Music of the Masquerade

Why Can't the Past Just Die

I was so nervous as I stood at the altar looking at all of my friends and family. I heard the organ start up, and the chapel doors opened. Everyone stood, and my eyes filled with tears. My beautiful bride stood before me.
She held her fathers arm, face covered by a white veil; but I knew she was smiling. She got to me at the altar, and before her father gave her away, he turned to me and whispered in a grave tone, "Don't hurt my daughter Joseph, take care of her." He then turned back to Elizabeth, lifted her veil, and kissed her cheek.
   He took her hand, and placed it in mine, signaling he was trusting me with his daughter.
   Erik and I were sitting at a small café when suddenly he asked me, "I know this is a sore spot, and I'm sorry, but dear, I'm very curious. Who were your parents? What happened to them? What were their names?" I smiled sadly at my soon-to-be-husband, and sighed, recalling the nights long ago with my father.
   "Well, it was sixteen years ago when Father told me about Mother, he even showed me paintings of her. His name was Joseph, and she was Elizabeth. They had gotten married two years before I was born, and were happy. They were very much in love.
   "Then, one day, my mother was rushed to the hospital for severe abdominal pains, and that was when the doctor told her, she could deliver me, and most likely die, or abort me, and have slightly slimmer chances of dying. She opted for delivering me, even though she knew it would almost definitely take her life. She got to hold me before she died, but sadly, complications caused her to pass.
   "My father named me after her, and raised me until I was six. He had contracted a terminal illness, and didn't make it to see my seventh birthday. That's when in his will I discovered that I'd be sent to his sister-in-law's cousin; Mama Vera." Then I told him about my time with Mama Vera.
   After our meal and coffee, we headed to a dress boutique. He stood rigid the whole time while I tried on dresses, not letting him see me. After deciding I didn't like any of them, we left.
   On the walk back to the opera house, he said to me "I could make you one you know...." "Pardon?" "I could make you a dress. I've made Chris-I mean, clothes before." I sighed mentally. He made Christine a dress. But he had moved past her, and I would too.
   I looked to him, and smiled, looping my arm through his. "I'd love that." They grinned at each other, and went home.