A/N: a touch of romance. Sort of…
Oh! And I'm glad you like my song-inclusions. Phrases that we recognize, like the lake one, call to mind the song without my actually writing it out. The music is marvelous and invokes a variety of emotions automatically, but the song itself has no place and quickly becomes redundant. I find such 'sly' phrases help catch an echo of the feeling of the music…
XII: WITH EVERY BREATH
"Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself; that he is alone, abandoned on earth…" –Jean Paul Sartre
The second night, to Anton's genuine delight, Gerard's silent pleasure, and the Phantom's unseen approval, the production went just as well as the first. News of the fantastic new singer, the prima donna Jaqueline, spread like wildfire through the Parisian gentry. Anton, the pragmatic one in the managing partnership, was practically ecstatic. Gerard, though pleased, was far more reserved. The thought of his brother roaming the Opera Populaire with a free hand gnawed him, and he made silent vows to see his younger brother properly "done away with".
For his own part, Raian was far too nervous to think that Gerard might know of him. The thought of the imminent meeting between his sister and the Phantom wholly consumed his thoughts. He was frightened, he admitted to himself. And rightly so, was it not? No matter how distantly courteous the Opera Ghost had been recently, Raian could not forget how eight men had died the night of his 'escape' at the man's hand.
He knew, as well, the stories of the previous prima donna—Christine Daaé. Part of him screamed in terror at the thought of the Phantom anywhere near his sister. At least he would be there to… to what? Eight against one, and mightier still!
It was with that fear pounding in his throat that he waited for his sister in the infamous dressing room, staring blankly at the mirror he had entered through. Long silent moments passed before the door creaked open and Jaqueline cautiously poked her head in.
"You are here!" she exclaimed, quickly closing the door behind her and locking it. "We should have almost an hour tonight. I saw the de Jeans cornering Anton and Gerard, and they're dreadful for chatter." She walked over to her vanity, which was already overflowing with flowers, like a celestial garden. Conspicuous among the many bouquets was a sight that chilled Raian to the bone; it was serenely perfect in detail, from the long unbroken stem to the soft curve of the petals to the black ribbon carefully tied about it…
"Raian…" Jaqueline's voice brought him back and he turned to look at her. "You all right?" she asked timidly.
He shook his head. "I'm fine. No, it's just…" Raian sighed. No use pretending. "He wants to see you, Jaq," he said at last.
She turned slowly, absently toying with one of her long curls by her shoulder as she looked over at him. "Who?"
"You may need to sit down," he said roughly, dragging over a chair. Jaq stared at him a moment as she sat, calmly folding her hands in her lap as if to hide their trembling. Raian paced in front of her for a moment, running a hand through his short dark hair. At length he stopped. "The Opera Ghost."
Jaqueline blinked. "Who?"
Raian spun to stare at her. "The bloody Phantom of the Opera, that's who."
She leaned back and laughed. "Oh, Raian, you have a way of making me laugh—" she trailed off in consternation when the worry did not leave his face. "You're dead serious, aren't you," she said. "God, you're serious."
He nodded shortly. "It's the kind of thing you can't say right, but… he's why I'm alive, Jaq. That night I should have been killed. All these recent weeks… to tell the truth, I should be dead." He hesitated. "I don't even know why he came."
"I always thought he was a fable. Something the chorus girls and ballet rats made out of shadows to prattle about."
"Oh, he is very much alive," Raian said. "Well, he expects you, and he does not seem one to be kept waiting." A touch to the mechanism and the mirror soundlessly slid open. He hesitated by the entrance, holding out a hand. "Well," he said, "into the labyrinth…"
A/N: did you catch the "point of no return" reference? "No use resisting"… and 'into the labyrinth' I have to admit is the title of a lovely book by Weis and Hickman.
