The strong winds tussled her heavy blond locks, as she stood over the edge of the rooftop, looking down to the world and far into the horizon, where the city's baroque skyline disappeared into the thick gray clouds.
Originally, she had come up to think, but now, that she clutched her coat around her arms, her thoughts would not go in order, comprising almost solely of random memories, attempts at logic, and despair.
The snow had melted, leaving puddles of dirt and rainwater into the crevices of the roof, which stained her delicate boots. When she reached the rail, holding the intricate pieces of the ceiling together, she followed all the way to the back, coming to rest against Apollo's golden lyre. She bent and hid behind one of the statues, not realising how her toes were already into the air.
The void below felt to suck her towards the ground and she stretched a paniced hand to support herself against its pull. However, when the initial terror was over, she stuck out her head, like a curious little mouse, almost pondering on the idea. One step, then another and she was already halfway to swinging over the edge. Back and forth, back and forth...she repeated the rythmic motion for a few moments, concentrating on the feeling that clenched right below her chest, whenever she bent too far. Maybe that's all it would feel like. Or she would be able to sense the harsh stones of the street.
She shook her head. What was she even considering? Was she out of her mind? She...she couldn't do this to them. To Maman, to Raoul. Perhaps to even Monsieur Khan and Erik. She guessed he would have known the feeling. The temptation of leaning a tad more forward.
More afraid of herself, than for herself, she forcefully stepped down from the rail and convinced herself to walk forcefully to the centre of the roof. Far from the edge and its allure. She had to go back down.
On her way to the house, she rowed in bitter silence, until her mind roamed back to the time she'd heard that entrancing melody ,almost evaporating from the still waters.
"That is the siren, my dear. It warns against intruders," Erik shrugged, not caring to look up from his newspaper.
She stopped rowing and dragged the paddles inside of the wooden nutshell. Closing her eyes and stretcing her ears, focusing on the soft swaying of the boat. The siren would eventually come for her. And she was once again told of the mechanism's favourite tactics.
Its song would ring, softly as a whisper, slowly rising, both in volume and beauty. If she inched her face close to the surface, a pair of slender, wet yet warm female palms would circle her thin neck and pull her underneath the cold waters. Then, the pain would take less than a minute. The water would flood her lungs, sending burning spasms all over her small body, but finally numbing her mind. Silencing her thoughts for once and for all.
No...no, no, no...that mindset was all wrong... She knew. She did. Yet still she stayed for a moment longer, half avoiding, half wishing for the song to sound. After being greeted only by silence, she cursed lowly and slipped the paddles back into the water, going back to rowing rythmically.
She opened the door and a new set of impulses came flooding back at her. Scissors, rope, flame, poison...take your pick. Erik had a collection of murderous weapons she knew sufficiently little about to get herself injured.
You don't want to do it, you don't want to do it...she kept whispering to herself and occupied her mind with every tiny task at hand; She picked out her favourite mug, took some of her dresses out of her wardrobe, gathered her everyday belongings and brought them all to the couch. Then she spring-cleaned the entire appartement, avoiding the door of the Louis-Philippe room like Pandora's box.
She didn't even realise she was crying while organising the mess he called a room. His desk, the other desk in the corner, the shirts of the past few days inside the laundry basket, the organ...she came across the infamous opera. Carefully, as if picking up a child, she took it in her hands, almost weighting it, curious enought to flip through the curled pages. Too intimate, too soon. She set it back down, next to her belongings in the living room.
"Christine."
She gasped as she turned around, her heart rising in her throat in terror, all of the supressed feeling heating back up.
"You scared me," she whispered breathless.
He rose his hands in apology, hanging his head low. "Forgive me," he paused, unsure of how to continue. "I see you're moving...out...?"
"Well, yes. It's time I face reality like an adult."
He nodded. She was changed, yet not at all, at the same time. "That's good...I mean..."
She cut him off. "I understand. But I can't leave yet. There's one last thing to do-" she choked on the word.
He braided his fingers behind his back. "I could help with the...practicallity of it, if you'd like."
She took a step closer, touching her forehead to his shoulders and feeling his arms wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Thank you, Monsieur Khan."
She couldn't watch. God, she couldn't watch... She locked herself in the kitchen, while she hear Nadir go inside the room and then leaving the house all together. She tried to swallow a glass of water, hoping it would calm her nerves, which it definitely did not. Support her weight on her palms, she leaned over the sink adn closed her eyes, fighting the urge of nausea bubbling up inside her.
When the door was opened again, she came out, trying her best to look as composed as possible.
"It's done...almost. That is, if you still want to go through with this," he reassured her one last time.
"No, I'll do it. Shouldn't it be...more...proper? Formal?" She tied her coat around her shoulders, trying to prepare for the task at hand.
"This way. By the commune cell."
She nodded. "Alright. Thank you for everything."
She was gone before he could respond.
The cellars were dark, but she knew the way. Soon, she saw it. The little well, the water humming softly as it hit the marble and disappeared into the earth. It was the same place, the very place where the phantom had held her half-awake in his trembling embrace for the first time.
The shadow was leaning against the well, a shovel next to it.
She didn't spare a look towards it, for if she did, god, she'd die on the spot.
Taking the shovel, she began working as mechanically as possible, even humming a merry working tune, pretending she was planting flowers in Maman's garden. The soil was hard, adding only some resistance, without slowing her down. Then it was done.
Slowly, minding to inhale through the nose andexhale through the mouth, she finally kneeled next to the well and took off the sheet with her eyes closed. First, the ring. She slipped it off her finger and on the other. The other. It didn't belong to anyone. It couldn't. Yet her eys betrayed her and roamed upwards, to stare at the pair of closed eyes. She ached for a forceful breath, almost breaking down on top of him. She shook, without tears, only the sound of her gasps breaking the deafening silence of the underworld.
On hand flew to caress the cross around her neck, the other to brush his hair away.
"And now..."She breathed, returning her hands on her lap. "I suppose I'll have to find a few words to say to you." She hesitated.
"I found these words ready, I came up with none myself... This is unfair for you... I'll have to find something that is only for you. That will not fit inside it so many others... You were not like so many others." She tried to give him a small smile. He hated her frown.
"I don't want to dress you with second-hand clothes. Worn shoulders and knees. It'll be as if I'm dressing you in rags, as if I'm betraying that I-at least-had seen you cry." There came the first tears. "Why should I tell anyone?" She suddenly felt rage on her temples. "They'll be burning to know you were exactly like them, nothing remarkable! I'll not let anyone remember you in their measures!"
She bent forward and clutched him. "If they don't ache every time, if it doesn't kill them that they didn't know you, that they weren't what I was for you, that they will never be what you were for me, let them not remember you at all."
She sniffled and wiped her tears. "You know, on my way here, I came face to face with two children. The one resembled you, his hair fell like yours and he looked like you when you wear that baggy suit of yours. They saw me wear black and they asked:'what was he to you?'
They asked what you were to me!
I told them you were my own name. My own soul. And from now on, they can call me however they like."
A slight breeze followed her words. He remained toneless, even when tried to lift him and place him, as respectfully as possible into the ground. She wanted to say goodbye. She knew she needed to say goodbye. But her mouth did not obey her mind and she basked in her silence.
Her hand curled around the handle of the shovel and she picked up some soil. She threw it in.
There are things even the strongest people can't bear.
She turned away and retched to the side, until only saliva came out of her mouth. Another throw, another fit. She almost threw herself on the grave.
After an eternity, she was standing in front of fresh soil. Nothing there to betray the truth. She kneeled and kissed it, letting her lips rest on its moist surface.
"May the Angel Of Music take you home, my love. Goodnight."
