What is it that we all look for, yearn for? A shelter from cold or the harshness of the elements? Is it bread to still our hunger, water to still our thirst? What are we to do with our lives if we are given gifts, talents unique- are we to hide them or share them? We are formed to not be solitary creatures, so do we look for friendship and companionship? Do we offer warmth and support to others, like they would to us? Kindness where kindness is lacking, help where help is needed? But life is harsh, life is often times cruel and seldom forgiving. We are faced with loss, with tragedy, with helplessness. Where then, where can we find solace, find hope, find light? What do we do if demons chase us, how do we reach out to our angels? And where is love in all this, in a world where brothers take the life of brothers, where darkness may cloud the day, selfishness suffocate goodness? Love. Is it just a word, a word void of deeper meaning, one that does nothing but cover up the flames of lust in a more becoming dress? Or is it something more, something pure something strong, something healing and forgiving? Something in many forms? Life giving, life changing? What are we without love, without the warmth of friendship? What, what can life be without love in a world where wars may rage, cruelty may hit, hunger may starve? What can it do to us if we hunger for kindness, but not finding it, feed on desperation? Poor are the souls who never encounter love!
And so she leans in more, her young lips meeting the broken ones of his, her petit hand reaching up for his scared face, him leaning in into her touch, his hands on her shoulders, looking for hold on her like a man short from drowning. As they break away she looks up toward his face, hoping her gesture could tell what no words ever could, hoping to see some peace in him, hoping to awaken at least some mercy for the one who was struggling for air- hoping she sealed her fate by saving others. The face upon which she looks is startled, and then shaken by emotion, lips rising to a smile, tears traveling down the marred skin, and his eyes, those striking blue eyes take up a look of something too fragile, too deep to comprehend. He lets his hands fall from her arms, his shoulders shaking as sobs go through his body, as a tearful laugh sounds from his mouth.
"Take her! Leave me alone! Both of you, just go!" The man in front of her shouts looking at Raoul, avoiding to look her in the eye, moving away to the shore, laugh and sobs shaking him still. Bewildered by his words she keeps standing in the middle of the lake, unsure if what she heard was true, unsure if to trust the hope that is building in her.
"What do you wait? Go and forget me, forget all of this! Go and let this fallen angel rot in Hell! Go now, go now and leave me!" He shouts again and like awakened from a dream she finally moves, her skirt heavy with water making is painfully slow to reach Raoul. Upon coming to him her fingers work quick, unknotting the rope from the gate, freeing first one hand then the other and at last his head, him finally gasping a full breath, the little cross around his neck having come out from under his shirt as he lets himself fall into her arms, as both of them hold each other for dear life.
"Christine, are you alright?"
"Yes, yes now I am."
"Let us go, let us go from here."
Arm in arm they make it to the boat, Raoul moving to pull the lever to open the gate, shouts of an angry mob that must have found a way to the maze already echoing along the walls of the cave. The Phantom is nowhere to be seen.
"Raoul, wait. Can you wait for me? For just a moment?" She can hear herself say. His expression is at first that of wonder before he turns his head in the direction of the curtains, from behind which a faint melody is now heard.
"Of course." He says and she gratefully takes his hand as he helps her on shore, staying behind by the boat while her dripping dress drags with her along to the adjacent room.
There, by the foot of the bed on the floor he sits, the man of many names and many faces, and yet in this moment there is more in his bearing the remembrance of a hurt boy then the monster that had threatened her mere moments ago. He sits there, whispering tearfully the words to the melody that comes from the musical box in front of him, a toy placed upon it, the hands of the toy moving in tempo of the song. Only now does he notice her presence, and as he turns to face her she can see the tears in his eyes.
"Christine… I love you." He whispers, and she thinks that maybe he does. Without words she looks at her hands, looks at the ring, the ring that was gifted with a promise, taken with a threat, and then given meant to bind. Bind it can't, yet it shall be a reminder nevertheless. Carefully she takes it of, and walking closer leans down to take his hand, placing the little thing in it as if it were something far more precious.
"For your kindness, and mercy, and friendship." She says before turning away, walking into the boat, taking hold of Raoul, and not glancing back.
The flames of the many torches throw harsh shadows upon the moss covered walls, water splashes as more and more intruders arrive in this underground world, not meant for unwanted visitors. Rats make way before heavy feet trump them, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. Shouts and steps echo along the dark passages, pistols and rapiers are held ready for defence of the unknown. Many of the men who call the theatre their home came hither and are now on a hunt for the monster, one or two of the women coming along as well. Among them is Meg.
She had known that there was a plan to catch the man who was terrorising the theatre this past years, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom. Christine had told her right away as it was decided. Meg hadn't been happy about the plan involving putting her friend in immediate danger, but she feared to say so and with her doubts to further frighten her friend who was already fighting for courage. Despite that, she tried to converse with her own mother to see if there couldn't be done something else, something to ease the risk of Christine going on stage as bait, but her mother had stayed firm, claiming all was already arranged. It worried Meg that her mother had seemed to know so much more of what was going on, yet decided to still shield herself away in silence. The day came and everyone was ready. Without meaning to converse with her friend during the performance she danced about the stage, following cue after cue, catching sight of police guards standing in every single balcony behind the audience, worrying of what would come next. Minutes pass, the play is near the end of its first act, and then it happens. Instead of Seigneur Piangi, another man enters the stage, the Phantom himself, for the first time for her eyes to see. The man who had been conducting from the shadows came into light, the man who had decided to take a hold on Christine now circling around her like a tiger would around a lamb. Her body years for action, and all she can do is not to jump to the stage and scream for help, but she stays unmoving, keeping eye on the guards and eye on her friend. She can see the struggle in Christine, the shaking hands, and yet the bravery as she still goes through with the act, as she carefully lies out the net for the Phantom to stumble into. It seems too easy.
And then it all goes wrong.
The sight of ruined face makes her scream in terror, searching hold onto her mother who just then stands by her side. What ghastly sight, what horrible sight! It takes not even seconds before the unmasked fiend brings down the great chandelier in a loud crash, before he takes hold of Christine and disappears under the stage. Screaming deafens any other sound as the flames begin to spread, as smoke takes away the breath. Running, running she is like everyone else, helping those most panicking to find directions to the exit, her own path set exactly in the opposite.
"Mademoiselle Meg! You need to leave this place, it isn't safe!" Jacque says, blocking her way to the main dressing-room.
"It is time to catch this murder. Let us handle this." Frederic brings in, a dagger in his hands, expression set.
"But do you know the path down there? Come, follow me! Please, monsieur Jacque! Frederic! Help me save my friend!" She implores and exhales a breath of gratitude as they agree to help. Moving past frightened masses, she leads them to the Prima Donna's dressing-room and after some attempts they manage to slide the mirror glass away, stepping into the dark passage. Their group has grown by now, candles and torches are being lit, anything that could be used as a weapon brought along. At the far back she can see Eloise and Pierre joining them, and as they step into the dark she only prays they won't be too late.
Long it takes them to find the right path, easily they nearly get lost in this maze, the Minotaur's labyrinth, until at last a flicker of light appears visible far away, and going towards it they reach a wast cave, a lavish layer. An underground palace it seems to her eyes, unfitting for this place where the air is heavy and the walls cold and rough. Great candelabra illuminate the scene, furniture stands of the finest sorts, drapes and curtains, an organ in the centre. No living soul nearby. The men take the lead now, spreading away to all sides, looking to find the villain, she not far behind. There are steps cut into the stone and she follows them, a little nook with a mannequin bearing her friends likeness where she passes, a second room at the end, furniture, rugs and a bed, all abandoned. On the floor something white catches her attention and drawing closer she pics it up. It is light in her hands, the surface even, without imperfections. It is his mask.
The Phantom meanwhile is nowhere to be found.
A new dawn breaks over Paris, shyly, softly, like the kiss of a mother upon here child, like the kiss of a lover touching his bride. A soft glow of pink and yellow fights off the dark, no cloud to mare the young morning, no harsh sound to break the virgin silence. Over the fields and roads a thin layer of snow lays, like a blanket covering away the dirt, shielding from frost the young life that will soon bloom around the country. The gentle rays of light bring with them a melody long missed, a song of renewal as the birds chirp and sing in glory of this new day. Glorious day, life giving day, merciful day! No cannons ring as the tailor opens his shop, no riffles sound as children's feet run over the street. But what, what will this new day bring? Will it bring back the death? Will it erase all the horrors that were? Return that which is forever lost? No, it would be wishful thinking to expect the simple phenomenon of sunrise to accomplish all that. The new day can only bring rest to the weary, peace to hunted, hope to the marked. Forgiveness it brings, words of solace, songs of remembrance. Can a heart begin anew after it was scared, after it was bleeding? Can a soul walk the earth after it was beaten to the ground, ripped from the body? A wondrous thing life is, for a heart may be bleeding and still beat, for a soul may be heavy and still fly. For an invisible thing does offer strength, offer warmth, offer flight, a thing called Love, that makes one put ones sorrows aside and rejoice in the happiness of the other, that makes darkness pass, makes day arrive.
Paris wakes this late Januar morning greeting a new day, a new beginning. Countless heads peek out of their homes, asking "Is this it? Are we free? Can we start anew?", and then begin their usual routine, grateful for the light, but too soon forgetting from where the darkness came. Nothing but a memory may remain of all the scars, of all the tears, yet those who do and will remember will know how fragile happiness can be, how precious kindness is.
Paris wakes and begins to live, carriages driving in the streets, people meeting in the squares, laughter ringing in the alleys, sunlight crowning the rooftops in a hallo of gold. All over the city churches ring and toil in praise of life's victory over death, lights victory over darkness. Like the pure driven snow a bride will wear her dress, like a warm summer-day the groom keep his heart. What, oh what joy life can be!
And under this bright joys, this blissful scene, another world lies, a world where the night has prevailed and will prevail, but where hence warmth has found a way to enter, where hence a single ray of light has found its way to brighten the path. Lonely will this path be, cold bones and dust the only companions, silence the only sound, night the only friend. Yet, the heart that dwells here has began to beat anew, anew in a new rhythm, a new melody. Painful are the memories of the past to him that has wallowed in blood, wallowed in anger, wallowed in hatred, and still, unexpectedly and strong came the call to turn a new direction, to see the world with different eyes. Scared this heart will forever be, and yet it will not shun the light any longer, will not envy the hearts that beat in a different song. From afar it will keep watch, from distance observe, from away rejoice.
Love has conquered, and it will not echo in the night, but embrace the day.
We did it, or to be more precise, I did it! A full, 14 chapter story! This was so challenging but also so much fun to write- to dive in deeper into characters, relationships, the historic times. I hope I did justice to the story and the characters, both Christine and Raoul have just captured my heart and deserve all the love they can get, Meg seems so overlooked by many while being such support to her best friend, and Erik is a most tragic character in the way that he may be shunned by the world but his choices were always his own.
Please everyone, remember to be kind to others.
P.S. So... I have already ideas for a sequel... but it may take me again a year to actually write it XD