"One sip of this wine
and you will go mad with drunkenness.
You will drop your masks
and tear your clothes — destroying
everything that separates you from the Lover.
Once you taste the fruit of this vine,
you will be kicked out of the city of yourself.
You will forget the world. You will forget yourself.
I tell you:
you will become a madman
who wanders the streets looking for the Lover
once you drink this Wine of Love."
- Kamand Kojouri
…
Elysium
The prison that had gripped his youth with blackened and charred hands was alive again; or, perhaps it had never died – it had just waited dormant, terrifying and silent within the walls of his mother's house.
Raoul had hated it there, always – he would escape to the gardens out back for a small taste of freedom, and those overgrown vines and trees of ancient always welcomed his presence. Even now, as he gathered his morning supplies in a small leather satchel, the windows of his room seemed to close in on him. Everything was quiet and dark, like the entrance to an underground world. His old bedroom, although haughty and richly decorated, brought him no comfort – it only woke up the horrified child within him, tantalizing him with happiness that was far beyond his reach.
He had structured a stable pattern within his days at the De Chagny estate ever since his mother had laid out the twisted plot that he could not object to; the answer to all of his problems, the key to stitching his family back together.
Lillian's unadulterated freedom.
Raoul grasped the satchel with nimble fingers; thankful his hands no longer shook with nervousness, with an itch he could never seem to scratch. The morphine had taken his nerves and obliterated them, shattering their remains like the explosion of a star in the furthest and darkest universe.
He would travel outside of this thick walled Hell; he would trudge up the slopes from the underworld and throw open the door that led to heaven – the gardens that stretched on for miles and miles. Hope stirred within his heart with every stair he skipped on the way down…down, down, and down he climbed! And he was almost to the door, glowing in the distance, with its beautiful ebony handle shining like a beacon in the void of the perfectly plastered foyer.
The sun greeted his face, and he smiled back at her warmth. Softly, he shut the door behind him, not wanting his mother to see him slide out – not wishing for her crooked fingers to haggle him, to try and pull him back with the chains that were curled around her blue veined knuckles.
Every morning he chose the same horse; a grey speckled mare he'd named Riddle. She was a good tempered and patient beast, with a gentle black nose and eyes that seemed to stare straight into the soul. Sometimes he could not tell if it was the void of loneliness that festered in his soul, or the depressive waves that would keep him gnawing it his lips - but something about this horse seemed to understand more than just his commands. Sometimes he looked into her eyes and fell so deep, he could start to hear voices…soothing and smooth, were those voices! Perhaps a horse lived millions of lives; perhaps the mare Riddle was made up of more than one singular spirit.
He mounted the sweet mare without bothering to constrict her with a saddle. Raoul gave her a small nudge with his heels, and soon enough they were flying. They careened into the great ocean of green, tossed with lurid pinks and reds from the flowers that shone their faces to the sun. Faster and faster he urged her, until he turned his head to glance behind him, sighing with relief that the cage of his mother was nowhere in sight. He threw back his head and laughed – a foreign sound to his own ears, yet beautiful and liberating, nonetheless! He was free for another day, and he had cleverly slipped inside of the in-between; a world that existed between reality and dreaming. His world that was made of trees and grass and sky; his world where there was no evil, where there was no sorrow…
And in his mind's eye, he had Christine beside him.
He could almost hear her laugh with him. Oh, innocent and lovely Christine! How she had shone brightly on stage the first night he had seen her, a glimmering star fallen from the heavens!
She had loved him, oh how she had loved him! So ardent and fresh, renewed through their friendship that stretched back from their childhood…who could have paved the path for him to see her again? Surely it must have been God that led him into the Opera House that night; the night where she had worn all white, shimmering as gallantly as the moon!
Yet now, Raoul's thoughts only existed merely through lucidity, through the shapes he conjured up within his mind. But he had begun to write them all down, the story of their love! He would compare her to a rosebud he found while sitting underneath a tree, or a pebble that shone clear, surrounded by dark stones that hid it away. Christine was just like that – so translucent, so kind and delicate and unique…he would write her a million sonnets, a million praises…just to see her face again.
He found himself further out than usual, yet he paid no mind. The farther he pushed his mare, the further he was from his skeletal mother who seemed half dead – did her hatred keep her alive?
A towering oak with whirls and carved veins in its trunk seemed to be the ideal spot. Satisfied with his new discovery - this grove that stood silent and peaceful, aside from the chirping and humming of the birds around him. Raoul dismounted Riddle, giving her a soft pat on the nose before allowing her to roam free. He could not have cared less if she were to take off into the distance – for he too, wished to do the same!
He sat down on a patch of grass, greedily ripping open the satchel and neatly lining his supplies upon a thin roll of linen. He perfected the line of syringes – it gave him strange peace to do so, for they laid like toy soldiers about to march into battle. The bottle he set down was new – he had went through the first one a bit too fast. Yet he loved to read its label, for he knew it was truly his tree of life, his savior from the spiral of depression, his redeemer, his protector!
The sun warmed the bare skin of his head as he rushed to untie his leather boots, and his heart pounded faster and faster, knowing the euphoria was within inches of his grasp. Now his hands shook - not from nerves, but from undeniable excitement!
Each flick of the needle, each entrance between every toe left a growing hunger within him. When he had finished he rested the syringe next to all the others, still neat and perfect within a straight line. Now he lay back against the tree, waiting for his dreams to take form in the humid and lavender filled air. They would slither up to him and hold him, embrace him, comfort him! A large smile slowly unfolded upon his lips.
Yet as he closed his eyes, he heard something distant, something strange. This sound had interrupted his Elysium; some odd and strained noise had corrupted his secret place!
Raoul tried to ignore the sound, for an insatiable high was now rising within the entirety of his body; but he found he could not. For the longer it went on, the more troubling it became. It was whimpering, a whisper of a sound…but no, he did not dream, this time! It was coming from beyond the grove. It was the soft wail of a woman; a woman hidden away, just like he…and she was crying.
His curiosity and bravery was heightened from the God of Dreams, from his precious morphine that had already trickled itself into his bloodstream. Raoul carefully rolled the linen up with the bottle and the syringes, packing it all neatly back into his satchel. He slung it over his shoulder, leaving his shoes abandoned under the ancient tree…and he began to advance beyond the grove.
He was far enough out that perhaps he could be on another estate – but he did not see any pruning, just underbrush overgrown and prickly hedges that seemed to form their own labyrinth. As Raoul moved closer to the hedges, the crying became louder…and his heart broke for the pitiful noises of this woman. Who was she? And why did she leave herself stranded just as he, what had made her so low that she wanted to become lost?
He slowly made his way into a path through the hedges, pulling gangly vines out of his way when necessary. And then, he saw the source. She glowed as white as the moon, but she wore all black – stark, yet beautiful, like the carving of a cold grey statue.
The woman sat on the grass in the shade of the hedges, and when she looked up at him, he did not say a word. Her eyes were like golden marble, and her jaw looked cut from glass, surrounded by obsidian hair that fell in thick waves all around her.
Her eyes were puffy and pink, swollen and bruised…for a moment, he though he was seeing a delusion – Christine? Mourning his loss of love for her, mourning for what he had put their family through…was this all a delirious dream?
But the woman spoke, her voice was smooth – it never faltered, nor did it seem to be laced with any sort of fear. In fact, her voice sounded defeated, as if all life had been drained out of it.
"Are you an angel?" she asked, brushing a long lock away from her face. She lifted a pale hand to wipe away the tear tracks upon her bloodless cheeks.
Raoul hesitated for a moment, then slowly sat down on the grass, mere paces away from her. "No," he answered quietly, setting his satchel next to him. "Did you wish to see an angel, out here?"
The woman shook her head, her lips breaking into a small smile through her tears. "I must look ridiculous to you, asking you a question such as this. Do you think me pitiful?"
Raoul gave a tiny smile. His insides felt so wonderful! It was as if this woman came walking out of a dream - his dream!
"No, I…I don't think that at all," he responded. "I come out here to be alone, and, well…I heard you crying."
"A woman who has everything, yet has nothing…and still, I cannot even show my face to my own father," she said softly, as if talking to herself, tracing a long finger in the grass.
"Neither can I. I reside with my mother and father now, but…my father is ashamed of my condition," Raoul explained smoothly, feeling a calm wave pass over him. "Luckily, I have been feeling better lately. I've had help from a God," he passed a hand mysteriously over the parcel, as if to bring to life the satchel that sat beside him. The woman's eyebrows raised curiously, her lips twisting to one side.
"I see, Monsieur. You've seen God, you say? You've had his help?" The woman shook her head violently. "Others are always talking about the face of God, but even if he does exist, he has taken everything away from me! He isn't sweet and loving like everyone says. He makes people angry; makes them hate, makes them bitter…" her voice trailed off, dropping her eyes from Raoul's.
If it was the ecstasy that encased his life and spirit now, he did not mind…something about this living statue of a woman intrigued him. He wanted to do something, anything that could give her the strength…the same strength that now made him powerful, that made him God-like…
"No, not like that…er, Mademoiselle…? What shall I call you?"
She looked backed into his faded blue eyes with intensity. "I am Anias. Just Anias."
"Anias," he spoke her name, feeling sin dripping from his lips the moment he spoke it into existence. He leaned forward anxiously, his grin now ripping wide across his face. "Let me show you what I mean…take off your shoes."
Anias looked startled. "What? My shoes? What kind of folly is this?"
As giddy as a child, he held up a finger. Reaching deep into the leather pouch, he produced the spotless white linen, rolled up in his hand.
And there, on the vivid splash of green grass between them, he laid out his syringes, one by one – finishing last with the small bottle that read, 'The God of Dreams'.
He looked up at her eagerly, waiting for her reaction. At first, her green-gold eyes looked blank and confused, but suddenly they morphed into something different. Something new. She could see his world now! Or perhaps she was on the brink, teetering upon the edge of reality, wanting to step over the edge…
"I see," she replied quietly, meeting his eyes once more.
And the raven-haired woman soon laid on the grass, her feet bare as Raoul gently flicked the needle before plunging its tip into the soft flesh between each of her toes.
And the two strangers rested, mere paces away from each other as the euphoric wave cradled them. Every darkened thought was disbanded, every spiral of hopelessness shattered. There, they lay together, with space in-between. All the while, birds circled endlessly above them high in the sky, while they dreamt yet did not dream. And the hedges protected and surrounded them, creating their own delusion of a savior – a redeemer that called himself 'Elysium'.
…
Author's Note: Thank you to all of my beautiful readers and lurkers out there. As always, leaving any comments or feedback always makes my day :)