A/N: For those who are reading my other fic, Black Death, rest assured that I have not forsaken it. I merely had to give voice to a random idea floating in my head at about 12:30 AM (yes, I was still thinking about Phantom of the Opera) by writing this vignette. It is a deviation from using the popular "Rose and Nightingale" legend from Susan Kay's Phantom (even though I will be using it in my other story). I have created a medley of equal amounts of Leroux, Kay, and Webber, though all allusions are somewhat metaphorical in the text. See if you can point them out. Last but not least, please review!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything original to Phantom of the Opera. My humble possessions merely consist of the book, film, soundtrack, and Susan Kay's Phantom.
Phoenix: Music, Tears, and Ashes
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Nature intended two birds of the same species to mate. Likewise, Fate predestined that the incarnations of light and darkness should one day meet and become one.
Naturally, that is what happened.
But humans never were adept at understanding the workings of Higher Powers. Those senseless fools were deaf to the celestial music created from that holy union and blind to the perfection of love.
"They cannot belong together," they said in outrage. "It is unnatural. How can something so hideous—scum from the dark bowels of the earth—aspire towards that beautiful sunflower, which thrives in the light?"
Whenever she returned to him, they said she was under a spell. Perhaps they were right. Did they not know that the phoenix was reputed to captivate even the Sun with its song?
As for beauty—well, mortals should not presume to be the judge of that.
When destiny is shunned and the gods are ignored, only one thing can ensue: disaster. On the Day of Judgment, a great Palace of Music—a crown jewel in the kingdom of mankind—was very nearly destroyed from an eruption of terrific godly wrath.
Fortunately for the human race, the tears of a phoenix possess the ability to heal. Two of these legendary birds mingling such magical droplets at the scene were more than sufficient to end the calamity.
Did Man express gratitude for salvation? No! Instead, a mob of huntsmen captured one bird—as if he was a mere beast!—and burned him at the stake on charges of murder and sorcery. His poor mate—already half-crazed with grief—was spared, though whether it was an act of kindness or cruelty was debatable.
Once again, however, Man was ignorant of the extent of a phoenix's power. No one saw a tiny form rise from the ashes—a living proof of resurrection and immortality. Someday, it would grow into as magnificent a creature as its sire, and reveal the sins of the past to the world.
Thus, love and music will live on.
Fin
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