Awaiting
A woman sat on a pale blue love seat, picking at the edges of her stitching. She was wearing a modest pale pink dress and a vacant expression. Her long dark tresses were braided neatly and skilfully and she wore conservative pearl earrings. She sighed; this wasn't how she had pictured life with him. She must be a demure housewife, content to bear children and sit for hours at a time stitching pointless, shapeless patterns.
"Christine, Christine? I'm home darling," called her husband. Raoul was a handsome man but he was dim. He'd come home every evening, sit by her side and chatter on while her mind floated back to the past. She'd smile vaguely and nod when appropriate, playing her part well. He was rich, handsome and faithful, things many fine women would love but he lacked something. He merely complemented her song. Harmonized with her and sang what she sang, like a young schoolboy who was just blending in with the rest of the voices. She liked, needed, a challenge. She wanted someone who would fight her for the upper hand and growing louder and more passionate with each note. Her angel had slipped through her fingers, what a fool she'd been.
At night she would dream of those eyes, the ones that pierced her. They were dark and forbidding yet fill with such fervour and love that they left her breathless. He had gone through Hell only to find his Heaven rejecting him. He had comforted her, taught her, loved her and yet she had spurned him.
"Little Lottie, are you lost in fantasy again?" Raoul teased Christine. "I was asking if you were going to the Masked Gala tomorrow after next. If so, you may want to get a dress tomorrow. I'll meet you there later, I'm going to visit mother for a few moments before I leave."
"Hmmm? Oh yes," she nodded vaguely. That meant another trip down to the dress shop where she was Countess, not Christine. She sighed and let her mind wander once more to the misty cave and candle lit songs.
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The coach pulled up in front of the dress shop and she stepped out, instructing the driver to fetch her in an hour. She looked into the window and watched in the reflection as the horses galloped away. Droplets of water started leaking out from under the large clouds overhead. Everyone quickly hurried into the nearest shop, not pausing to notice Christine. Sighing with relief she strode briskly down a side street and half ran the next few blocks. She stopped to catch her breath as she rounded the next corner and the opera house loomed into view. The once magnificent door was faded and the paint was peeling. The gold was dulled and the windows boarded up. Christine walked over and checked briefly to see if anyone was watching. When she forced the door open, it screeched noisily. She clamped her hands over her ears. The dissonant noise echoed around the huge domed lobby, before fading slowly.
She had pictured the blood red carpet with the gold accents without the inch thick dust. Everything seemed to have aged a hundred years faster than the outside world. She scanned the room hungrily for any disturbed patches of dirt, but to no avail. It appeared as though no one had entered the building since the accident. She seemed to drift forwards, small puffs of dust rising up with every step. The suppressed music seemed to spring forth and it was almost as if she had gone back in time. His voice seemed to whisper into her ears once again. Her eyes closed, letting the honeyed, passionate tones wash over her. She could almost feel his burning gaze upon her once again.
A thunderclap sounded overhead and Christine's eyes shot open. At once the music stopped and the she felt its loss at once. It was a part of her, a part that was gone. She hadn't noticed the heavy rain assaulting the opera house, or the sudden darkness that had appeared when the clouds completely took over the sky. She crumbled to the ground, hating the silence that greeted her. Hot tears trailed down her face as the rain outside mirrored her. The lightening crashed, lighting up the sky. She couldn't stand it any longer. This wasn't her. She had been deluding herself when she had married Raoul. Tugging the jewellery from her neck and ears, she hurled them out the partially open door. She raked her fingers through her hair, undoing the intricate knot that her maid had spent an hour creating. She ripped savagely at the pinching shoes on her feet, finally freeing them. Dashing to her feet, she ran down up the stairs, not stopping until she was on the roof of the opera house.
"Where-" she gasped, clutching her side, "where are you? You promised, you promised." The heavy rain showered her until she was soaked within a matter of minutes. "Please come back." Her voice cracked with the strain of keeping her emotions in check. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the grotesque statues and the town below. She walked to the edge of the roof, looking up at the rain. Tears mixed with the falling rain.
"I never wanted this, but I can't live with my mistake any longer. Father, you said you'd send me my angel and I turn him into a demon. Then I turned myself into one." Christine thought she could hear a faint song, played on a violin in response. Christine sighed and started a low song, one of mourning and of goodbyes. She closed her eyes, lifting a foot off the ground and stepping forwards. A plummeting sensation wrought her senses, before a hard, warm arm wrapped itself around her waist lifting her back to the ground. Christine gasped, clutching it, not wanting to let go. She turned slowly, finding the face she'd dreamed about for years, looking back at her.
"Did you want me to let you fall?" Christine felt her heart swell and collapsed against him.
"No. Not anymore."
"I should go; your husband will wonder what's taking you so long."
"He's not my husband anymore. I cast him away, the moment I came back."
"Why? Why did you come back, after so long?"
"It wasn't me. I can't be a wife. I came back because I know now that I was the one wearing the mask. I should have told you that I loved you and not Raoul. I hid behind this facade, when you offered my happiness to me and I turned it down. I was scared and unsure, but not anymore. If I can't be your angel of music, I don't want to be anyone's." Christine placed her hand on his warm cheek and caressed it softly.
"I'm not going to let you go this time. Do you want that?" His voice was husky, eyes downcast. His whole being seemed to be holding its breath.
"You'll have trouble getting rid of me." He let out a shaky laugh, and then stared deep into her eyes. For the merest second, electricity seemed to crackle between them before he crashed lips onto hers. Christine gasped as he picked her up and pulled back, breaking their kiss. She draped her arms around his neck and kissed the rain off the tip of his nose. She missed the passionate heat his kisses induced in her. She swiftly lowered her lips down again, once more onto his. She could feel him smiling, making her grin in return.
"I think," he started, but she muffled his words. He gently lifted her away; keep his fingers on her lips.
"I think," he started again,, "we should get out of the rain. Better yet, get out of here before your absence is noticed." Christine merely nodded in response, resting her head against his shoulder. As he walked, she fell asleep, content for the first time since the accident.
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Horses' hooves beat the pavement with a steady rhythm. Christine reached out groggily, feeling for her angel. A hand reached out and stroked her face slowly. She could feel the slight calluses on his fingertips and smell the musky, distinct scent that seemed to cling to him. She sat up, noticing the coach's rich, luxurious pillows and the scenery whooshing past. She crossed the carriage to sit beside him, leaning against him.
"Where are we going?"
"Our home."
Christine sighed happily. That sounded right, at last.
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A/N: I've had this on my desktop for a long time, the idea even longer. I love the Phantom, the ending always upset me. Now she gets her angel, and I get my happy ending.
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera.
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