Disclaimer: This story gives me no profit but fun. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Inspired by Lise Lindstrom and Roberto Alagna in the 2012 Orange production of Puccini's Turandot.
Dedicated: For DonnaAnna.
O sole! Vita! Eternità!
The throne room fills with cheers, laughter, and dancing. In the middle of it all I am still, an unfamiliar warmth and joy rising in me. I scan the numerous faces, seeking…
Him. I observe Calaf as he slowly walks toward me. His bright eyes are serious. The expression on his face impossible to identify: dazed, searching, perhaps uncertain? My smile fades. A knot forms in my stomach. Swallowing hard, I lower my head.
Monster! had moaned the ghosts nipping at my heels during my nighttime wanderings. Now, finally, the prince must realize it, too. There is nothing worth loving in the Princess Turandot.
My morning flower... The garden! The slave girl's body had laid on the ground between the stranger and I, forming an impassable divide; yet he had bridged it. I'd turned my gaze upward and fled to the heavens; however, the prince followed me. His kiss warmed me from the inside out. When I wept, confessed my feelings for him, he softly brushed my cheeks.
Forcibly, I push away the memories. They are from another lifetime. They mean nothing, in the end. I am scarred by moonlight and blood-
One of my hands is gently encircled by large, rough fingers. In disbelief I stare as my hand is lifted up into the air and pressed to the prince's chest, where I can feel his heartbeat. Blushing, I meet his gaze and encounter tender wonderment in his countenance. Hope blooms anew in my chest.
I whisper his name. He smiles, embraces me.
THE END