By request, I have decided to post the version entered in the morbidity contest. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Death.
She had once feared death, yet now she welcomed the concept of eternal sleep, for dreams were all she had. In dreams, she could live in a world where the choice that changed her life had not been made for her.
She had wanted to stay. Erik had known it. Raoul had known it. Why then, she would wonder, did things turn out the way they did? There was not a day where she did not imagine life as it might have been if she were able to stay with Erik.
She was with him during his final moments. She had given herself to him-body and soul. His last words to her were, "Christine, I love you."
Her soul died with him.
She loved Charles more than she thought possible, She had given him a part of her heart that she thought was gone forever. Everything he did reminded her of Erik. She would hold him and pretend he was his father. She would kiss him, probably more than a mother should, and remember the feel of Erik's lips on her own. There were times when she would look at her son and would see somebody else.
She remembered one incident a few years back.
Charles had just come home from school. She was sitting in the parlor with Ayesha on her lap as Charles rambled on and on about his day.
He spoke of the usual things a young boy would talk about when discussing school: the friends he made, what his teachers had told him, etc.
During his conversation, he had made his way over to the piano. He played as he spoke.
She had watched him in fascination. His talent, the way his fingers moved across the ivory keys, the look of contentment as he played…It was all to familiar.
Ayesha left her lap and curled herself around his leg.
How she wished she were that cat!
She begged him to stop playing.
"But Mama," he said, "I must practice!"
"If you must play," she responded as she stroked the nonexistent mask on his face, "then at least play me something from Don Juan Triumphant."
Charles raised a puzzled eyebrow at her. "But I have never heard of Don Juan Triumphant!"
She laughed and spoke in a voice that was not her own. "Alright, if that's the game you want to play!" She stroked his face once more. Her eyes turned from playful to longing. "Remove your mask for me, Erik," she begged.
Charles stood up from the bench of the piano and began to back away slowly. His mother caught him by the arm and pulled him back to her.
"Why do you leave me, Erik? Have I done something wrong? I suppose I must have… please allow me to make it up to you."
She pulled him into a passionate kiss. She remembered the feel of Erik's lips as she met Charles'. She moaned as she felt his tongue against her own. Her hands wrapped around his neck as she pulled him closer, deepening their kiss.
"I love you, Erik," she moaned as she pulled away.
She began to remove his shirt.
Raoul walked in. Charles ran into his stepfather's arms.
"I'm not Erik," he whimpered helplessly.
A week later, Raoul had Charles sent to a boarding school in England.
It was her anniversary. She wished she could be celebrating it with another man. She plucked the petals off of the red rose Raoul had left her and mixed them with the petals of a white rose she had bought earlier. This act was ritual for her.
She was the white rose and Erik was her nightingale. Together, they made red.
The doctors said she had cancer. Raoul had told her to be strong and she would live through it, but she did not want to survive. This cancer was a blessing. In death, she would be reunited with her angel once more.
She opened the drawer of the table beside her bed and carefully placed the rose petals inside. She ran her fingers over the plain gold ring that lay amongst the many petals. Memories of Erik flooded her mind.
She remembered his appearance, his voice, his embrace, his kiss, the feel of his body against hers…
Her stomach churned at the thought that none of these feelings existed outside of her memories.
A little glass bottle in the corner of the drawer caught her eye. Her trembling fingers reached out and picked up the tiny bottle. She examined it in her pale hands for a moment.
It seemed to be an ordinary glass bottle: tiny and plain, with a stopper holding its contents in place. She turned it around in her hands and watched the liquid churn inside of it.
She reached back into the drawer and fumbled around for a while before pulling out a small slip of paper. It was a passage from Aida. She read it, allowing a single tear to trickle down her cheek.
In your arms, I wished to die, she thought. What truth!
How perfect would it have been, she speculated, if I had died in your arms that night? How wonderful would it have been if you had never let me go and I remained with you in your bed for eternity?
She placed the paper back in the drawer and opened the little glass bottle.
Tears were streaming down her face as she raised the little glass bottle to her lips. Raoul and Charles would think it was the cancer. They would never know.
Just hold on Erik, she thought. I'll be with you soon.
The little glass bottle shattered as it hit the floor. The poison had taken effect instantly.