Page 83 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
It comes to me that perhaps it is not appropriate to say, but I do anyway. “All this time I thought someone murdered you. An angry ex, an abusive family member, someone. But I never considered it was your illness that took you.”
She stares somberly at the small ripples in the water below us.
“Are you angry?” Her fists clench tightly against the cement rail, trembling with the fear of judgment, I think.
I set my hand over hers and look out into the watery grave below as she does. “Ophelia, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’tcommita crime. You were ill and succumbed to your illness. It isn’t your fault your most important organ failed and told you to crave death as a means of escape.” She takes a deep breath and looks at me with despair, clinging to each word I say. “Only fools would be angry with you. You were sick, and try as you might,you were unable to find a light. How could one blame another for falling ill to cancer or disease? Your mental illness was a disease of the mind. It was just harder for them to see. I only wish that you could’ve found help. That you realized you were not alone in your illness.”
“I am not hated?” She whispers so low that it hurts my aching soul.
“No. Not by anyone who understands the call of the dark, my rose.” I press a kiss to her temple and she hugs me tightly.
“You always know what to say. You’re so young but wiser than most,” she admits and looks up at me. Her beautiful eyes are hooded by long lashes, and I find myself falling deeper into her.
“Perhaps we have lived many times. Our stories chasing one another permanently. But maybe now we can settle and rest,” I say softly against her lips. She tilts her head back and kisses me endearingly.
“There’s nothing I would love more than that, my love.”
Palais Garnier is grander than any cathedral, library, or architecture I’ve yet seen. The walls are that of a fortress of the gods. It’s honestly a bit overwhelming. More windows than I can count and gold finishes on statues and window frames above.
Ophelia giggles and nudges me, drawing my attention down to her smiling face. “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” I say breathlessly, returning my eyes to the white and gold paint.
We’ll dance to any music tonight. Whatever show is currently going on doesn’t faze us. Ophelia reassured me that the dance she taught me is universal, so long as the song is slow and beautiful.
People gather outside in masses, dressed in their best formal attire for such an event as this. I can’t help but smile. The atmosphere is different, but I am reminded so much of the night I met Ophelia, dancing on a small stage without a care in the world.
We enter the grand building and make our way through the crowds toward the stage, quickly slipping behind the stage curtains and laughing at our mischief.
I enjoy that most about Ophelia, I think—the laughter she draws from me. It’s always so easy and pure.
“Tell me again why this is on your bucket list?” I jest, raising my brow at her and earning myself a playful punch to the arm.
“I didn’t say shit about the beach and drinking under the stars, now did I?” she shoots back, and I can’t fight the grin that spreads across my lips. I unfold the bucket list and cross off a few more things.
Lanston & Ophelia’s Bucket List
Go to Paris
Sail a yacht
Ballroom dance
Drink on the beach at night/camp out
Ride a train somewhere new
Visit Ireland’s Trinity College Library
Save a stray plant
Save a stray plant is all that remains. I let my eyes linger over Ophelia’s lithe shoulders and smile, knowing I’ll cross off the last item soon.
“Aw, come on, I know you loved it.”
She shrugs cheekily.
My eyes are drawn to her chest, and I think of ravishing her here in front of everyone.
