Readers,
It is short, I know, but I felt I needed to post, and a brief explanation of upcoming events had to be presented. I just checked, and I have 101 reviews as of posting! Thank you to all my wonderful people, and to quote Sally Field, "You like me! You really like me!"
The song quotes in this chapter are not mine, they belong to Ronan Hardiman and Frank Musker, who wrote this song, "La Fiamma Sacra (The Sacred Flame)", for the opera band Amici forever's album Defined. I highly recommend it. As always, enjoy!
S.R.
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She passed a week in constant thought of how to stay at the opera. She could not longer be on stage, that much she knew. She could not do anything that required lifting or careful movement; walking would be enough of a trouble. What was there in the opera house that could accommodate her?
She could become a maid. It was lesser work, but it was work, and the work staff was allowed to stay in their dormitories if they didn't have other housing. She sighed. It was the only thing she could do. She would speak to M. Lefevre as soon as she could walk.
She sat on her bed, lost in her thoughts. Songs filled her head. Music had become a constant companion since she moved to the Opera House, and thoughts of it brought back the tunes of long ago. Her father had been a violinist, she knew. He had not been great; it was a hobby, not a job. His songs spoke of everything, from funny songs about a shepherd boy and a nymph to songs so deep she hadn't understood, only felt.
"Born with the voice of an angel," she intoned, feeling the song work its way from the recesses of her memory to her lips. "A boy with the earth on his hands. For this child of the lowly fate had made other plans."
Her song took on more depth as she struggled to envision her father playing the song. His voice was a rich tenor, and enveloping sound that was the sole reason the family gathered together. Her mother only stopped her 'engagements' to listen to the sound of his voice. "He was only a man of the people with barely his clothes to his name, but when he sang, there was magic touched by love's sacred flame - la fiamma sacra."
Her memory broke there. Her father had gone away, she hadn't known why, taking his violin, his voice, his music, his love. She had forgotten song; it had abandoned her, so she turned her face from it. Time had passed in the oppressing silence. When she had come to the Opera House, it had still been noise to her, until she met Erik. "Holy fire in his soul, born to conquer the dark. A man who came – to carry the flame awakening – la fiamma sacra."
"A world of fabulous stories came to life in his song. With a gift for the whole of creation, he gave not for fortune or fame; a simple man – blessed with magic…" She could sing no longer. Her sacred flame was flickering. She feared the impending darkness with all her being. The thought of it made her shiver.
Behind the wall, Erik's chest was contracted with an odd feeling. Her song, though not sung with a diva's voice, had been beautiful in its feeling. He had been meaning to visit Cecily, to discuss her Russian and math lessons, but he could bring himself to enter the room. He raced back down the tunnels to his lair and stared at the room. It was so dark. He had not been upset with the darkness before, but now, something had changed. He entered the bedroom and began to tinker with the gas lamps.
One would always burn in this darkness, a source of angelic light to the depths of hell. He was unsure if it would torture him all the more, this reminder of the world he could not have, or if it would comfort him. It did not matter. He would not give it up for anything.