Containing: A series of scenes tracing Christine's life in the months and years after her final choice. Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the story. The title is a reference to Robert Frost's famous poem, which I also do not own.
Christine de Chagny sat at the bedroom window looking out at the winter midnight. Flakes drifted softly down. It was curious how snow could be so lovely but could equally deaden. The earth looked blank. Empty.
Still more girl than woman, the figure at the window pressed her hand to the glass, watching but no longer waiting.
XXX
She found out later what his name was. Erik. He was Erik. She felt an odd sense of guilt that she had not known this.
XXX
One morning she realized abruptly that he had no one. He could die—he could already be dead, in fact—and the world would go on. This bothered her, as well. He had undoubtedly done terrible things, but surely this was one courtesy owed to him—a soul to mourn his passing when he was gone.
She could have been that soul. He had given her the chance. The girl shook herself. Daydreaming was useless, as useless as regret. She looked back at her husband, asleep in the enormous four-poster with the silken sheets.
She was happy, she reminded herself. Happy.
XXX
There came a day when she could no longer remember the melody. That curious little musical box with the monkey…she often spoke of it. For some reason, she panicked at her lapse in memory. Again, it bothered her more than she expected.
She saw the notice of the auction…
…and resolved to ask Raoul to get it for her, carefully, as an anniversary present.
She ignored the sick irony.
XXX
Christine de Chagny sat at the bedroom window looking out at the winter midnight. Strange how all lives seemed to contain choices. Some mattered, some didn't. Some were doomed to plague you till the end of your days. Christine shook her head, as if to dislodge these thoughts, and stood. She had chosen.
She closed the curtains almost angrily, drawing her dressing gown tight around her and turning her back on the empty snow.
Okay, so…it's very different from my style in my other two stories, but the idea just would not leave me alone, so…I wrote it! Haha. I might have an idea for one more chapter for this…but I'm not sure. I guess this was kind of a character piece…not sure what to call it. Anyway… Please review! Let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what was confusing. -Rosy
