The World Opened

After years of living a life as an outcast and following his darkest impulses it was remarkable to Erik how his life had turned around. All thanks to Christine. For coming back to him. For saying "Yes" when he asked if she would ever consider being the Phantom's bride…for real. Oh, that mirror bride had been an ill informed decision. He knew, now, that women were skittish and when presented with a mannequin of themselves dressed in a bridal gown and veil… they were likely to pass out with surprise. In his heart he was offering his beloved a visual aid to see how beautiful she would look as a bride. His bride.

He had learned appropriate behavior for living in polite society since then. As a world renowned composer and singer acknowledged for his mellifluous tenor voice (a voice so unique and distinctive and known for its darker edge), he could travel the world openly and was embraced for his talent and gifts wherever he went and especially in cities where he accompanied Christine in one of his own operas or concerts of his work.

Also, he was now a Patron of the very same Paris Opera House that he spent many years living far below its stages and performance spaces and rehearsal rooms. And his sense of humor was at play when he requested that Box 5 be reserved for his use only, and often he, Nadir and sometimes the ever busy Antoinette Giry, would sit and sip wine and on special occasions, champagne, as they watched rehearsals for some new work either by Erik or some lesser known composer.

Life was good. And even better since he had rescued Raphael, the gypsy boy, and he and Christine had adopted him and were raising him with great encouragement to develop his musical talents while not neglecting the less exciting subjects of mathematics and language and spelling and history. Many subjects that Erik was fluent in and could help Rafe navigate and made these subjects entertaining, whether by use of ventriloquism or acting out roles in history to bring them alive or having Rafe create designs for imaginary palaces (minus the torture chambers).

So, in his search for Ginger, the red haired young woman who had been Rafe's champion in the gypsy camp where he had been abused and neglected, he still wasn't sure what role she would play in their lives when and if she was ever located. Nadir had alerted his friends throughout Paris, many in the police force, to keep an eye open for this particular wanderer.

But, as someone whose life had improved and been turned around by someone who cared for him, he had no doubt this girl could be reformed and he could help her to build a new life. He could finally thank her for keeping Rafe alive. He could do that. He must do that.

Then it occurred to him, maybe she didn't want to be rescued. Maybe she was happy. She was married, after all, or so Rafe said. Maybe she was genuinely part of the gypsy tribe and the most he could do for her, should she be found, would be to set her up with a secret key to a secret safe deposit box. Whether it remained her getaway fund or whether she ended up sharing her good fortune with her "family" was entirely up to her.

In the meantime, Erik took Rafe to the stables. He had a surprise for the boy. He had bred his stallion Naji, to a neighbor's grey Arabian and Erik had secretly purchased the offspring, a gorgeous silvery filly, for Rafe. The filly had been fully trained, a process often overseen by Erik himself, and she was spirited and gentle. He had called her Hasna which meant beautiful in Arabian, but he would let Rafe choose a name for himself, if he so wished.

"Where are we going, Monsieur Erik?" Rafe danced around Erik, unable to contain his excitement and curiosity. As far as Erik figured, Rafe must be nearing 13 years of age. He was handsome and always cheerful and yet, very much still a boy, filled with unbounded energy and optimism.

"You have studied hard and succeeded at almost every subject I tested you on" Erik began.

"Almost?" Rafe paused and looked reproachfully at his adopted father.

"It is hard to be perfect at everything, my boy, when you are as old as I, I am sure your talents will far outshine mine," Erik beamed at him.

"I don't think anyone could ever be as accomplished as you, father," he smiled back at Erik.

Rafe did not often use that intimate term for him, preferring the more formal and yet endearing Monsieur Erik, and it made his heart glow at the title.

"We shall see, my son. Now, as a reward for all your efforts this past year I have a surprise for you. " They entered the stables and Erik led him to a stall and opened it. The shining filly within pawed the ground and reached over inquisitively to nuzzle Erik's hand as it reached for her bridle and tethered a rope to it. He handed the rope to Rafe who stood, stunned, staring at the exquisite creature before him. "This filly is yours. Her name is Hasna, which means beautiful in Arabic. However she is yours to name as you please. You will have to continue to train her and care for her. She is Naji's daughter, so you know she will be smart and fast."

Raphael beamed up at Erik. "We shall be as fast as the wind, father!" he cried, patting her soft muzzle.

"I have a feeling the wind will have trouble keeping up with you, two." Erik mused quietly, but Rafe did not hear. He had taken Hasna's tether rope and led her outside, where he unclipped it, led her by the bridle to a fence rail of the corral, and climbing up, eased on to her back, and Hasna, pausing a minute to understand her job as this boy's partner, trotted around the perimeter of the fence line only picking up speed when Rafe leaned over to whisper to her to go faster.

Erik leaned against the fence watching. How his world had changed and he had never been happier.