Past, Present, Future

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The Beauty of Living

A note from the authoress—

And a good day to you, my phriends!  I wrote up this little phiclet a while back but have until now danced about the issue of posting it.  Nothing too in-depth this time, I'm afraid: just a short, sweet little escapade into the lives of people who are utterly changed by love.  E/C pairing, as usual, with all due credit given to M. Webber for his inspirational musical…and, as a note of warning, the entire first section here is composed of just talking, so if you are confused as to who is speaking, may I suggest bringing your POTO libretto along to read as you go… 

In any case, I hope you will very much enjoy this.  Please r&r.  ^_^

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 "Start a new life with me! Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me, and you will send this boy to his death! This is your choice – this is the point of no return!"

"No, Erik."

"Christine, forgive me, please forgive me – I did it all for you, and all for nothing…"

"Farewell, my fallen idol and false friend! One by one I've watched illusions shattered…"

"You're past all hope of cries for help; there's no point in fighting, ma petite, for either way you choose, you cannot win! So now, tell me – will you end your days with me, or will you send him to his grave?"

"Why make her lie to you, to save me?"

Angel of Music…

"You're past the point of no return, little one…"

"For pity's sake, Christine, say no!"

Why this torment?

"The final threshold…do you remember?"

"Don't throw your life away for my sake!"

When will you see the truth…?

"His life is now the prize which you must earn!"

"I fought so hard to free you!"

Angel of Music…

"There's no way out – you cannot go back now!  You try my patience – make your choice!"

I choose you.

"Track down the murderer – find him!" "Hunt out the animal!" "He's preyed on us too long! The Phantom of the Opera is here! Find him!" "Revenge for Piangi! Revenge for Buquet! The creature must never go free!"

"Take her – forget me, forget all of this – leave me alone – forget all you've seen!  Go now – don't let them find you! Take the boat – leave me here – go now, don't wait!  Just take her and go – before it's too late… Go…  Go now – GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"

Christine, I loved you…

"Christine…Christine!"

Say you'll share with me one love,
One lifetime…
Say the word and I will follow you…
Share each day with me,
Each night, each morning…

No more talk of darkness –
Forget these wide-eyed fears…
I'm here:
Nothing can harm you,
My words will warm and calm you…

Let me be your freedom,
Let daylight dry your tears…
I'm here:
With you, beside you,
To guard you and to guide you…

"I couldn't ever leave you."

Oh wonders!

Say you love me every waking moment –
Turn my head with talk of summertime…
Say you need me with you, now and always…
Promise me that all you say is true –
Christine, that's all I ask of you!

Let me be your shelter,
Let me be your light –
You're safe:
No one will find you,
Your fears are far behind you!

All I want is freedom –
A world with no more night!
And you,
Always beside me,
To hold me and to hide me!

Then say you'll share with me one love,
One lifetime…
Let me lead you from your solitude…
Say you want me

With you, here, beside you…
Anywhere you go, let me go too…
That's all I ask of you…

Say you'll share with me one love,
One lifetime –
Say the word and I will follow you…
Share each day with me,
Each night, each morning…

Say you love me…

You know I do…

Love me, that's all I ask of you!

Anywhere you go, let me go too…

Love me, that's all I ask of you…

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Eight years had passed, and their perfect world still endured – the happy ending had only barely begun.  No longer did the shadows or darkness and doubt stand to threaten their very existence: no longer did hate and fear menace their lives.  No, now all they had was happiness, and love, the sweetest of all things in life. 

Perhaps their futures had turned out differently than what most people would have wished for – but it was true that they had more joy and love in their hearts than could be imagined.  He now utilized his unbelievable genius to create incredible works of art: building designs, music, and much more, while she sang his music at home – for him and for their children – and taught it in the charming little village nearby.  And together, they cherished and raised three beautiful children, in the sprawling castle that they had bought and renovated shortly after their small, unobtrusive, but lovely wedding.

Nothing could be more beautiful.

These thoughts – memories of the past that played in his mind like some sort of surreal stage performance – occupied his mind this night as he lay awake in bed.  His train of thought coming to a gentle, almost unnoticeable close, he turned a little to the side and looked down on the sleeping form of his beautiful wife.  She was lying on her side, dark curls spread out like a sunburst over the white linen pillow that her head rested upon, dark lashes veiling sapphire-blue eyes, pale skin shining in the night shadows.  Even as she slept, a soft smile curved her flawless lips. 

Finding that a slight smile was playing about his own mouth, he moved again, sitting up slightly, and reached over to caress a stray curl away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.  She stirred at his touch, stretching languorously beneath the white sheets, and snuggled closer to his warmth, curving around him even as she slept. 

He smiled again and whispered to her, "You are beautiful, do you know that, ma petite?  Perfectly beautiful."

Silence, for a moment.

"And I love you so much."

There was a slight stirring in the soft blankets within the lacy white bassinet at the end of their huge canopied bed, and then some fretful noises, and finally, a little voice broke into a bout of piteous, although adorable, wailing.  Beside him, the Sleeping Beauty stirred – hearing the plaintive call of her child even through her subconscious – and her blue eyes flickered open.  She sat up, sleepily, and he put a hand on her shoulder, murmuring, "Back to sleep, mon ange.  I'll tend to it."

But she shook her head, a wry smile coming onto her lips then, and replied, softly, "No – that's a feeding-time cry I hear, and she's not taken to exhibiting great patience yet…"

"Or sleeping through the night, for that matter." Erik remarked, a playful curve to his mouth, watching as Christine eased her legs off of the bed and stood up, crossing the room with a practiced grace to the bassinet, which she leaned over: her wealth of dark curls falling over her shoulder like a curtain with that movement.  He got out of bed as well as she reached into the bassinet, cooing soothingly, "Ah, my little angel – what troubles you this night?  Is it time for something to eat?  Don't cry so, sweet.  Mama's here, Mama's here…"

Her clear, bell-like soprano turned those words into a song. 

Moving across the room, her white silk nightgown glimmering when the moon's light, filtering in through the nearby windows, happened to chance upon it.  He watched as she curled herself, and their newborn infant, into a chair that had been pulled up beside those windows and set about comforting her as only a mother could; then, he crossed the room himself and moved down the hall beyond with a silent, almost panther-like grace. 

In a few moments, he was looking in through the doorway of a nursery bedroom: two little boys, one aged seven and the other five, slept peacefully in their beds.  The elder was lying on his back, propped up by a mountain of goose down pillows, and had an open book on the bed beside him, covers still open, almost hidden by the bedclothes, and his dark, dark brown hair was mussed over his pale young forehead.  The younger was all chaos: one leg flung out from underneath the coverlet, the other buried beneath it, one arm flung about his head and its mop of golden-brown hair, the other curled into a fist beside his face, cheeks flushed with a healthy glow.

"Ah, Michel," said his father softly: a fondly deploring look coming across his features, and shook his head. "You are an imp."

Without a noise to stir them from their sleep, he entered the room and removed the book from the older boy's arms, whispering that he'd better not let Tatiana the Maid catch him reading in bed, into the late night hours, and tucking the younger boy back into the covers, properly.  "You two are among my most beloved in all my life – don't ever forget that," he told them softly, and kissed them both before making his exit and returning to the bedchamber that he shared with his wife and their newest little cherub.

When she saw him in the doorway, Christine's eyes took on a warm, loving glow: pleased at his presence there.  Erik smiled back at her and crossed the room, coming to sit on the floor beside her chair, reaching up to let the drowsy baby's fingers grip his own unnaturally long, slender digits with a strength that never ceased to shock and amaze him.  Gazing upon the little form that rested within his beautiful Angel's arms with a look of wonder and delight in his mismatched eyes, he said, his voice an awed murmur, "She's so incredible, Christine."

She laughed softly.

"Well, most fathers say that their babies are, my love."

But he shook his head, still gazing at the child in awe.

"No – she really is incredible…I can't describe it.  She's just…incredible."

He looked up at her.

"She's so much like you.  I see more of you within her every day – the look that she gets in her eyes when she's been surprised by a sudden loud noise, or when Michel and Julien put their faces close to hers…it reminds me so much of you.  It's startling." He confessed this with a bit of a sheepish, lopsided grin. "And she has your eyes."

"And your voice." Christine came back at him, playfully.  He shot her a mock-reproving glare. 

"I am not certain whether I should take offense to that or not, Madame."

But she made the same soft, cooing noise that she had earlier to soothe their fretful infant and leaned towards him, delicate fingertips reaching out to touch his face gently.

"Oh, it's not so bad, Monsieur Erik…"

He got up, gesturing for her to give him the child, and she did so, watching as he gathered the baby and her seemingly infinite mound of blankets into his arms, holding his tiny daughter against his chest with the carefulness and gentleness that babies required and deserved.  The tiny baby girl moved within her father's arms, sleeping contentedly with the sound of his deep, regular heartbeat and breathing as her lullaby.  When he next raised his eyes to hers, they were shining with an extraordinary light.

"This is us, Christine," he told her, wonderingly. "This is you in her, and me.  Can anything be more amazing?"

She stood and came to stand beside him; he slipped one powerful, loving arm about her slender waist, and they both gazed down upon their child, with the air that only parents can muster.  Finally, Christine made a noise of agreement and nodded her head.

"It is amazing, Erik – but we all are, my love."

Together, they put the baby back into her bassinet, and this time, there was no movement from within it.  Then, Erik turned to Christine, setting his broad, strong shoulders straight with an air of resolution and knowledge about him.

"You're right," he said. "We all are."

Then he – Erik Dessler, former Angel of Death, Phantom of the Opera, and Angel of Music, now passionately loving father and husband – held out his hands to her, and she put her own hands within his, and he drew her close to him, smiling down into her eyes.

"This is true."

And in the motherly, soft glow of the moon, they came together in a kiss: a kiss which bespoke of a love more boundless than time itself, of vows made and kept, and a wholeness incomprehensible to the rest of the world attained…

Fin

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