Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot to this story
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot to this story. The characters and everything else belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber and his fabulous film version of the musical The Phantom of the Opera. EC shipper.
Prelude
A soft winter breeze tousled her silver curls and brought chills to her brittle skin. On the wind she could smell the faintest trace of coming spring. All the world would come budding back to life, but she would not be around to see it. She would not be around to enjoy the blooming of the roses, her favorite event.
She would die in the still clutches of winter, the warmth of the summer sun never again to touch her skin,
Many years had passed since her days as prima donna, her days of innocent youth. She was now married and had given life to five beautiful children and had been granted three grandchildren. Now she was simply an old dying woman; a woman who had enjoyed few things in life since her twentieth birthday. Now she openly welcomed death, in fact she had wished for it long before death would come knocking on her door.
The feeling of crushing loneliness and emptiness had drowned the life from her over the years. As time continued, the youthful sparkle in her eyes flickered and died, her spirit following in the wake. No longer did her voice grace listeners with the sound of angels in heaven; no, her voice had been buried forever the night she left him below the ruined opera house. Now she was but a shell of her former self; a porcelain doll that smiled, nodded, and laughed when the occasion deemed those actions appropriate. Many decades had passed since a genuine smile curved her lips or laugh pass her mouth.
Oh how she welcomed death, its welcomed release. She closed her eyes and tried to forget the painful life she had endured and to picture the last wonderful moments in her life.