A dusty gust of wind flipped the pages of a journal, dropped in the woods and forgotten, pages damp and words blurred from the dew. A young mysterious man walked through forest, solemn and searching, deep into the middle of the night. Having not slept in days, he collapsed to the ground, thick with decomposed leaves. He could feel the wet sod soak through his thinning dress pants. There was a searing pain piercing his head. Against all his will to continue moving, he smelled the sweet smell of plant life- cycles rising above his head.
A woman walked through the streets, her skin multicolored with burns that slashed deep into the eyes of all who saw her, and all of France had seen her, for she was the Traveling Spirit, who appeared in a new village each night. She was said to be delirious of love, for she spoke to the small bundle she held in her arms. She was also said to have lost a love, a love most dear to her, and for that was she searching. In reality that was only partially true. She was looking for a forgotten love because she had lost another.
A knock came at the door as a tall, wiry man spun anxiously in his bed. The woman was banging against the door, fists becoming red and splintered. The noise awoke the man with a start. He threw a cape over his square shoulders and tossed the hood over his thin face. For a moment the noise stopped, and then there was a final crash against the door, wooden and tall, face engraved with twisting vines. He attempted to push the door open, but feeling the resistance, recoiled and tried the other door. Looking over her shoulder, she tried to toss her hair, but was quickly brought back to the reality that she had none; it had all been burnt in the fire.
"Erik" She whispered, bundle being held close to her body.
"No, miss," He said "Nadir."
"O-oh, I need to speak to Master Erik, now please." She replied, shaking violently and sounding desperate.
"Come, my good miss, we shall see if he can arrange time to speak to you." He spoke in a gentle tone.
"I thank you, Messieurs." Still whispering, but even softer now, and gripping the door like it was the last thing she would ever touch.
Through deathly dark corridors, lined with dust, thick and making the air musty. Out of the blackness she felt the fatal cold of familiar fingers coil around her wrist. Before the pain even came, she cried out, but the cold delicacy actually felt good against the fierce pain the burns had caused her. They walked into a well-lit room where she could get a good look at exactly who this Nadir was. Was the Opera House still in business? But it had burned and the grime was incredible. But why would he stay? It couldn't be. The man had said he wasn't Erik.
"Erik, why did you lie to me?" Voice wavering between whispers and speaking softly, she spoke.
"Have I not already told you I am Nadir?" He screamed, striking the woman's already sore skin. On a perfect cue, the bundle in her arms fell to the ground and began to wail relentlessly out of pain.
"Erik!" She screamed.
"I told you I'm not . . . " His eyes widened at the woman kneeling on the floor, face covered in a storm of glistening tears, holding the crying bundle close to her chest.
"Oh, Erik, I'm terribly sorry, are you hurt. She sniffled through her words as she closely examined the child's arm.
"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory." She sang with a flawless clarity that would wake the thunder, simply to calm the baby down.
"Angle of Music, I deceived you, why should you come back to me?" He sung with perfectly formed words.
"Erik," She whispered into the dark air, unsure of where he was "Before I say any more, you need to know something. I love you, true, but that is not the reason I returned to you. I returned because I have something to ask of you."
"I will do anything for you, my dear Christine."
"I wouldn't say that yet..."