My Immortal
By
Anni Re
The night was quiet under the Parisian stars and streetlamps. The Countess de Changy was standing at the window of her bedroom, bereft of her husband of one year whilst he was away for the night. Not a sound could be heard in the house save for the rustle of stiff skirts of the housekeeper as she silently padded through the chateau. She, a few minutes ago, had placed a fresh candle upon her vanity. Christine turned and walked over to the vanity, struck a match and lit the candle. She watched the smoke from her strike rise in a wispy puff up to the ceiling. She looked past it unconsciously and her pale, wide-eyed, somber face stared back at her. In the mirror she seemed to be bathed in the dark crimson glow of the flame beneath the sight of the glass. In her ivory lacy nightdress and her raven hair wrapped with rings of pale smoke she looked like a bride in Hell; wedded to the angel of demons. She closed her eyes. Had it only been a year? It seemed like a lifetime ago, a distant dream, yet the memories of that dream still haunted her in every shadow, in every sigh of the wind. For in every shadow there was his face, masked in darkness and white leather; in every sigh his beautifully tragic tenor voice called out "Christine…"
Her fingers unconsciously convulsed around the wood, then slackened in a state of helplessness. She pulled her neck up slowly opening her eyes and staring at the phantasm of what she would be if Raoul was not in her world. A desire started in her chest, in her lungs, and she did something that she hadn't done in a long time. She opened her eyes and sang.
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
At that moment in the center of the City of Lights as well as beneath it, a man in the midst of exquisite ruins sat on a bench in front of a colossal organ covering the entire wall. His hands were still, and the keys were silent, but his black-gloved fingers stood poised at the ready, but were seemingly incapacitated by their master's inability to summon a muse; a muse with the softest skin and sweetest eyes he had ever seen.
Even as Erik thought of Christine she appeared kneeling at his side, a hand lightly resting on his arm. But she was a sham, a cardboard cutout of the real Christine, painted in whatever design his hallucinogenic mind demanded. He turned his face to the vision, his golden eyes glistening. He longed to touch her to take her in his arms again. But he couldn't bear it, the risk of ascertaining if she was real or illusory only to have her disappear, leave him again. He pled to both Christine's in the only language he knew.
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
Christine tried to turn away from the being in the mirror but she couldn't tear her eyes from her, remembering when she was that person, when she could have been that person, the sole savior of the darkest most beautiful creature she had ever known, so much passion and pain bound in one body that she burned whenever she was near him, every stroke of his hand setting her skin afire, every sound of his voice stoking the flame in her soul.
Christine clutched her heat with both hands attempting to smother the cinders. Her eyes clouded over in her anger as she vented at the mirror and the man that was always behind it.
These wounds wont seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
Erik looked at the vision he conjured of his Christine, masochistically basking in her kindly gaze, morphing the young woman into the child she was when he first saw her. She was an orphan, alone and friendless in his vast and magical kingdom. He made an imaginary friend out of himself, the angel she longed for in the light of losing her father, and in the watches of sleepless nights he sang to her, whispered to her over and over again, staunching every uneasy feeling the new dancer had in her new home in the land of make believe and music. Thus she grew up with him as her biggest confidant and closest friend.
When you'd cry I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
Cause you still have, all of me
Christine pushed herself away from the mirror and Erik pushed himself away from his organ and both wandered about their respective corners of the world, both so far away from the person they were remembering. The phantom of Christine followed the Phantom of the Opera, her fingers scraping the back of his suit-coat. He could feel them, God he could feel those little digits running over his lower back through the fabric. He remembered the euphoria he felt at her touch, at her merest glance. Desperately Erik tried to recall the real Christine, the Christine that dwelled far above his head, to blot out his imagination lingering behind him. He sighed surrendering to his memories of Christine but unable to block out the feel of the fingers. The sweet sound of her voice on stage, the move of her body as she danced while the music played, ritualistically worshipping music. He turned to the vision speaking both to it and Christine. His eyes large, anguished.
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
He reached out to touch her cheek but again dared not to in fear of her vanishing, so instead he caressed the air a hair above her cheek.
But now I'm bound by the light
You left behind
Christine walked to the large window once again staring at her shadowed reflection, freckled by the stars in the sky. The ridges and dips in the glass made her face become darkened, distorted. Slowly she reached up and touched her smooth flawless face, but felt the knotted scars of another face.
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
A face that held the voice of Orpheus; so beautiful, so heartbreaking.
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
Erik slowly backed away from his only love his heart twisted in his chest at realizing once again that he would never have her, marry her, be the father of her children, maybe never even see her again. After all these years of hoping, wishing, seeing the life that until then he could only dream of. And dream he did until that dream warped into the nightmare of reality. He turned away from Christine running his hands over his face.
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time does not erase
Christine touched the glass looking deep into the stars where she believed the Angel of Music once dwelled, but no, he dwelled five stories beneath the Opera Populaire. She though about him, perhaps more times than she cared to admit. But this was the first time she thought about thinking of him. Why she was seemingly obsessed with him as he was with her. Perhaps she was struck by how much she meant to him. She was his only link to the life he longed to have, deserved more than others because they took advantage of it. Her presence gave him peace a small daily confirmation that he was not alone in the world, unloved. And he did the same thing to her. Christine hung her head, pressing her forehead against the glass her fingers curling slightly against the pane.
When you'd cry I'd wipe away all of your fears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
Cause you still have, all of me
Erik was slowly becoming unhinged, violent. He circled the foe Christine standing there passively, knowing she really wasn't there, yet crying out in song to her as if she was, pointing an accusatory finger at her, still refusing to look at her.
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
Christine turned away from the window back to the vanity staring at the face of not the flaming bride but the man who she first saw in a mirror in all his splendor and mystique.
But though you're still with me
Christine missed Erik,
I feel alone
As much as Erik missed Christine.
I'm alone
Erik sat in a chair and the image of Christine walked over to him, alight smile upon her face, mocking him. He lunged at her, his arms wrapping around her pulling her into his lap physically clinging to her relishing her every sensation of Christine being in his arms, mentally willing her to stay. Christine in she and her husband's room opened one of the drawers on her vanity. In it was a rose, withered with a dull black ribbon wrapped around its dead stem. Her lover's gift to her before the monster that complimented him starred in the phantom's opera's first and final production. She scooped it from the door into her hands. Both at the same time vowed this to the other, they would not regret the memories and would always be a thought of compassion for the rest of their lives, even if they could not be together, they belonged to each other in their memories and dreams. They both whispered in their shared language to each other.
When you cry I'll wipe away all of your tears
When you scream I'll fight away all of your fears
And I'll hold your hand through all of these years
Cause you still have…
Christine vanished even in Erik's passionate and possessive grip and the rose broke into pieces even in Christine's gentle hands, leaving them both with their memories and dreams.
All of me
Finis
You have no idea how long I have wanted to write this story, like since July when I first thought of it on an airplane, just so you know you have just read something that I take great pride in checking off my To Do List :) P.S Happy Thanksgiving