• Memories of the Theatre


    The snow began to fall lightly in the city. Annabelle smiled at it. Every since she was a little girl, Annabelle had always had a strange liking for the flakes of white coldness. It made her feel happy, gave her a warm feeling even in the chilling nights. Then again, Annabelle had always been a strange child.

    Her favorite place in the city, especially on winter nights, was the old town theatre. Musique est Soul. Her parents used to take her to plays and musicals. Sometimes, when her father had worked on the play, he would sneak her into the back to meet the actors. The one she remembered the most was man by the name of Adain Willdra.


    Annabelle's eyes were nearly popping out of her skull as her idol performed his final scene.

    "Sweet death, your arms reach out to caress my face so dearly. My sins can not be repented for. I now understand what my dearest had once said." Tears streamed from his eyes, as well from Annabelle's. She was so absorbed into his final lines, it was as if he was speaking to her, and her alone. His white hair dropped in front of his face. The moment was intense. "Blessed death. Oh sweet and adorning death. Why? Why not you devour my soul first, yet rip from my very grasp my beloved? I demanded to know! You left me in that whirlwind and torrent of hell!"

    The actor paused, the light shining on his tear stained face. "Blessed death I see your eyes now. You hold my life within your boney grasp. Take me, oh swift one. Release from my pain on this daft and foolish Earth. Spare me your mercy no longer. I am forever yours." The fake blade was plunged into him and the lights went dark.

    Annabelle sighed. Adain had been the first man she had ever fallen deeply in love with. Even though she knew he would never know about her existence, she loved him all the same. "Adain, my sweet and fair prince of the theatre. You perform like a god, and you sing like a muse," she muttered, smiling underneath her scarf.

    "Come to me, my rose of darkness . . . " Annabelle heard the soft voice singing. She glanced around a little. ". . . come to me my angel . . . " The young woman looked up. It was coming from the theatre. The place had been abandoned for years, aside from herself sneaking in of course. Not a soul had dared step into that place since the accident from the performance of "Phantom of the Opera." Could someone, other than her, have an interest in it?

    "Come inside, I'll take you for a ride. . . " Annabelle glanced around, making sure no one could see her. Then, slowly, she creaked open the doors to the main hall. It was dark, but still the way it had been since she left those many years ago. The red, velvet carpet was now ragged, torn, and slightly burnt. The golden columns and fake torches on the walls. The dark wooden doors that swung into and out of the theatre. ". . . Come to me my beloved death."

    Annabelle's eyes went wide. She recognized the song finally. It was from the play she had seen years ago. The production with her beloved Adain. Slowly, she swung the doors open the doors to the theatre. As she stepped into the theatre, an odd feeling began to consume her entire being. It was as if a breath of air had filled her lungs with an indescribable sensation.

    Her eyes followed the very familiar velvet carpet to the stage. Standing upon the stage was, what Annabelle thought to be a man. He had a long, black trench coat that seemed to keep him warm along with a brown cap and crimson scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Annabelle watched him, but he didn't move a muscle. He merely just stood there.

    She sauntered closer to the stage, her eyes wandering about the old theatre. She silently wished it had never died. That theatre meant so much to her. It held all her precious memories in it. It was a memento of her childhood. She wished that she had the money to fix that memento and bring others to share her love with.

    "It is so beautiful. It's almost as if it hasn't aged," she murmured softly.

    "I agree. Quite a shame that it hasn't been used since the 'Phantom of the Opera.'" Annabelle whipped around towards the stage. It was the man. A smile had graced his face, a face of pale skin and ivory hair. 'It's A-Adain!' she thought.

    "You're Adain Wildra!" she chirped, her face lighting up. He chuckled softly and nodded.

    "I am actually very surprised that someone left in this world still remembers my name," he said with a smile. Annabelle cocked her head to the side. Her smile fell. Adain, the brilliant actor that stood before her. What did he mean by no one remembering his name?

    He leapt off the stage and landed but a few inches from Annabelle's now shocked face. She had never been so close to her beloved obsession. Her sapphire eyes met with the actor's brilliant emerald ones. The young woman could see that within his eyes was a glimmer of hope and plotting. "What are you thinking Mr. Wildra?" she wondered aloud.

    "Interesting question Annabelle," he smiled. She squeaked and stepped back slightly. He knew her name! An overwhelming feeling of adoration filled her heart, making it pound against her ribcage. The white haired man simply chuckled and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. He looked around the theatre once more. He was still taking in it's beauty himself.

    "Y-Y-You know m-me?" Annabelle finally squeaked out. The emerald eyes of her actor glanced back at her.

    "Of course I know you. You come here quite often during these astonishing winter evenings." The young woman's heart began to race faster. He was here during those nights where she would sneak into this wonderful home! Her mind could barely process this. It was almost too overwhelming.

    Adain looked over at her once more and studied her. He felt as if he had met her somewhere. No, not somewhere. Here. It was there in theatre that he met her. He began to remember his performance of 'Le Lament de la Mort.'

    "You've done it again Adain."

    "Yeah Adain, great performance."

    "You never cease to amaze me Adain." The actor was backstage after the curtain call. His fellow actors had praised him once more for a wonderful performance and he vice versa. He was about to get ready to strike. It was actually one of his favorite parts of a production. He sometimes even received pieces of the set to keep to himself as a token.

    "Great performance Adain. You sure know how to put people on the edge of their chairs," complimented the director.

    "An actor is nothing without his director. I give to where credit is due, sir." he said, bowing and clapping for the director himself. The two laughed happily as the director smiled and almost blushed.

    "Thank you very much Adain. I hope to work with you again in another performance, if you don't mind," he said. The white haired man nodded happily, washing the makeup off his face. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young child enter the dressing room. She was crying, crocodile tears overflowing her little eyes.

    "Mr. Wildra! You're okay!" she cried, clinging to actor's legs. A surprised look overcame the directors face as Adain carefully picked up the child in his arms.

    "But of course I'm okay little one. It was merely a performance. I assure you, I'm not injured," he said smiling. The little girl's eyes went wide as she wrapped her small arms around the actor's neck. She whispered something softly and Adain smiled.

    "Oh, forgive Annabelle, Adain. She loves to see your performances. She talks about you all the time," the director said, slowly prying his daughter off the white haired young man. She still looked at Adain, her eyes red from crying. The actor carefully wiped away one of her tears with his thumb. Her face immediately flourished with a red hue.

    Adain chuckled softly at the memory. "So that's where I met you. You were such an adorable young girl back then," he said. Annabelle looked at her beloved actor and blushed a thousand hues of red. The white haired man smiled as he removed the red scarf.

    "Well, I was five then. I suppose most five-year-olds are cute at that age. Though they can be a bit on the-" She was cut off when a crimson scarf was wrapped around her neck. The young woman whipped around to look up at her adoration. His arms were set gently on her shoulders as he wrapped the scarf around her face.

    "You are a strange girl. I admire that about you," he whispered smiling. Annabelle was very thankful to have the scarf. It was hiding her many hues of red. "I have a question to ask of you Annabelle." She nodded, meaning that she would answer anything.

    "Would you like to restore Musique est Soul back to it's original state and share our love of the theatre with the world?" It felt at that moment that her heart nearly burst as she wrapped her arms around Adain in response. He laughed heartily and wrapped his arms around Annabelle, beginning to walk them both out of the theatre.


    "Then it is settled. Come, let us make new memories of the theatre. Together,"