man, he looks ugly

I heard that Princess Freya's heart was ignited by love; (female voice)

But the king will surely send down the fury of thunder. (male voice [-])

The blood on the gallows is not yet dry; (male voice [-])

Hungry vultures are already hovering over the execution ground. (male voice [-])

If the king knew all this, (female voice)

It's terrible, it's terrible, it's terrible! (Trio)

……

I opened my eyes suddenly, looking at the room in front of me in fear.

This is a nineteenth-century room with half-old opera posters hanging on the wall, photos and letters in front of the vanity mirror, and candlesticks scattered throughout the room, but none of them are lit. Next to the plaster head of David, There was a kerosene lamp covered with a black lace print, and I jumped on it to light it.

When the warm yellow light passed through the transparent silk lampshade and filled the whole room, I was awakened by the nightmare and finally trembled and swallowed the heavy sigh in my throat.

In fact, it wasn't even a nightmare.

The men and women on the stage of the opera are all wearing white makeup, painted their lips into bright red hearts, dressed in gorgeous court costumes, holding folding fans, with exaggerated emotions unique to the opera on their faces, singing loudly.

"Princess Freya" begins.

The only horror: that's exactly the opera I heard backstage today.

Whether it is reality or a dream, they are cruelly reminding me that the environment I am in at this time is Paris in the nineteenth century.

The baby-faced blonde girl who appeared in the glass mirror finally calmed me down for a while,

Reborn as a seven-year-old or [-]th-century Paris is more unsettling and terrifying.

It was raining outside the window at night, and it was rare for the noisy Paris to fall quietly at night. I curled up on the soft and warm bed, staring at the water droplets flowing on the glass window in a daze.The theater dormitory at midnight was a little too cold, and the actors who had been rehearsing all day were having a good dream. The huge and gorgeous Opera Garnier, like a sleeping golden lion, stood in the rain, only the water flowed from the stone wall by the window. The faint but crisp sound of dripping.

Perhaps it was because of Mrs. Geary's short absence that there was no lullaby to accompany her falling asleep, which made the nightmare strike again.In order to stop me from being troubled by nightmares, Mrs. Geary would hum a nice lullaby every day when I went to bed, and pat my little body with her soft hands until I fell into a deep sleep.

After experiencing the initial panic, I have gradually reduced the number of times I woke up from my dreams. In the days when I first came to the theater, I could hardly sleep at night. He is taciturn and often does not speak a few words for a week.

Fortunately, in the eyes of Mrs. Geary and the rest of the theater, I was just recovering from a serious illness and mourning the loss of my father.They think that only time can heal my pain and sorrow, so they tolerated my weirdness with compassion, and even tried to squeeze out a smile as a comfort.

In the sea of ​​bitter memories, the image of the father coughing up blood on the hospital bed is as clear as an imprint, pale but bloodless skin, that paleness spread to the lips, blurring the boundary between the lips and the skin, blood splashed with coughing and panting, stained wet His blond hair was wiped out, and the handkerchief was stained with blood. The hair, which was brighter than the golden fleece, was robbed of vitality by the sinking disease.

Only those golden brown eyes were filled with tenderness instead of pain and sorrow.

He wanted to see his daughter so much, but he flatly refused her approach.

"Meg, my little Meg, my little angel."

That clear memory infected my emotions again, and a cold wave of sadness swept over me. I pressed my head hard with a soft goose feather pillow to stop myself from recalling the painful memory in my mind.

Possessing a head with excellent memory seems to be the wish of the world, but only those who really have this ability will know this troubled, unforgettable painful memory, like a bomb that detonates in the brain from time to time. The moment detonated, overwhelming, and the sadness and pain of being on the scene came again.

If it's just an unforgettable memory, the troubles I have don't seem to be difficult to solve, but if I say a word, the memories she once had and the memories others have will appear clearly in my eyes like flames in the snow. and each other's mind.

Embalm

My ex-friends were inadvertently attacked viciously by it, and the unbearable pain made them tremble and flee from me in fear. I was considered a different kind, so I could only try my best to curl up in a dark ditch to avoid the indifferent isolation from the outside world.

No one wants to get close to me, and no one wants to communicate with a remote alien, because no one likes their memory box to be peeped at.I, who have been lonely for a long time, will be happy even when the god of death comes in the cold winter night...

The sound of Dada's hooves sounded outside the window, and the crisp sound of the pig iron horseshoe colliding with the stone floor interrupted the inextricable self-loathing.

Running to the window, I looked down in the dim light of the kerosene lamps on the outer wall of the theatre.

It's Mrs. Geary, the mother of this body, my mother.

She got out of the carriage, seemed to be leading someone, and walked into the back door of the theatre.

If she knew that I didn't sleep most of the night, I'm afraid I'd be worried and cry silently.

I hurried to the bed, turned off the kerosene lamp beside the bed, and dragged the light and soft eiderdown quilt to my body. If there is a faint smile, it seems that he is immersed in a beautiful dream.

After an unknown amount of time, there was a slight creaking sound from the hinge of the wooden door, and the knocking sound of footsteps on the wooden floor, one big and one small, and the cold smell of rain that was carried spread in the room.

Carefully squinting my eyes, I began to look at the scene inside the house under the cover of the dim candlelight. Mrs. Giri, who had just entered the door, gently put down the package in her hand, picked up the little girl beside her and put it on the chair by the wall, and took it off for her. Wearing a black round hat, rain-soaked shoes, and cotton socks, he took off the woolen kerchief on his head, and then walked lightly towards the bed with a candlestick.

I quickly closed my eyes, pretending to have slept well.

Mrs. Geary lit a candle, shook me gently, and called softly, "Wake up, baby, Meg, wake up."

After a pause for a few seconds, I opened my eyes in confusion, rubbed my eyes with delicate fingers, and called out to my mother softly.The child's voice accompanied by sleepiness is soft and immature, which makes people tremble more than the softest goose feather.

Mrs. Geary's expression melted instantly, she gently hugged me in her arms, and kissed her forehead lightly with rain-soaked lips, "Meg, my little baby, I'm sorry to wake you up."

"Mommy." Through Mrs. Geary's hair, I looked curiously at the little girl on the sofa at the door. She was looking at the environment she was in, that is, my room, with some anxiety.

Her hair was longer than mine, a honey-colored brown, tied with black ribbons, and curled nicely.You must know that since I cut my lanugo shortly after I was born, I haven’t cut my hair again. They hang long on my back, and the ends of my hair are naturally curled. The excellent hair quality inherited from my father makes ballet girls They are very envious.

After Mrs. Geary kissed me, she put me next to the bed, went to the wardrobe, took out a set of little white nightgowns, and went back to the girl, "Meg, her name is Christine, and she will sleep with you from now on." ,Okay?"

I try my best to express my kindness with gentle and close eyes. Having a little partner, even a little girl about the same age as my body, makes me feel wonderful emotions. My long-lonely heart is looking forward to it. being close.

But Christine's face still had the numbness of a child. She looked at me quietly, neither talking nor smiling, like a pale and beautiful ceramic doll without much life.

"Mommy." I asked Mrs. Geary for help.

Mrs. Geary changed Christine's nightgown, hugged her to the bedside, put her beside me, and whispered, "Honey, Christine walked a lot today, you go to bed first, and get to know each other tomorrow." What?."

Mrs. Geary placed Christine next to me and pulled the eiderdowns over us, tucking in the corners carefully.

Under the quilt, I reached out my hand furtively, tentatively holding Christine's hand.

Fortunately, she didn't reject me and acquiesced to my actions.

Christine's hands are smooth and tender, similar to mine, with all the baby fat of a child. Even the fingernails are small, like a newborn shell, but the temperature is very low, icy cold, just As if carved from ice.

She was very cold, even under the warm eiderdown quilt, she was still shivering a little, perhaps because she had just left the cold air and her body hadn't adjusted to it yet.

"Close your eyes, Meg, Christine, my girls, good night." Seeing that Christine and I were sleeping in the same bed without any gap, Mrs. Geary sighed softly and blew out the lights in the room. Candle, holding a candlestick and walked out of the room.

With the help of the dim morning light, I secretly looked at the girl next to the pillow.

She is so beautiful, even as a child, she can already distinguish the beautiful facial features. From the side view, the tip of her nose is upturned and straight, and her slender eyelashes bend beautifully.

She seemed really tired, and soon fell asleep.

Perhaps it was the encouragement of a bright future, and I gradually fell into a dream with her gentle breathing.

In the faint sunlight,

Pierced by Cupid's golden arrow.

The soul trembles at those beautiful eyes,

I would like to be a marionette in his hands;

Throats quivered by the shining golden hair,

I would like to be the ballet angel in his palm.

Please tell me it's all true,

All this is true... (Freya)

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