Author's note: My first fic ever. Please read and review. Written for the second morbidity writing contest on (PFN). In case of questions regarding the plot, visit PFN or just ask me.
A golden gleam catches me by surprise when I enter, or rather, exit. It's the late afternoon that is caressing the city, dipping the rooftops in an unworldly poetry. How very fitting.
Lowering myself to the ground I sit down, my legs hanging over the edge, my hands grasping at the stone brim. I watch my fingers as they caress the stone surface beneath them, touching the stones that were carved by these very hands. I haven't held a chisel in many years, and tonight will proof I never again will.
Sitting on the edge of reason I stare in the distance, and pine.
I had always thought I would be a different person after I would've experienced this. Well, in fact, I had never counted on experiencing this anyway. But changed I have, although in another way than I could have possibly imagined.
It had all been so very sudden. I am sure it was she who started it. She didn't look at me nor speak to me, and yet I was sure she lured me, the contours of her body breathing out an obvious invitation. If it wouldn't have been for the darkness, I would have sought out the cold safety of my room immediately, but now, when she could not see me, I was bold enough to believe my eyes. With unprecedented courage I gave in to her, yielded into her. She quietly welcomed me, beckoning me further and further. How could I ever have doubted her affections? I love her. I love her for this pure gift, for her shyness and for her courage.
I do not blame her for keeping her eyes closed.
Strange, how things you have been longing for all your life can be over in a split second, becoming a memory even before they end. It was useless trying to hold on to the bliss, for the silence soon became deafening and made me seek out this refuge.
Now dusk is falling, and like the departure of the sun, leaving Paris cold and bereft, the laudanum that made her sleep so sound, that made her seemingly willing, must have worn off by now.
It won't be long until she will discover the guilty remnants of my taking, desecrating the white linen to which she had been entrusting her innocent dreams to for all these months. My naïve, trusting Christine. Following my will made you lose yours, and as the last white grain of my sinful oblivion is carried away by the evening breeze, I can no longer bear this crushing weight.
I welcome the lukewarm wind against my skin, as my eyes follow the white mask fluttering down the storeys.
I get to my feet, and give up the ghost.