If you read this yesterday, I made the prologue a bit better. Fixed some things here and there... Chapters 1-13 should be okay now, and tonight I should be doing 13-20 or so. Because I'm revising and fixing stuff, I really don't mind if you tell me what needs improvement! It would be quite appreciated.
Kitkat- thanks.
(19/22 and 39/42 have been revised BTW)
Paris, 1902
She was holding my hand, my cold, bony hand, as I lay dying upon the bed. The candles surrounding us were flickering, casting shadows upon her down-turned face. Her blue eyes, normally so full of joy and youth, were filled with water and pain. Her tears were leaving shiny streaks. I sighed and closed my eyes. Though she was talking, her lips to me were merely moving. How had I, of all despicable and loathsome creatures, been graced with her presence? I could feel the darkness continue to come over me. How soft and gentle it was, like an embrace from an angel. I opened my eyes for the last time.
"Christine..." I felt myself begin. Keeping my eyes open took too much effort. They closed on their own accord. Oh, my angel calls. Keep calling angel, I am coming. Such a soft sweet voice... how I love my angel Christine... My dear, dear angel...
"Erik? Erik!? Erik! Wake up! Please! Don't leave me!" I watched as the girl threw her arms around Erik curiously. He would have loved this. Would have loved... this. Even I sighed for him. Not that he had been a good man, on the contrary, he had been quite horrible, but he had a reason. An excuse. He could have been worse. Sometimes I had even found him to be in possession of a morbid sense of humor, though I had never seen him smile. Christine's sobs stopped my thoughts. Her decision weeks ago had caused this, some would say. Erik had already been in bad health to begin with. Her decision had simply caused excess stress and made him lose the will to live. He killed himself. But she could have made him live longer.
She chose right though. Raoul, a vicomte- handsome, charming, rich, healthy, benevolent, and obviously caring. Erik, a self proclaimed ghost- disfigured, not understanding of social norms, ill, possessive, and generally not a good man.
I looked back at the girl. She was crying hard enough that, had I not known who she was crying for, she could have been crying for her own child. I shook my head. She needed to get back to her life and out of this dank dungeon.
I rested my hand lightly upon her shoulder. "Christine, we need to go. You must get back to your vicomte."
"But... but... Erik..."
"Is dead now Christine. Look at me, my girl." She turned her head towards me, but her wet eyes did not seem to focus. "He is gone. And you made him the happiest he had ever been when he died. But that was his life. This is yours. Say goodbye to him."
She threw herself back onto his body, as though she could squeeze life back into his corpse. I barely made out the words she said before she kissed him on his cheek and turned to me slowly.
"Come, my girl. I must get you to Madame Giry before Raoul throws a fit at her. Come now. Leave him in peace." Reluctantly, she took my hand and we began walking away from what had once been Erik. Even I would miss the man I had been the conscious for. But never would I miss him enough to cry for him.
The Christine that entered that dungeon of his and the Christine that came out to me were two separate people entirely. My love that entered was strong. She had held her head high, even though she was fighting back tears for that 'phantom' who apparently had died. The Christine that returned to me seemed... broken. Her sobs could be heard everywhere, and it seemed that her tears were creating a river of pain where she walked. She was leaning heavily on Antoinette Giry and another man I was not familiar with. But he didn't matter. Only my poor little angel. My grieving angel. My love.
"Christine! My dear!" I ran towards her. Perhaps not the most vicomt-y thing I was capable of, but the thing that was most necessary. I wrapped my arms around her small body and buried my face into her soft, curly brown hair. She was so beautiful, in so many ways. How she could cry for that monster was beyond me. He nearly killed me and essentially tortured her! Yet here we were. My dearest crying her eyes out for a monstrosity that should have never been born, and that I, personally, despised and detested. I lifted her light weight into my arms and carried her to my carriage, where I settled her neatly inside.
"Monsieur de Chagny," The unfamiliar man was speaking to me. Weird. "Mademoiselle Daae will recover. She seems to be taking Erik's death hard. But she will recover. I guarantee you that." Erik? That was the phantom's name? He had a name? "In the mean time, I recommend that you see to her every need personally. You must be a good man for her, Raoul. You must love her. That is imperative in her recovery." Words to take to heart. And even though I may not know that man (who appeared vaguely Persian), for Christine, anything.
"I assure you, monsieur, that I will do everything in my power to help her. I love her. With all of my heart." I stepped into my carriage and sat next to my Christine. "This will not be the first time I have helped her recover, monsieur. Good-day." I tipped my hat at both the man and Antoinette and gave my driver a command. Christine's sobs were filling the cabin. She would drown in her misery. Perhaps though, perhaps she would recover faster than her first time with the phantom. All in her own time. I twisted and hugged her close to me. She sobbed into my chest. All in time.