Gracious! It seems forever since I have had time to write, or even think about writing. So until school is out for summer I shall go through and edit and clean my current stories. I can't seem to stop loving POTO fiction...and there are some wonderful works on here. I hope my contribution is worthy of your time. So here is the edited version of Three Spirits.
~~~~~~Bellasera
Time.
It never ceases...
Even in the darkness of a night so moonless, so bereft of illumination I am able to hear every minuscule footstep of each second pounding closer in my skull.
Tick...Tick....
I wish for it to slow, to stop, but it fails to halt its incessant march forward. Every beat in every second seems to last as though a conductor has frozen the musicians into performing an eternal ostinato...a cadence that does not match the rapidity of my panicked thoughts.
But each second does pass, unable to be recaptured and another repeats the sound. Seconds...minutes... hours.
Hours...Mere hours are all I have left until I become a Viscountess. When I am bound...until death...to Raoul.
Tick... tick...tick...
The room, in its entire frivolous and aristocratic enormity, is closing in around me. Every stroke of the clock's pendulum seems to bring the walls nearer and nearer upon me. Gulps of air do not help to calm this racing heart of mine, and I leap from the bed. Stumbling through the all-consuming darkness I head towards the double doors that lead to my balcony.
The cool spring air rushes over me as I wrench open the panels and fly to the railing. The goose flesh that covers me… is it from the eerie feelings or the cooler air? I know not, but my robe will not relieve it...the chill is worth the price. Anything rather than reentry into that foreboding room. My hands grip the rail with intensity, a desperate willing of my body to gather its control, and to pass on that good sense to my racing mind. I gulp another series of breaths, careless of whether the damp night air will send me into pneumonia.
I care about fewer things these days.
My eyes strain in the darkness, observing the shadowy outlines in the central courtyard. It is the epitome of luxury, this townhouse residence of the de Chagny family, and far enough from the Opera to be considered a safe haven. My treatment here varies depending upon the person interacting with me. Some see a fragile girl who has endured too much tragedy in her life. Others see a potential madwoman in their midst- one who speaks of ghosts and angels and is perhaps possessed by the Devil himself. Perhaps like many others, I am just the cunning chorus girl who wants a more comfortable life and a higher rung on the societal ladder
I am none of these.
Or maybe all of these.
The sounds of another breeze blowing through the budding trees whispers as it continues on its journey. Wind is much like time, always moving on. Time… by this time tomorrow it will not be the room enclosing, encasing me, but Raoul's arms. I should find comfort in that, as I should a great many other things, but my soul now seems a perpetual winter.
Raoul will not speak of that night, other than a reference to "that unfortunate incident." He will only talk of our grand future- the wedding, the travel…children. Many times I have noticed he proceeds with an idea or confirms a choice as if I am not even in the same room. My mind is rarely in the room with him, but I always nod when he repeats again "I will take care of you Little Lotte."
I shiver again in the night, my thin robe and chemise poor protection from the chill of the air. It would be a blessing if the cold could erase the thoughts in my mind as well as it erases the feeling in my extremities. Then perhaps I could relive something other than that night.
NO!
The protest forms again in my mind…do not mention, do not think of that night.
Too late…too late…
Yes.
It is too late Erik. Too late for me, foolish girl that I was, that I am.
But will another wrong in this mad sequence of events really even matter? I have too many things on a list of wishful second chances, and every item relates to you.
It is ingrained in my memory, burned there…the last sight I had of you.
I, simple, foolish Christine…I did not deserve your tears Erik. Your confession of love to me…I deserved it far less. I fled when I should have stayed, feared what I should have embraced, and now I am left here. Could it be any more lonely seven floors below the earth than it is here in the cold night air?
I wait, hoping…but no answers call back to me. With a last glance at the dark courtyard I decide to return to my room.
It is, after all only a room.