SCENT OF A DARK ROSE
Madame Giry walked calmly up the grand staircase of the Paris Opera House towards Box 5. The familiar smell of cigars and sweat mingled through the many lobbies, until finally the smell evaporated and was replaced by the smell of night - yes, night had it's own distinct smell. Night smelt of perfume and flowers by candlelight, or a loved one's hair in the moon. Madame Giry knew that smell all too well. Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, had that very smell about him every time she was near him. He also had a lovely smell of a distant Persian palace, or a Roman cathedral - a unique smell that she had come to treasure, dearly.
She pulled open the curtain and stepped inside Box 5. Erik stood there, waiting as he often did, tall and handsome, his face concealed by the porcelain white mask, his golden eyes gazing into her own. Her breath caught in her throat as he held out a single, red rose.
"Bonsoir, mon plus cher ami," he said, his voice deep and soft.
"Erik," she said, extending her hand to grasp the rose.
He bowed and kissed her hand before exciting through his secret passageway. She let out her breath and sank into the cushion of the seat, as she smelled the sweet rose.
"Oh Erik, si vous saviez seulement..."
THE PAST REKINDLED
Erik stood outside Christine's room, staring at the finely crafted, golden handle on the door. He tentatively reached out, turning the handle slowly. As he walked inside the room, the scent of Christine's perfume wavered through the air, hitting his nose and reminding him of the times when he had walked into this very room, and seen Christine asleep. Her eyes would be closed and her mouth parted slightly, as her heavy breathing was the only noise
heard through the house.
He slowly moved through the room, lightly running his finger across her desk, picking up trails of dust as he did so. Her brush and hair things still lay on her desk, a reminder of better days gone by.
"Erik...Will
you sing me to sleep? Please? I do not think I can sleep without hearing a soft
lullaby..."
"Naturellement,
mon ange," came Erik's soft reply.
Christine's
eyes closed slowly as Erik's voice enveloped her in a blanket of ecstasy. Her
mind raced with thoughts that her innocent age didn't understand. All she knew
was that she wanted this more than anything.
Erik sat
down on the edge of her bed, his voice a soft whisper on her face, rustling
some of her curly hair. He leaned closer still, never able to get enough.
Slowly and ever so gently, his lips brushed against hers for a sweet kiss.
Christine's
eyes fluttered open as she stared into Erik's frightened eyes...
"Christine...may
I...?"
"Yes..."
she whispered, breathless. "Kiss me, Erik."
"Oh,
Christine...do you really mean it? Please, do not tell me this is some horrible
joke you play on me to wound my severed heart. Please, tell me this isn't a
dream."
"It
isn't a dream Erik. Kiss me."
Christine's
hand found the back of Erik's neck, pulling his lips to hers for a passionate
kiss.
The soft scent of a fresh rose caught Erik's senses, setting them afire with memories, bringing him back to reality.
"Ah, mon ange doux, Christine..." said Erik as he fell to his knees. "Why did you have to leave me all alone?"
The wavering smell of Christine's sweet rose blossom perfume, which had once intoxicated and delighted him, now crushed his heart and made his bones ache.
Her love was the only he'd ever experienced and the soft scent of the freshly cut rose, whether it was in his mind or real, sent a flood of tears cascading down Erik's cheeks...