A\N: Hi everyone, I just want to point out that this story is kind of dark, and I don't think it is really graphic or gross, but other people may be totally sickened, so be warned that there is some self-mutalition in here...I think that's it...
"Christine!" Raoul de Chagny called up the winding staircase for his wife. There was no response, and he turned back around to the guests he was entertaining by himself. "I'm sure she'll be down in no time." Raoul assured his guests, smiling weakly while sitting down on a armchair. The Arch duchess Marie stirred in her seat, and muttered behind her fan,
"That's what happens when you marry a chorus girl." A few ladies chuckled, and Raoul glared at them.
"All right Raoul," Jacques said soothingly, handing him a cigar as Christine descended the stairs.
"I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting." She said graciously, taking a seat next to Raoul.
"Well, now that the vicomtess has graced us with her presence, shall we continue on to the Duchess' ball?" Marie asked, standing up, and grabbing her husband's proffered arm.
"Yes let's." Raoul stood up eagerly as the guests slowly started to depart. "Shall we?" He asked Christine, offering her his elbow.
"I just came down to tell you I won't be joining you in tonight's festivities." She gave him a weak smile.
"Again? I worry about you Christine." Raoul sat back down, and grabbed Christine's hands tightly. She let out a choked laugh.
"I'm not feeling like myself yet." She turned away from Raoul, and placed a hand on her stomach.
"It wasn't your fault, don't blame yourself." Raoul whispered fiercely, his hands tightening on her shoulders. After a moment, Christine turned back around with a smile fixated on her face.
"You must go, you'll be late." She stood up, and smoothed down Raoul's collar.
"I don't think that I should-" Christine interrupted him gently.
"I'm fine." She reassured him, pushing him out the door. "Now you go and have fun, close some business deals, dance all night"
"But-" Christine kissed Raoul softly, cutting him off. After a moment, she gently pulled back, and buried her face in his chest.
"Are you sure you will be fine?" He asked tenderly.
"Positive." Raoul wrapped his arms around her waist.
"I love you so much." He smiled, running his hands through her long curls.
"I know." She replied simply. And then he was gone, leaving Christine alone.
Calling briskly for the maid, Christine made her way back upstairs to the bedroom.
"Madame?" The timid maid hovered in the doorway.
"Come in and unlace me." Christine snapped harsher than intended. Obediently, the maid stepped forward, trembling from head to toe, and gently started tugging on the dress ties. Once she successfully got the laces undone, the maid started to pull Christine's gold dress off of her slender shoulders, when Christine shoved her away.
"You can go home now." She ordered, and the maid bowed, and quickly exited the room. Barely hearing the door quietly shut behind her, Christine let her dress fall to the floor, revealing the hair shirt she secretly wore. The sleeveless hair shirt she wore, which acted as a corset, was to punish herself for the guilt she felt after losing her baby. Trembling slightly, she reached for the black ties, and tugged them loose. No matter what Raoul told her, she knew that it was her fault they had lost their baby. How could she carry one man's baby, when she constantly yearned for another man?
The guilt, which had wormed its way underneath her skin ever since she married Raoul, knowing that she truly didn't love him. Choking back a sob, Christine dropped to her knees, and pulled the hair shirt off of her. Glancing down at the coarse, prickly horsehairs on the inside of the shirt, Christine squeezed her eyes shut, willing the guilt to go away. Gently, Christine ran her hands over he stomach, which was now red and irritated. She almost smirked at the thought of how horrified Raoul would be if he ever saw her torso.
A fresh wave of guilt swept through her at the thought of poor trusting Raoul. She got up off of the ground, and pulled a robe over herself. Christine turned and was about to sweep out of the room, when she spotted a letter opener on the dresser. She walked over to it, and picked it up carefully. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Christine cursed herself.
"Here I am looking so whole and happy. I don't deserve to look remotely beautiful after everything that I've done." She raised the letter opener and slid it down the inside of her arm, watching the thin line of blood appear. Smiling slightly, she brought the letter opener up to her face, and slashed her cheek, and slowly started bringing the letter opener upwards, almost relishing in the sound of it ripping through tendons and scraping against bones. Christine staggered slightly, feeling a little lightheaded. Steadying herself, Christine clenched her eyes shut, and raised the letter opener again, slicing over her eyelid, and then down and across the bridge of her nose. Gritting her teeth, but still immune to the pain, she began dragging the letter opener across her cheek, digging it deep into her skin, and then shoving it upwards.
In a giddy daze, Christine started swaying back and forth, while sawing through her skin, until it reached her cheekbone. She pulled the letter opener upwards, and curved over her broad forehead, and up to her hairline. In frenzied stabs, she began slashing at her face, until drops of blood began rolling off of her face, and fell onto the thick white carpet.
Finally feeling the pain, Christine let out a inhuman scream, dropping to her knees. Breathing heavily, she struggled to regain her composure. Hands trembling, Christine tried to bring the letter opener back up to her face, but dropped it. Sobbing now, Christine brought her hands up, and started clawing at her face, and didn't stop until her vision was obscured by red.
"I'm not so pretty anymore." She whispered, as her vision started to cloud over. She fell against the dresser, and slid to the floor, and started wiping at her face. "I think I'm dying." Christine gasped, starting to crawl out of the room, leaving streaks of blood. "I have to go find Erik." She cried to herself feverishly, grabbing at the wall to help herself stand up. She slowly made her way down the stairs, and collapsed against the front door. Tottering slightly, she opened the door, and stumbled out into the cold night air. It was snowing, and Christine dragged her way blindly across the snow covered road, numb to the coldness. She didn't know how far she had gotten, when she keeled over in the middle of the road, and darkness had overcome her senses.
The snow was spiraling downwards as Erik made his way back to the Opera House after some shopping. Tripping over a solid object which was half buried in the snow, Erik fell to the ground, scattering his parcels.
"What the hell?" He murmured, gathering up his parcels, and shaking the snow off of them. Grabbing for the last parcel, his hand bumped into something stiff and cold. Curious, Erik began to brush the snow off, to reveal a pair of legs. "Oh my god." Erik leaned over and brushed some more snow off, revealing Christine's frozen pale gashed face. "Oh my god, Christine!" Erik screamed, grabbing her by the waist, and pulling her up to his chest. "It's ok, you're ok." He started babbling, cradling her unmoving body. He pushed her frozen hair out of her face, and registered the fact that there were slashes all along her face. "What did you do?" He asked her, pressing her stiff face to his chest. "It's ok, it doesn't change anything." He started to sob quietly. Erik turned her face up, and gently kissed her on her unmarred lips. "I still love you." He whispered fiercely, pressing his face into the frozen strands of her hair.
After what seemed like an eternity, Erik picked Christine up in his arms, and resumed his walk back to his Opera House.