Page 61 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
Lanston
How canit be that you come to know someone more than you know yourself? I would know her in any life, this I am certain. I don’t believe in such things, but should reincarnation be real… I’m beginning to think Ophelia is my eternity. We would find each other in every life or death, even as phantoms. We would know, just as I do now. Our souls call and beckon, waiting for the inevitable joining of us.
She looks at me the way Wynn used to, but more. She unshackles me and helps me spread my wings, encourages me to find the light I seek, joining me in my adventure. She is a spark of desire and uncontainable affection.
I’m a hopeless romantic. This I know. But I never knew it was this little rose I’d been searching for.
Ophelia stares up in awe at the towering ceilings of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
As she observes the architecture, her mouth falls open—more than once. I chuckle to myself at her reaction to this place. It is beautiful yet chilling in a way.
The air is heavy beneath these old stones. A mildewy and aged scent lingers, much like how I anticipated a place as old as this to smell. The stained glass windows are breathtaking, letting in colored lighting and dappling the floors with the rainbows of a worshipped god.
“This is… I don’t know. I can’t even express it,” Ophelia says as she slowly makes her way up to the choir. A priest readies his sermon and many tourists gather in the pews. The aisles aren’t very spacious and the old wood creaks beneath the weight of the visitors.
We walk past the priest and up into the restricted portions of the building.
It’s dark up here, the stones aren’t as clean, and the air is thick with dust and moisture. I follow Ophelia, sparing glances at the large paintings that grace the walls.
“It feels off up here,” I say, knowing that I’ll sound like I’m afraid of dark, decrepit places. And, well,I am.
She doesn’t turn to look at me as she says, “Oh, don’t be a baby. No one gets to see these parts of the cathedral. Where is your sense of adventure?”
I give her a sarcastic grin. “I don’t have one.”
Ophelia laughs and holds her hand out behind her, open and waiting for me. I set my palm in hers and let her lead the way.
“What if this place is haunted?” I ask slowly, humorously. Cold ebbs into my bones as we continue through the restricted area. That stops her right in her tracks. Ophelia turns and gives me a sour expression.
“Really?”
“Well, obviously notus, but what if there are unfriendly phantoms lurking around?” My eyes trail through the dark corridors, and I swear I see movement in the far doorway.
“Why would you assume they are unfriendly?” I shrug and she sighs. “Maybewe’rethe unfriendly ones.”
I wait until she turns to face forward again before rolling my eyes. A flash of white races across the hall from one door to another. We both freeze and I set my hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I whisper-shout, already turning on my heels. Ophelia brushes my hand off her shoulder and walks steadily toward the room with a phantom. “Ophelia!” She ignores me.
I curse under my breath before following after her; fists curled at my sides with fear as my breaths become hollow and short.
“Hello?” Ophelia says softly. Her voice is like silk, enticing and kind, anyone should answer to such a lilting sound.
We both stop at the doorframe and stare into the large, empty room. A thin, tall ghost dances alone. Her white hair reminds me of starlight and as she slowly twirls, arms lifted slightly, she grins nostalgically. Perhaps she is remembering her partner.
“Hello, phantoms.” The dullness of her voice skates across my spine. Her steps are light and I notice she wears no shoes—only the rag-like white dress that drapes over her shoulders. “Far away from home, aren’t you?”
Chills crawl up my spine. How’d she know?
When neither of us replies, the woman stops dancing and faces the windows that overlook the well-tended gardens below. Rain steadily pitter-patters over the grounds, thickening the air. I have to blink a few times when the mist starts to appear around the woman.
The way she holds herself is so melancholic.
She does not face us as she speaks. “What is it you want?”
Ophelia looks at me, and I shake my head.You’re the one who wanted to chase her, I want to say.
Clearing her throat, Ophelia says, “We are only passing through.”
