Chapter 9: There was a Young Lady

There was a Young Lady whose eyes,
were unique as to color and size.
When she opened them wide,
people all turned aside,
and started away in surprise.

"There was a Young Lady" From: "A Book of Nonsense," by Edward Lear © 1861, Routledge, Warne & Routledge, Publishers

She listened to the sound of the footsteps retreating from her bedroom. She longed to rise from her bed and fly down the hall after him. She felt an almost overpowering desire, no need, to claim the man she already thought of as hers.

"How can I feel this way? I do not know anything about him. He is a complete mystery to me. I mean, I do not know what he does for a living or where he lives. I do not know if his parents are alive or if he has any brothers or sisters. I do not even know what his favorite color is. Yet, I feel as if I know everything about him. He makes me feel so ... alive! I have not felt this way in such a long time that I can barely remember the last time I did. When I looked into his eyes and he held me in his arms, my heart raced and my body burned. Oh! How beautiful are his eyes and how comforting his embrace. How strong he is. And, when he looks upon me, I know he sees me. Me, Christine Daae. He does not see the Opera Ghost or Crazy Christine. He sees beyond the mask I wear. He sees someone as lonely and lost as he is. His eyes were so full of longing..."

Her hand trembled as she raised it to run down the length of her arm, remembering the feel of his body pressing into hers. The passion she felt for this man thrust all other thoughts from her mind. She feared that if Madame could not extract his gentleman's pledge, she would never see him again and that thought frightened her.

"Please, Angel, please! Do not reveal him to me, only to take him away again. I could not bear it. I simply could not bear it. I need to know him and have him know me. More than that, I need to join with him. I burn for him. I ache for his touch! He is the other half of my soul."

Her weary mind spun and Christine groaned, feeling nauseous.

"I hope Meg returns soon." She murmured weakly.

Propping her pillows behind her and scooting carefully onto her back, Christine stared up at the ceiling as she relived each and every word, look and touch visited upon her by Erik. A subtle play of light and shadows on the ceiling above caught her attention and pushed aside her thoughts of Erik. Joy filled her eyes as she recognized the shape. She smiled and addressed the winged shadow above her.

"Hello, my Angel! I do believe I am in your debt. Please accept my most sincere and heartfelt words of thanks. Now, if you will hear this one last prayer and carry it on your swift wings to heaven I will be eternally grateful. Please, Angel, please! Let us be together, let us be happy and let us find our way to the seat of sweet music's heavenly throne. I will beg of you only this and nothing more. Amen."

Christine smiled weakly. Then, turning her head to one side, she closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Blinded by the brilliant lights, she could not determine exactly where it was she stood. The sound of an orchestra began to fill the air all about her as they played the introduction of an aria. She recognized that music. It was from the opera, "Hannibal." It was at that moment of realization that she noticed she was wearing a beautiful white dress. Startled, she lowered her eyelids just enough to cut the glare of the lights. She almost let out a gasp as she saw past the lights out into the crowded auditorium of the opera house. She stood upon the center of the stage. The audience sat and attentively waited for her to sing. She heard her cue and without missing a beat, began to sing.

"Think of me,
think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye.
Remember me, once in awhile.
Please promise me you'll try.
When you find, that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,
if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me!

We never said our love was evergreen
or as unchanging as the sea,
but if you can still remember, stop and think of me!
Think of all the things we've shared and seen.
Don't think about the way things might have been.

Think of me,
think of me waking, silent and resigned.
Imagine me trying so hard to put you from my mind.
Recall those days look back on all those times.
Think of the things we'll never do.
There will never be a day when I won't think of you!

Flowers fade.
The fruits of summer fade.
They have their seasons,
so do we.
But, please promise me that sometimes you will think...
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah...
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah...
ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaah...
of me!"¹

Her heart soared along with her voice and as she came to the end of the song, she was stunned to hear the sound of applause. She lifted her eyes to the audience and froze. They were on their feet applauding her!

"This is my first standing ovation."

And then the stage around her became thick with single flowers and small bouquets, which members of the audience tossed as a sign of their appreciation and approval. She curtsied deeply, closed her eyes and bowed her head in silent acknowledgment of their gifts and applause. She raised her head and gasped. The opera house and the crowd were gone. She stood at the bottom of a set of stone stairs, which led to her parent's mausoleum. She shivered and noticed that snow swirled lightly around her. Gone was the lovely white dress. She was clad in a simple black skirt and a plain white blouse with a black lace shawl draped about her shoulders. In her hands, she carried a small bouquet of dying roses. Her limbs felt heavy with her grief as she climbed the steps. As she trod upon the final tread, her legs succumbed to her lethargy and she collapsed. She lay weeping in the snow, missing a mother she never had and a father gone too soon. She felt a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder and raised her head. He was clad all in black and his face hidden within the hood of his cloak. Releasing his hold on her shoulder, he offered her his hand, which she immediately accepted. Her eyes focused solely upon the elegantly gloved hand, she failed to notice that the scene about her had shifted once more. As she tore her eyes away from her companion's hand, she gasped in shock. She stood before a priest, the snowflakes, which had come to rest on her head, transformed into a veil of sheerest white taffeta. The man, whom she now recognized as Erik, smiled at her. She could see the quiet joy in his eyes and then he turned to face the priest. Suddenly, the priest's voice boomed as he recited the marriage vows. Christine felt all eyes in the room turn in silent expectation towards her.

"What..." She began hesitantly.

"Well, do you?" The priest's voice sounded both amused and impatient.

"Père, do I what?" Her small voice queried.

Sudden laughter sounded all around Christine. She attempted to flee from the mocking cacophony of voices all around her, but found she could not extricate her fingers from the firm grip of the hand possessively holding hers. Her gaze fell upon their joined hands and interwoven fingers. Her eyes ran up the black clad arm and halted as she locked her gaze with the man's beautiful deep emerald green eyes. The warmth of his eyes brought peace to her soul and wrapped her body in a blessed silence. He arched his eyebrow and inclined his head in the direction of the priest.