"The Road to Perros," by PhantomDaae1981
I should have taken a carriage... Walking to Perros in February was completely irresponsible. But, after that rehearsal, I needed time to clear my head. Raoul would have disapproved; too much cold air was bad for one's health.
The Angel... The Phantom would've disapproved, too; cold air was bad for the voice.
But, thankfully, neither of them was with me right now. For once, I had some time to myself. Time to think, time to pray, time to talk to Papa.
I could see my breath in the air, could feel my nose stinging in response to the cold wind. Periodically, I brushed the snowflakes from my hair. Maybe I really would catch my death out here in the cold. I wouldn't have minded, really...
I wouldn't be torn between my emotions anymore. I wouldn't have to sing the role of Aminta in The Phantom's obviously threatening opera. And, at last, I could run into Papa's arms, and he'd keep me safe. I'd be a little girl again.
When I was a child, people praised my voice, complimented Papa for having such a lovely daughter. But nobody pursued me, like Raoul. Nobody killed for me, like The Phantom. What had changed? I could only think it must have something to do with growing up, becoming a woman. My body was softer now; there were curves, where there used to be mere bones.
When I was a child, I lived in the clouds. I spoke to Raoul of fairy tales, and dreamed of the Angel of Music coming to me and blessing me with the gift of divine music.
Yes, it was certainly preferable to be a child.
If I died here, on the road to Perros, would I become a child again?
The snow was falling more heavily now... If I were to lie down, right here, the next passing carriage wouldn't even see me blocking the way. I'd be trampled by a horse, and I'd see Papa in Heaven.
No. Suicides don't go to Heaven.
What?
Were those my own thoughts, or was it a voice outside of my head?
No. Not my own thoughts... I suddenly had the strange sense that I was under surveillance. It couldn't be Raoul, because Raoul couldn't read my mind. And it couldn't be The Phantom, because the Opera House was closely monitored now, and one of the guards would have caught him if he'd tried to follow me.
The Angel, then? But the Angel wasn't real; there was only The Phantom.
I shivered, but it wasn't due to the cold.
As I continued walking, I wondered what sorts of things went through The Phantom's mind when he thought of me. I knew he was obsessed with my voice; he had told me that quite soon after taking me underground. And, after I had so foolishly pulled away his mask, I realized he loved me.
And Raoul loved me, too. He told me so, and I could feel it when he kissed me.
But I now knew that there was another dimension to what The Phantom felt for me. And, if Raoul felt anything similar, he had never verbalized it.
Don Juan Triumphant... It was all too obvious, because of The Phantom's admittedly brilliant opera. My colleagues were horrified at the strange musical arrangement. But me? Iwas horrified by the lyrical content, the blatant sexuality, the words being forced into my mouth.
If I sang the role of Aminta, I would be risking something far more sacred than my life. I was unable to explain this Raoul, but I knew it was true.
I wanted my Papa. I wanted to run into his arms, to be a little girl again. I wanted to be sheltered and comforted by someone with no ulterior motives, someone whose concerns were pure and selfless.
Why did you have to die?
Really, though, the question I longed to ask Papa was far less standard.
I wanted to know why, on his deathbed, Papa had promised to send me the Angel of Music. Obviously, it wasn't a promise he could keep. I now knew that the Angel didn't exist at all. Had Papa known that? And, if he did know,why had he made a promise he couldn't possibly fulfill?
I wanted an answer; I was angry!
Because, if it hadn't been for Papa's promise, I wouldn't have been such an easy target for a violent man. It wouldn't have been nearly so easy for The Phantom to deceive me, had Papa not raised me as a foolish girl, believing in benevolent musical spirits.
I could see the cemetery gates in the distance. I thought about those cold bodies underground, or in the mausoleum. We were supposed to pray for them, to pray that their probable stays in purgatory were not too long, that they would see the face of God soon after their deaths.
And I thought about myself. I was in my own type of purgatory, unsure if I would end up in Hell or in Heaven. And, truth be told, I didn't know which was which.
After all, The Phantom was a murderer who lived underground, so it would seem that he must be my own personal Hell. And gentle, handsome Raoul could lead me to Heaven.
But a life with Raoul would also entail a life without The Music of the Night... And, surely, a life without The Phantom's voice would be the worst kind of Hell imaginable!
Oh, I even longed to hear his voice now, as I struggled to open the wrought iron gate.
Who would take away my fears? Who could possibly heal this gash in my soul?
Now, I was in front of Papa's grave, with so much to say, so much to ask...
My voice rang out, desperate, in the cold evening air.