Page 44 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
Lanston
Ophelia’s operahouse is much drearier in the daylight. With the black wooden planks that are weathered and hardly holding together, it’s a miracle they haven’t torn this place down. The windows are cracked but the plants that line the outside are beautiful. In a sense, her opera house resembles the haunted building it truly is.
Oh, Ophelia, you poetic soul.
It’s more endearing during the day, the things she’s collected and taken a liking to. Music flutters through the tall ceilings and I lean my head against her sofa to enjoy it. Ophelia has an old music player plugged into a sound system. “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dollsplays somberly through the rafters. I lift my eyes and find her dancing slowly up on the opera stage.
Ophelia wanted to dance one last time on her stage before we embark on our journey. She wears a beautiful crimson dress, long and languid, fluttering softly with her movements. Thesleeves come down to her wrists, and the neckline dips low, revealing her cleavage.
Her eyes are closed, and the soft lift of her lips reveals the peace she’s feeling. I watch her perfect and practiced movements; her muscles flex against the light, shadows dancing beneath in tandem.
My heart eases and I lean forward on the couch, setting my elbows on my knees as I take her in. Ophelia lifts her gaze and those heavy, beautiful eyes fall on me. Her stare is unsettling, not in a way of discomfort, but in a way I haven’t experienced before. Every time she looks at me, I know she sees far more than what lies on the surface. She sees the darkness, the damage. But it’s coveting and warm.
Her feet slow and she comes to a stop, offering me a timid smile as she brushes her mauve hair behind her ear.
I rise from the sofa and meet her at the broken stage, extending my hand. My heart flutters when she takes it.
A relieved smile spreads over my lips.
“Let’s ride a train first. Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care.”
As long as I’m with you,I want to say.
Ophelia takes a deep breath and looks around her opera house one last time. Afraid to leave it all behind, perhaps. “Will we get to come back? I have plants to care for,” she frets.
I grin. “If not, we’ll find our new home.”
Her eyes grow round with a desire for answers.
“Ournew home?” she says cheekily.
My face warms, but before I can respond she intertwines her fingers with mine, filling me with the sensation of being pressed close to someone you’re not sure you can ever really have. Her lips are soft, begging for affection.
She notices me staring and raises her other hand, gently brushing her thumb across the tenderness of my lower lip. Myheart skips four beats and the intoxicating scent of honeysuckles and roses swarms me.
I kiss her tenderly, like two people who’ve been courting for a century. But there is another craving I’m foreign to that beckons deep within me, a want to bury my teeth into the softness of her skin and be rough—to be as cruel as she can be.
“Do you have headphones we can share?” she asks against my lips with a loose grin.
“Hm?” I blink to focus.
Ophelia grabs her music player, tossing it to me. I barely manage to catch it. “For our train ride.”
My cheeks flush and I nod like an idiot, stricken with the thoughts of us lying close, listening to the same songs.
She laughs at me, grabbing her bag filled with clothes and notebooks.
“Where to, Nevers?”
I’ve never been great at goodbyes, but something deep in my soul is changing. Maybe it’s been everyone leaving Harlow. The loneliness that I’ve had to face. But when Ophelia and I stop at the institution to get my things, I’m relieved to see Jericho’s SUV out front.
Yelina helps him unload the vehicle, but Poppie is nowhere to be found.
Their heads lift as we approach and Yelina brightens, her cheeks rosy and eyes puffy. Has she been crying? I park my motorcycle in the driveway beside the car.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Poppie?” I ask. Ophelia keeps her hands clasped with worry; she must sense something is amiss, too. Yelina covers her eyes and cries; the black hoodie she wears belongs to Jericho.
Jericho approaches me, laying his arm over my shoulders in a side hug, and says sadly, “She decided to stay in Rome. Her family line extends there, and it was important for her to learn her roots.”
