Disclaimer:I disclaim!
The Execution of Christine Daae de Chagny
"Guilty", read the tearstained headline. Mme. Christine Daae de Chagny was found guilty of the murder of the Vicomte de Chagny and she was to be executed the following evening. All of Paris was in an uproar. The trail had been a spectacle, the defense a joke. It seemed the entire of society had been out for the young Christine's blood. They had not forgiven the newly wed diva for stealing their precious Vicomte with her seduction and skills.
Meg set the paper down to dry her eyes. The truth was, no one knew what had happened on that fateful night and Christine wasn't speaking. She made no effort to defend herself; remaining silent since the night she was found covered in blood, standing over his lifeless body with the incriminating knife in hand. What more evidence did the prosecution need? The girl was obviously unhinged, as indicated by her silence. She had been married only a mere six months, to a man greatly above her station, they needn't look far to find a plausible motive.
"Maman, it can't be true, can it? They wouldn't execute her, not when she hasn't even given her side of the story. They must know there has to be more to this!"
Meg only felt her mothers comforting hand lightly squeeze her hunched shoulder. The older woman's gaze rested mournfully on the rain covered window, looking out into the city. The streets looked as empty as she felt, only faintly visible through the down pour of rain. Tonight, she lost a daughter and nothing of the comfort home could give would make her feel any more alive than that forlorn girl, sitting in quite introspection within a Paris jail cell. Tonight she feared the consequences of hope and knew not to ask for it.
Meg looked up awkwardly, just barely finding the courage to ask, "He won't let this happen, will he?"
Her mother closed her eyes and left the room, without another look back. The absence of her presence left no mark on Meg and she retuned her attention to the paper, knowing she had overstepped her bounds. It couldn't be helped; she had to hope that there was still hope, no matter what form it came in.
The rain continued and the night grew short. There wasn't much time.
A/N: well this is the first of three chapters, each will be longer than the last. i suppose i should mention that i was planning to take a break on paris after midnight. i mentioned that over on PFN ( alot of us fic writers congregate over in the art section. we were having a morbid writing contest so i've got two stories entered in that (horribly rushed and not up to my standards, they will be revamped before posted here) so i was concentraiting on that... or ment to and ended up just playing warcraft. anyways i was gonna submit this one to the comp. but decided it would be too long (see proof that the chapters will be longer). ok, i'll stop rambling now.
oh, please R&R!