from the opera house. When she had a child of her own, he listened with fondness as she sang her daughter to sleep.
The daughter, likewise, was very fond of her “Oncle Gargouille.” He protected Marie and her progeny throughout their lives in secret.
If one asked why the family had such a hideous gargoyle on their roof all these years, the family would invariably smile and reply that it was a treasured part of their lives.
Line from “Au clair de la lune”: Open your door to the God of Love!
The criminal: A monster!
Marie and the gargoyle’s conversation…
Marie: Thank you, sir Gargoyle.
Gargoyle: Think nothing of it, dear Marie. I love listening to your songs.
Marie: You are kind, sir. But I must go home now.
Gargoyle: May I accompany you?
Marie: I would like that very much.
And of course, “Oncle Gargouille” means “Uncle Gargoyle”. 🙂