Ayesha

Ayesha. Uncommon name for an uncommon animal. I've seen many, many cats, but none quite like this one. It's not just her coloring. While odd, it seems to fit her. The royal beige, and rich dark brown. She looks well taken care of, not to mention spoiled. At least, she did when I met her. She's lost weight now, and looks scraggly in places. The last few weeks have hit us both very hard.

I brush her daily with an ivory handled brush, just as Erik did, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. She skulks around and hides behind sofas and chairs, as though ashamed to have lost her regal status and appearance. She's still a queen to me, and is all I have left of him. I take care to make sure she is fed at seven every morning, just so something will stay for her the same as it always has.

I awoke that Sunday morning, hours before I needed to get ready for Mass. My sleeping patterns had been very irregular over the past few weeks. I'd wake up many times throughout the night, and have trouble going back to sleep. But this time, it wasn't nerves.

Ayesha sat beside me on the bed, mewing impatiently. She had just walked in from the formal living room, where she slept atop the grand piano. Raoul always considered this habit incredibly odd, and complained about the white scratches that resulted when she climbed up to settle down. I suppose the grand piano was the closest thing we had to her usual perch atop Erik's colossal pipe organ.

I sighed and relented, stepping out of bed.

"Christine . . . " Raoul started, pulling the covers more tightly around him.

"It's Ayesha; she wants her breakfast," I explained patiently. He cursed, and turned over in the enormous king size bed we shared.

"It's always that cat, isn't it?"

I ignored him, and lifted my robe off the peg where it hangs beside the bed. After slipping it around my shoulders and pulling my hair back with a satin ribbon from my bedside table, I motioned for Ayesha to follow me. She jumped into my arms, and we headed down the hall to the kitchen.

"Madame de Chagny, up so early again?" questioned one of the servants. I shrugged, and put Ayesha down.

"It will be the usual for her," I said, not needing to explain. The servants laughed the first time I explained Ayesha's diet, but I was adamant that she needed to stick to it. A maid suggested once that we just buy a regulation cat food, but knowing Ayesha she would turn her nose up at it in an instant. Erik fed her quite expensively, but heaven knows Raoul had the money to keep her diet as it always had been. I insisted that he did so, and he granted most every request I made. He always treated my mental condition as though it were oddly precarious . . .

I often felt lonely in the de Chagny manor. It was welcoming and warm, and always sparkling clean. But I never truly felt at home. It was one of those places that's just so clean, and so perfect, you're almost afraid to step thinking you'll ruin the absolute exactness. Raoul promised me that it was my imagination; that it truly wasn't so flawless. But it was, and we both knew it. It was huge, and I always felt exposed, like someone was expecting me to be or do something, and I was always being watched to make sure I accomplished this unspoken duty just so. I only felt truly comforted and happy beside the fireplace . . .

I sat motionless, captivated by the dancing orange flames. I absentmindedly fingered my rosary and attempted to pray, but always got too wrapped up in other non-applicable thoughts. Occasionally a spark would shoot up, disrupting the harmony of fire as a whole, but then it would settle back down until the next daring ember chose to rise above the fire itself.

I often liked to pretend that the flames weren't performing their graceful ballet inside an ideal mahogany mantelpiece. I liked to imagine a stone lined hearth, stained black on the edges and charred from past fires. Dark perhaps, but his presence made it all seem warm and beautiful.

It was at about this point in my fantasy that Ayesha tended to walk up, as though she knew that I was imagining her beloved owner and wanted to be in on it. Her being there didn't bother me in the least; in fact it added comforting solidity to the dream. I would always stroke her velvety head, and she would mew at my touch. I lifted her into my lap, and she sat there for a few minutes, purring softly. Tears welled up in my eyes. I never knew whether it was from sadness, or just from sitting so long without blinking. I was sad most of the time these days.

If Ayesha died, I honestly don't know what I'd do. She's the last shred of comfort and continuation of my life in the catacombs. She keeps depression from setting in too deeply. It's nice, as I walk around the lonely estate to see her yellow orb-like eyes gazing down at me from atop a bookshelf or mantle.

It was funny, almost; the way fate twisted and churned our lives in such odd directions. Once such envious and desperate enemies in Erik's life, we were now thrown together as hopeless allies in his death. We used to fight for his attention, but now we just consider ourselves grateful to have truly known him. For doubtlessly we were the only ones who did.

Ayesha is dear to me now. I can't deny that much. I almost laugh when I think of how much I used to resent and despise her. I wonder if she feels the same way I do. I hope she does. Yes, I believe Ayesha has feelings. In fact, I know she does. You can't live with someone like Erik for even a day and not develop some further depth or emotion, whether you are human or otherwise.

I really don't know who I was before Erik came into my life. I knew love, but not the deep, sacrificial love that he so tirelessly bestowed to me. He was always there, to make me smile with his never-ending supply of clever remarks, and to hold my hand when I cried. Erik helped me grow up and become the complete person I am now. I came to him as a helpless child, and left as an adult, ready to make my own decisions and pave my own way in life.

I miss him so desperately. I knew I would the night I left. However, I had no choice but to say goodbye, and we both knew it. I love Raoul, and his companionship has led me through a difficult time, but he and Erik are as different as night and day. They are night and day. Raoul just doesn't understand all that I need him to. He doesn't understand Erik, or Ayesha for that matter.

But I understand Ayesha, and nothing will separate us now. Not Raoul. Not the stabbing homesickness I feel every morning when I wake here. And definitely not a few small scratches on a grand piano.