The Perfect Solution
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.
Ode on a Grecian Urn
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness!
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never, canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal – yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou have not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy, boughs! That cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! More happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O! Attic shape! Fair attitude! With brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! Dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'
John Keats (1795–1821)
Chapter Twenty-Four – More Sweetly than our Rhyme
Erik interrupted her reverie.
"A boy of 13 came to your rescue. He scooped you up into his arms and sang to you to calm you. Then, he brought you back to your father."
Her wary eyes darkened.
"Yes, he sang to me. He sang "All the Pretty Little Ponies." He comforted me and then my father was there again. How did you know?" She whispered.
He smiled.
"That boy was me."
Christine's reaction to Erik's words caused his heart to drop into the pit of his stomach. She leapt to her feet and Erik silently swore that she looked ready to flee from him, but he would have none of it. He swiftly rose and took a gentle hold on her arm.
"I need to tell you something. Please stay."
He released her arm and waited for her response. Her eyes darted about the roof, absorbing every detail around them, everything on the roof and studiously avoiding his eyes. And, still he stood unmoving and waited patiently.
"She is worth the wait."
He felt a surge of triumph rush through his being as she finally brought her eyes to meet his own. She nodded and returned to sit in their cloak-lined burrow. She weakly smiled up at him.
"Very well, Erik. I am listening. What is it you need to say?"
He joined her to huddle with her in the cloaks.
"It is going to snow any day now. Oh, stop it! Just tell her already! Coward!"
"Christine, I do believe in my inexperience that I have neglected something, something very important."
He took her left hand in both of his and rubbed his thumb over the kid leather glove, which covered his ring on her finger. He looked deeply into her eyes and allowed all of the love he felt for her to shine through his eyes.
"Christine Daae, I love you."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
She sat before the fire, which she lit against the coldness of the night and the frost on her heart. In her hand, she held a cup of tea, which had gone cold long ago.
"Where could they be? Surely, if he found her, he would bring her back here. He would not …. Then, on the other hand, with the mood he was in when he first arrived …."
She shook her head and sighed.
"It appears that I am in for a very long and extremely worrisome night. Perhaps, now would be a good time to speak with Megan about her passions."
The woman sighed and rose from her chair.
"I believe I need to fortify myself for this night. I think I will make myself some coffee first."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
If he had given the matter any serious consideration, Erik probably would have admitted to himself that he did not believe his declaration would cause Christine to feel any differently. His thoughts most likely following along the lines of something like, after all I asked her to marry me. I would not have proposed to her if I did not love her, but in truth, women are a mass of contradicting emotions. His last coherent thought before he lost himself for a time in her heated kisses and limbs being.
"Raoul was correct. She did need to hear me say this."
When they at last broke their kiss in order to catch their breath, Erik silently thanked God that it was such a cold night. Otherwise, he would have lost the battle to safeguard Christine's virtue and honor his promise to Madame Giry. He also was truly grateful that Christine wore breeches as that provided her with an additional safeguard against his barely contained need.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Christine's mind whirled in the aftermath of Erik's declaration of love.
"He loves me! He does! He does! He truly does! Oh, thank you God! Thank you!"
As the kisses she shared with Erik heated in intensity, her mind spiraled into a world consisting solely of sensation. She reveled in the delight his touch caused both her body and her mind. She knew the sweet meaning of ecstasy in the sound of each intake of his breath, in the feel of the warm shivers of his breath upon her cheek caused her. She at last understood the enchantment that comes from touching someone you love, which she only heretofore read about in romance novels. After spending the majority of her life feeling reviled, she at long last knew contentment.
"And, we still have not crossed the point of no return. On our wedding night, I wonder what mysteries we shall explore. What bliss do we yet have to know? Oh! How I long for we two to be as one."
It was at that moment she realized that the part of her she knew to be the opera ghost began to die. And, her heart rejoiced at this awareness for never until this moment had she so fervently desired to see something die as she did the opera ghost.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
The young man paced before his cold fireplace. His mind relentless in its self-recrimination. Raoul knew what he wanted, but felt powerless to obtain it.
"No one will accept our marriage. The nightingale cannot love the rose. And yet, I do. I love her! I must decide. Do I love Meg enough to forfeit my title and inheritance? Yes, I do. If I am forced to forsake my inheritance, how shall I support a wife and, someday, God willing, children? If only Phillipe were married then I would not feel such a responsibility to marry well and be able to present heirs to my parents. Damn him! He can have his flings, yet, I cannot! Why is it that my parents hound me to marry? They do not hound Phillipe as they do me. Can I spend the rest of my life in a marriage to someone I do not love when I have found the one person I will love for the rest of my life? No! Not only can I not do this, I will not do it! Meg is a good person. I know her to be honest and intelligent. She is witty and fun. She is beautiful and wonderful. And, I swear by all that is holy, I shall make her my wife. Come what may, we shall wed and consequences be damned!"
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Ragged breathing was the only audible sound floating on the cold night breeze. The man and woman fought to bring their breathing under control, as they simply held one another, marveling in the perfection of the moment. As silence reigned once more, Erik spoke quietly his lips pressed softly against the top of Christine's mass of curls.
"I am sorry, ma chère. I think it best if I escort you to your home. When I last left Madame Giry, she was most concerned over your disappearance and I assured her that I would return you to her post haste. I fear I allowed you to sidetrack me, but I cannot in good conscience allow the poor woman to fret over you a moment longer. Come, my dear. Let us return."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
The sudden warmth of a body pressed along side hers drew Meg from her turbulent slumber. Alarm coursed through her mind, until she recognized the wild mass of curls, which assaulted her nose.
"Christine!" She hissed. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Meg! I am sorry that I awoke you, but I simply had to tell someone or I felt as if I would burst!"
The young woman yawned widely then frowned as she quickly sat up in the bed.
"Is something wrong, Christine? Are you all right?"
She brushed her straight, blonde hair from her eyes and peered into the darkness in an attempt to see her friend's face. Meg felt relieved and annoyed at the soft chuckle she heard in response.
"What?"
"Oh, Meg! He loves me! I know he does because he told me so." She spoke quietly then almost as if, she were talking to herself she continued. "Oh, Erik! You love me and I love you too! And, I always will."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Erik sighed as he slid back into the cold bedclothes and pulled them tightly around his body.
"Well, I told her and she did not run away from me. I can only hope that someday she will tell me how she feels. I am so looking forward to our dinner engagement tomorrow, no, tonight."
He sighed once more.
"Oh, Christine! I love you!"
Author's Note: I am truly humbled by both the number of reviews and the positive nature of the reviews I am receiving. I believe that I have been diligent in responding to all of you, but fear that one or two of you may have fallen through the cracks of my mental faculties. I would, therefore, like to thank ALL of you for your wonderful reviews! I hope that everyone enjoyed this peaceful and somewhat fluffy chapter. --ny