"Oh what am I doing here, I belong in an institution." Amelia Porter sat, a trespasser in the famous Garnier Opera House cellar, waiting for ghosts to appear. A fan of the famous Leroux novel she had scrounged and saved for years to try and visit the crucial monument in the classic.
When she arrived in Paris she felt reminded of the first time she read the novel and how that had begun her journey. In high school they had been required to read the novel and for the first time she felt moved by a book assigned for school. She devoured it. The characters jumped from the page onto her soul and moved her. Enthralled with the main character of the Phantom of the Opera, she fell in love with a fictional character for the first time in her life.
Her friends all made fun of her obsession and soon after awhile, she kept stopped talking about it and locked her love in her heart. They could coo over hunky movie stars and scruffy band guys, she had a different idea. Unfortunately it had tainted her romantic life negatively. No man could measure up to her ideal.
Her mother often worried about her since she was now twenty years old and had not been in a serious relationship. Amelia worried herself that she could not fall in love with any man but the one in her dreams but could not get him out of her mind. She had seen the musical theater version of the novel 2 years ago and now heard the voice of the man in her mind. Sometimes she wondered if she was crazy; surely it could not be healthy to dwell on a dream.
The search had led her here, to the shrine of her passions, the opera house. When she first got to Paris she quickly dropped her luggage off at the hotel set off for the Opera House. Not many operas were performed here anymore to her chagrin but she used her imagination as she stared in the auditorium. Looking up at the chandelier that hung comfortably above the rows of plush red seats she felt a tingle in her spine and envisioned the chandelier being cut by a sensuously gloved hand connected to the masked man.
Going on the tour had been fun but lacking in education. It seemed no one in this building acknowledged the story linked to the great monument but rather delighted in discussing the history and building of the opera. Amelia did not even bother asking, however, in the gift shop there were several hints of the Phantom of the Opera lurking around but nothing she truly desired.
The tour, however, did not include the depths or the famous roof. Therefore after the tour, she risked being escorted out of the building and stepped over the velvet ropes which blocked the stair which continued to wind down, down, down, to the depths. She made sure to quiet her movements as she approached the darkness.
Her mind had raced and she felt her muscles tense in the anticipation of getting caught. Amelia wondered if she would be apprehended before she reached her goal. It seemed like forever, and in truth, she had no idea where she was going. She noticed the stairs end, and then she felt herself pulled down a pathway and as she meandered through the corridors, she saw a blue light which indicated water.
Another signed loomed ahead warning her to stay away but she could not bring herself to turn back now. The watery depths beckoned and she felt herself lured by their dancing shadows. At last a clearing approached and Amelia sat down by the water's edge. The air smelled rank and stale with the smell of moist silt.
Now she sat here, and she had for an hour or so, thinking of the impossible and feeling lost. How could her life have meaning if the one person who gave it meaning never really existed? Rather, if he did exist, he was long dead and buried and could never know about her. Her heart ached to love him, to give his life meaning as well as her own life. Closing her eyes she listened for the music she had longed to hear but she heard nothing.
Her fingernails blushed blue in the cold damp air of the depths of the Paris Opera House. In mind, she knew that nothing miraculous could come of freezing to death in this dank place but her heart would not allow her to budge. She had seen a movie where lovers met in a time of tranquility and only one of these belonged to such a time. Prayer solidified her hope that she could be as successful in traveling back in time as the character in the movie.
In order to do so, mastery of hypnosis and relaxation guaranteed success. Amelia took no chances. She was prepared to fully acclimate herself to the late 1800's. The precise date remained a mystery but she hoped time would unravel accordingly to her plan.
From her backpack she drew out a beautiful dress she had made. The dress resembled a Christine Daae mock-up but imitated more the general style of the era and was less theatrical. The proper undergarments, which she had bought from an antique costume store, dated back to the era, however, appeared most constricting in nature. Glancing around, although she knew she was alone, Amelia quickly stripped off the 21st century and donned more Edwardian attire.
She laughed as she twirled and then regretted the action as the corset she now wore dug into her ribcage making it difficult to breathe. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and reconciled that this was a worthy sacrifice for a more than worthy reward. The undergarments were a plain, worth off-white, but the dress itself was a deep green and flowed like a waterfall of pine trees.
Her shoes had been replaced with delicate beaded slippers which offered no warmth but delighted her feet in their femininity. She felt like Cinderella—a freezing cold Cinderella but non-the-less more than her ordinary self. Her only concern was her hair. Amelia had spent a year and several months growing out her thick copper colored hair to the appropriate length. It now cascaded down her back, untamed and free.
Clumsily she practiced a proper up-do for the time period, but her hands could not twist the hair enough. Holding up a compact mirror she giggled, her hair looked proper, be it unkempt. She wore no makeup and no perfumes that might draw suspicion. She felt like a doll that could barely move but she found the more she walked the more she got used to the weight of her clothing.
Tucking every futuristic item in her backpack, she zipped the bag and hid it behind a rock, out of sight. If all went accordingly she would not need it any longer. Carefully grooming her clothing and look, she sighed and closed her eyes. This was it; this was the moment of truth. So much time and energy and been spent preparing for this chance. Amelia was about to find out if her fantasies could be made true by rewriting the laws of physics.
As she had practiced, Amelia sat down on the cool, hard ground and closing her eyes, repeated one phrase over and over,
"You are Amelia Webber. You are a young lady living in the year 1895. You are a young lady, living in France, in the depths of the Paris Opera, living in 1895."
Her mind meditated and cleared all thoughts except this one. Over and over she fed her conscious this truth, believing this truth would be the only way she could succeed. After an hour she opened her eyes and wiped beads of sweat delicately off her forehead. Clearly this would be more work than she had anticipated.
Again she repeated the phrase this time replaced her name "Amelia" with Amelia. Only her mother called her Amelia, and only when she had done something wrong. She became Amelia from her father, when he called her that name years ago and it stuck.
Now this identity stuck and it would help her to achieve her ultimate goal. Her mind floated out of the present year and traveled to where her heart lay. She felt cold and the warm and her insides felt pulled by some unseen force as if swinging on a swing. She concentrated harder and suddenly she heard a loud clicking noise and then felt a rush of air. Then, darkness surrounded her senses and she passed out.