The Crystal Rainbow

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

Is it better to wallow for a day in bliss, or wander for a lifetime in woe?
Perhaps, the more apt question, do I really need to ask?

A Fool's Book of Wisdom

Chapter Twenty-Five – Bliss

"Yes, mon amour?" She purred.

"We cannot do this! The storm …." He panted.

She smirked and leaned into him once more.

"Oh, Erik, I see things clearly now. I have embraced the storm and we need fear it no more. Later tonight, we must talk, but now is for the two of us. And, I need you to take me. Please, make me yours! We have waited so long and been so patient. I feel that if you do not love me, I shall explode. Take me, Erik, unless you do not want me, of course. Otherwise, shut up and kiss me! Now!"

She sat stiffly wrapped within the rigid embrace of the wooden rocking chair and stared blankly out her bedroom window, her mind lost in silent contemplation of how different her life was from the one she envisioned as a child. As a girl, she believed she led a charmed life and dreamed of the day her handsome prince would come to claim her heart, then carry her away to their happily ever after. Instead, as a young woman, she lost her childish notions of happiness and love one bright afternoon. Her treasured hopes and dreams ripped away from her along with her innocence. It was at her weakest moment that Helen allowed her anger to take control. She shuddered at the memory of her blind rage and the power of the storm it released. In less than a minute, the sunny day turned dark, the sky filled with roiling thunderheads. In less than two minutes, the first raindrops fell, pelting the carnival revelers and causing them to flee. In less than five minutes, the carnival grounds became deserted and the single bolt of lightning raced from the heavens, pierced through the canvas tent and bore through a man's heart. Those five minutes decided the course of Helen's life. Those five minutes tested her character and found her unworthy of the power entrusted to her. With the knowledge afforded by her years spent in penance, Helen looked back and for the first time, felt the true horror of what she caused that day.

"No matter what he did to me, I did not have the right to take his life. I wonder if he had a wife and children. I gave no thought that my actions might affect others. I acted as a child does when it is hurt and struck out blindly without thought. What he did was vile and wrong, but he did not kill me. Others have suffered the same horror I did and survived without seeking vengeance. Others used the goodness of their souls to forgive. Instead, I used my power to exact my revenge. I guess the fates decided my face should reflect the ugliness of my blighted soul. I have no right to bewail my unrequited love. All these years I paid lip service to my crime, but never did my heart accept my culpability. No wonder I have not found forgiveness. I never asked for it. I allowed hatred to fester in my heart and I wallowed in self-pity. But, Nadir …. Oh, Nadir. You are the other half of me. The two of us destined to meet and be together. I have no one to blame for my life alone, but me. And, now I understand the worst thing I did that day is that I condemned you to that same fate. A lifetime alone. I am so sorry for everything. I am such a fool."

At that moment, the last blocks of the wall around Helen's heart became dust and disappeared. The woman wept, but not for herself. She wept for the murdered man and she wept for Nadir. She wept for Nadir and remembered.

For years following that fateful trip to the carnival, Helen kept her heart locked away from the world. She performed the rituals required by her power and used her gift of healing as needed, but she refused to feel anything for the people with whom she had contact. It was not until her travels brought her to Persia that everything changed and her carefully built wall cracked.

"It did not take much, either. It only took looking into your eyes and my defenses began to fall apart. It only took you, Nadir. Just you." She mused sadly.

One day after dismissing her guide, Helen set off to explore the city of Mazandarin. The woman donned robes similar to those of the native women, but instead of covering her face with a veil, she shielded her face from view within the folds of a deep hood attached to the shapeless gown. From her previous forays into the city, she knew of the city's three different sectors and decided to avoid the governing sector. An unescorted woman walking down the street would attract unwanted attention and Helen wished to avoid any unnecessary confrontations with the Shah's representatives. She spent the morning wandering through the residential quarter and marveling at the dwellings there. The gold domed roofs, lush gardens and tempting fountains amazed Helen with their beauty. Continuing to walk along the same narrow, crooked street Helen found herself standing in the central square of the business quarter's bazaar.

She slowly spun about taking in the sights visible to her eyes down each of the narrow arcades, which branched off from the square. The woman frowned at the seeming chaos of the marketplace and wondered how she would ever successfully navigate the maze of shops without losing her way, while still finding the items she wished to purchase. Her back ached, her feet burned and she felt sticky from the oppressive heat. She scanned the shops lining the square and bit back a sigh of relief as she spied an outdoor café. She slipped into a seat at an empty table. A waiter quickly arrived and without lifting his eyes to Helen's face, began speaking in halting Russian. When Helen cleared her throat, the man stopped and quickly resumed his speech in a faltering attempt at French. At last, Helen took pity on the man and stopped him with a single word in Farsi. A look of relief shot across the waiter's features and he shyly raised his eyes to catch a glimpse of the foreign woman seated at the table before him. Helen resignedly watched as the man's curious eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. The curious sparkle left his eyes, replaced with horrified shock and revulsion. But, Helen found that she had to give the man credit for his nerve, as he remained standing before her, his eyes lowered once more, waiting to take her order. There had been other men, who after taking in the sight of her face turned and ran. Helen inwardly sighed. She made a weak attempt to distract her feelings away from the hurt his reaction caused and ran her eyes over the length of the waiter's body. This time she did not restrain her sigh as his loose, dark brown robes revealed nothing of the man beneath them and, thus, provided her with no diversion from her misery. Her eyes moved over his lowered head, his face hidden behind the cascading tendrils of his long, tightly curled, black hair. The only plainly visible part of the man was his hands. She studied his filthy hands with their chipped and grime encrusted nails. He held his hands, palm-to-palm, with steepled fingers before his waist without trembling. She grimaced at the thought of him touching her food, but knew she would find the same at any café she visited here. She clenched her teeth as her stomach rumbled a protest, calling out a hungry demand for food. She sighed and without glancing at the tattered piece of grimy cloth that served as a menu, she rattled off her order of mast va khiar yogurt with cucumbers, khoresht-e-fesenjan chicken in pomegranate sauce with a side of nan-e barbari Persian flat bread and shole-e zard rice pudding for dessert. She requested the man bring a pot of elma cay apple tea or if that were not available, a cup of kahve Turkish coffee, while she waited for her food. He bowed slightly at the waist and hurriedly withdrew.

With a swish of rough brown fabric and a shadow, which passed swiftly by her table, Helen found a cup of thick, hot kahve placed before her. She nursed the strong brew and listened to the sounds of the marketplace around her. As the waiter served each passing course, Helen could feel the air thickening with the man's building tension. Her attempt at allaying his fears with gentle words of thanks failed and she felt his sense of unease grow ever stronger. Realizing she could do nothing to convince the man she did not possess the evil eye, she ate as quickly as she could, making no pretense of enjoying the food, only wishing to finish and leave. The food sat heavily in her stomach as she rose, removed a few coins from a pocket hidden among the folds of her robe, tossed them onto the table and hurriedly left.

"At least I rested my back and feet. Now, if I can just ask my questions without anyone else seeing my face, learning which arcade has the shops selling the medicinal roots and herbs should be simple as each arcade contains a group of stores selling the same types of goods."

Fortune seemed to shine upon Helen for her keen ears overheard two men speaking about one of the items she wished to purchase and she decided to take a chance and follow the men. She cautiously trailed along in the men's wake and they unknowingly led her to the arcade she wanted without her having to risk a conversation with anyone else.

While searching through the shops for new roots and herbs to expand her stores of healing potions and salves, she noticed a shop that drew her attention because of its difference from all the other shops along the arcade. It did not contain the bundles of dried herbs hanging from ceiling-mounted racks or the rows of wooden drawers filled with roots or dried animal parts. The shop sat at the end of a cul-de-sac. A midnight blue and white striped awning lined the front of the shop, making the interior a contrast of dark and bright, even at midday. Yet, if she were honest with herself, it was not the shop that attracted her interest, but the shop's owner. Unlike the other men that loudly proclaimed the superiority of their goods over those of their fellows or tugged at her robes as she passed to capture her notice, this man sat quietly in the rear of his stall, almost hidden amongst the shadows and waited for his customers to come to him. Her eyes wandered over the goods he displayed and she smiled as her gaze fell upon an unusual trinket. She studied the toy with a keen interest, appreciating the obvious craftsmanship that its creator put into its making. The object, which drew her interest, was a small monkey with sparkling amber eyes, wearing Persian robes with a bejeweled and feathered turban atop its head. The tiny creature sat perched atop a black lacquered wooden box and held two small brass cymbals in its hands. The box had mother of pearl inlaid in geometric patterns. As Helen studied the ornately dressed monkey and the clean simplicity of the box, she marveled at the perfect balance of its design. Her travels had taken her through most of Europe and parts of Egypt, India, New Zealand, Australia and China. While visiting China, she learned of the concept of Yin and Yang, the universal need for balance in all things. Taking the box into her hands, Helen felt a momentary rush of peace flood her senses, which left her tingling and burning with a need for more. Her eyes turned to the stall's vendor and she lifted the treasure, making it visible to the man.

"How much …?"

The sound of her voice surprised her with its roughness. She cleared her throat and began again.

"How much, Monsieur?"

The robed figure slipped from his stool and seemed to glide from shadow to shadow, moving across the stall, stopping once he stood behind the display case upon which the small box had formerly rested. Helen took note that it appeared the man was of medium height and with a lean, well-formed build. He stepped into a sunlit strip and Helen lost her ability to form cognizant thought as he raised his head. Warm, dark brown eyes met cold, pale blue. The world briefly stopped for Helen before resuming in a mad swirl of emotions.

"Oh, Goddess! He is beautiful!" She thought, as her world seemed to rock back and forth, as it slipped away into darkness.

The old woman fought to blink back the tears brought on by her guilt and bittersweet memories. She slapped her arm against the armrest of the rocker and a look of fierce determination sobered her features.

"Somehow, I need to set things right … for all of us."

"Helen, you just …."

Diamanté's words ended abruptly as a wave of static electricity rolled through the room, its force knocking the rocking chair backwards and sending Helen rolling across the floor.

"Ah, bloody hell!" Helen moaned. As she lay on the floor, she pressed her hands tightly to her throbbing temples in a vain attempt to massage away the pain. "What the fuck was that?"

Helen dragged herself to her hands and knees then staggered unsteadily to her feet. She closed her eyes and rubbed her palms fiercely against them, as she tried to clear her blurry vision. Lowering her hands from her face, she stood swaying slightly in the middle of the room while blinking owlishly. She turned to go seek out Nadir, but a movement glimpsed at the periphery of her vision caught her attention. Instinctively, she turned towards it and gasped. Rushing to the small mirror, she studied the image looking back at her. While the face was no longer as young as the last time she had worn it, she did recognize it as her own. Happy tears streamed from her eyes. She wanted to rush from the room and find someone, anyone, to tell her that the sight in the mirror was not a dream. But, her feet would not move, fearful that if her eyes left the image before her, it would disappear and the next time she caught sight of her face, it would appear cursed once more. The sound of tinkling, bell-like laughter rushed through her mind, distracting her rapt inspection of her face.

"Welcome home, Helen. It is about time, too! Now, go! He waits for you!"

"Um … he? Who?"

The answer rushed impatiently into her mind, surprising her with its vehemence.

"Why, Nadir, of course! Have you taken leave of your senses? Pull yourself together! Now, enough talk; go to him. He is in the barn. Do you not think he has waited long enough for you?"

Helen nodded her agreement. Without another word, hiked her now too voluminous gown off the floor and ran.

"Oh, Christine! Of course, I want you! How can you ask me that? But … well, ah … damn it! But, what about you? Are you certain this is what you want? Because, I must be honest with you, mon amour, once we start this, I fear I will not find the strength of will to stop, so I need for you to be sure."

Christine watched with fascination as a flush spread across his visible cheek and he turned his head away from her to hide his shame. Shaking her head, she reached a hand out for him and turned him back to her. She stood with his chin cupped in the palm of her hand and their eyes met. In her eyes, he saw the deep passion that burned there as well as a gentle, true love and it dwelt there with her complete acceptance of him as a man and with such an unshakable certainty that it swept away the last vestiges of his resistance. Erik quivered and a moan escaped his mouth as he surrendered to her will. His lips crashed down upon hers and the fire, which lay banked just beneath the surface of the man and woman's consciousness, burst into brilliant flame. Their mouths locked, their tongues dipped, swirled and danced in their own private tango of bliss. Soon, their whimpers and sighs grew into heated moans and groans. Their inferno fanned to an even greater intensity as their hands caressed and their bodies ground against one another. The conflagration of their passion consumed their bodies and eroded all thought from them as they wordlessly slipped to the floor.

Author's Note: I would like to wish everyone the Happiest of New Years! God bless us, each and every one! Now, you know what to do...feed the kitty! Read and Review, please? Fondest wishes, --ny