If you are on TikTok you not only see glimpses of other people’s lives on your For You Page, but you are also introduced to songs from new artists, or are reminded of songs you have forgotten about. A quick confession is that a lot of the songs on my phone are from posts from TikTok, including the newest song from crooner, Stephen Sanchez, "Evangeline."
Because I am a chronic daydreamer and my writing is inspired by the music I listen to, I created a new series called “Scenes I See,” where I list scenes I have seen while listening to a song, starting off with, “Evangeline!”
Let's begin!
***
Scene 1
Dagwood sits on a rooftop looking at the stars, enjoying time alone while a party canters on below. He hears shifting behind him and sees Evangeline.
Evangeline holds his gaze, her eyes round, like a doe surveying for danger. She looks down at the vacant space beside him, blushing from her submission. She employed him and his party, by order of the Royal Coven, to help her on a quest to find the lost witches of Arcat, and ever since they have met, she has had her guard up.
"Hello, Dagwood, " she says. “Mind if I sit?”
She looks at him again and stands straight, as she has been taught too by the prim and proper people that stand in the King’s shadow.
Evangeline blinked at him, "Dagwood?"
"Yeah, yeah, you can sit with me," he said. He faced forward and looked down at the celebration. In the corner of his eye, she saw her pinch the skirt of her dress back over her legs, so carefully, flattening the velvet cloth to hide away the pale skin that glowed in the firelight, as if it were a displaced plate of armor.
Evangeline says, "Dagwood?"
Dagwood meets Evangeline's eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes studying him.
His chest tightens, he clears his throat and looks down at the jubilation. Oxford and Thom are dancing, laughing as they bobbed through the coordinated pattern of others, happy for the first time in days.
"They look so different," Evangeline said.
Dagwood turned to her. Evangeline was looking down onto them all, her eyelids heavy, green eyes ignited by the glow.
"I want to apologize," she said. A frown turned in at the corner of her lips.
Dagwood fretted at her, “What do you mean?"
Glassy eyes looked up at him. Evangeline offered a small smile. She sighed.
"I didn't know it would be like this, Dagwood, this quest. I thought, I thought a lot, but it's not how I thought at all," she whimpered. Her fingers tangled into each other, then away, then into each other, then apart. Dagwood covered her hands with his. She froze as he pressed them onto her lap.
He looked into her, "Stop thinking" he said.
"But it's so hard not too, I just feel like it's all my fault," Evangeline said.
Dagwood furrowed his eyebrows, "You really think that, don't you?"
Evangeline nodded. She turned her head to wipe away a tear. She sighed and straightened in her seat, rolling back her shoulders and raising her head.
"How can I not when we haven't found any other witches, Thom almost got killed, I almost couldn't save his legs-"
"You're wrong," Dagwood said.
Evangeline held the next word in her mouth. She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, as if attempting to look into his mind.
Breathless she said, "I'm wrong?"
Dagwood said, "Thom is alive, and he is dancing on two legs right now, because of you. As for the witches, we still haven’t run out of ideas of where someone could be, we’ll ask the villagers tomorrow if they have seen any recently, they love saying they saw something."
Evangeline shifted. She looked down at the square. Thom was spinning in between two lines of people, his smile burning bright across his face as he cackled. He locked an arm with a white haired girl, matching her pace in one swift motion. Thom waved at Oxford, who was clapping along to the beat of the song in the right line.
Thom cried out," Look at me, Ox! Look at me!"
Thom spun up into the air and landed soft on his feet, which had been etched out by the teeth of a demon just three days ago.
Evangeline had come upon Thom that night when he had been collected after the ambush. He had been so quiet, his body limp on the ground. Evangeline had brushed his curls away from his forehead, pinched his chin and noted his neck.
"Oh, Thom," she had whispered.
She made a salve with herbs, smashed down by her pestle to the color of a lizard's underbelly. She then looked up to Oxford and Dagwood, her eyes sharp like a fang. She threw a gloved hand up at the men.
"I need a tear," she said, her hand wandered from Oxford to Dagwood.
Dagwood looked at Oxford, his eyes were redder than war.
"Here," Oxford had whispered, "Please..."
"Oxford," Dagwood muttered as the tear wandered from the man's hand onto Evangeline's glove. She nodded at him before emptying it into her mortar, mixing it into the concoction, and pouring into the halves of Thom's shins.
Evangeline chuckled. Her body vibrated on the edge of the roof. She turned into herself, her fingers gripping the edge. She shuddered harder. A whimper escaped from her throat. She shook her head violently.
Dagwood jolted and said, "Van?"
She shook her head.
Dagwood said, "Van."
She glimpsed at Dagwood. Her round cheeks edged by the light.
"You are not bad," he whispered, "Why do you think that way?"
She sniffed. She inched to him and turned up her face, like the dark side of the Moon does to the Sun, showing off the scars that have not yet mended. Her jaw clenched onto words. Dagwood would not look away from her. Her gravity was different this time, so much so that a tide was coming in.
"Van," he whispered.
She swallowed and cleared the salt from her throat.
"Because," she said, "I am a necromancer."
Dagwood nodded, taking in the statement. He looked from the square to her.
"I am going to need you to tell me why they all treated you wrong," he said.
Evangeline took a moment and nodded at Dagwood.
"Okay," she said.
They talked into the night. They didn't notice the music silencing, or the fire dimming, or the smoke filtering into the air.
They just talked.
In the horizon, Dagwood noticed the thin veil of dawn appear. Birdsong rose from the depths of canopy. No one stirred in the village.
Dagwood inhaled. The notes of dew damp leaves, smoke, and stale beer filled his lungs. He looked to the stars, who were starting to depart.
“I think this would have to be my favorite time of day,” Dagwood muttered.
Evangeline said, “Hm?”
“Sometimes, I don’t sleep on quests. I can’t rest when I don’t know where to go, what to do … how to lead. So I protect my people. I stay up and I wait and watch, and when I see the morning come - I know I did something,” he said.
Something plants onto Dagwood’s shoulder. He tenses and looks to see Evangeline. Her head leaning onto the very edge of his leather shoulder pad. Her face is relaxed, mouth parted, her shoulders lowered.
Dagwood holds his breath.
He whispers, “Van?”
She hums and presses into him. A grin peels across her face.
Dagwood looks around. It is just him awake on the rooftop. He looks at Evangeline. He sighs and turns to the stars, who wink before ebbing away.
“Alright,” he whispers. He nods at Evangeline. He tips his shoulder under her neck and presses close to her, in the hopes that she will never be uncomfortable ever again.
Scene 2
Music is swelling against the walls of a humble bar. The loyal patrons and owner have decided to have a night of pageantry. Some have dug up dresses they haven't worn in years, accented with the tears of time and mouths of moths, some have dusty suits, some are wearing mismatched jewelry, some are still in their humble clothes, they are all beautiful.
Two lines segment on the dance floor. The violinist cuts into his strings, flaying out gale-like notes, the patrons stomp in time, filling the light music with thunder.
A person peels from one line, and collects another from the opposing one, they twine like string in the epicenter of jewels anticipating their chance to dazzle the crowd.
A man stands by a woman, both in the beginning of their middle age. The man is lithe with a bald head and beard. The woman is lean as well, with skin the color of sunned earth, and hair carrying the electricity of silver hair. They watch the dance. The man begins to tap his foot. The woman notes it. She smirks, sighs, then resumes looking up at the dancing.
"Peregrine," he chimes. Peregrine scoffs.
A glint appears in the man's eyes. He holds a hand out to her. Peregrine shrugs away, aware of the gesture.
"I see you smiling," he says.
Peregrine looks down her nose at him. He blinks up at her, his hand still waiting for hers.
She studies the hand. A softness breaks over her high cheekbones, settling into a smile. The man studies her. He thinks of them too, when they were young, and they didn't have scars, before they parted, before the war, before this moment.
He coos, "Peregrine."
Peregrine meets his eyes.
"You are ridiculous, Oxford" she whispers, she flutters away a tear with her dark lashes.
Oxford waits for her hand. He grins and says, "Just as I have always been."
Peregrine beams at him, and holds his hand, entwining her fingers with his. He grins at her. He leads her into the dance floor. The patrons roar in excitement as he raises their hands high, teasing the crowd for a dance, for these drunken people to see a moment of who they are, who they would always be.
***
There you have it! Two scenes inspired by Stephen Sanchez's new song, "Evangeline."
I absolutely adore this song, it is so well done and just absolutely beautiful.
If you are interested, just click the YouTube link here to check it out.
(I am not in affiliation with Stephen Sanchez, just a big fan. But, if he does see this, I hope he is happy that he has inspired more art just from one song).
Thank you so much for reading. In the comments, type what you imagine when you listen to this song, would love to hear about the scenes you see.
Until next time!