Does anyone else wonder what would have happened if Sybil hadn't killed herself before Dorian could change his mind? This story begins at the start of chapter VIII, Just a short piece exploring that idea. Even though I would love to, I do not own the characters and all credit for their creation goes to Oscar Wilde.
It was long past noon when he awoke. His valet had crept several times on tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring, and had wondered what made his young master sleep so late. Finally his bell sounded, and Victor came in softly with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on a small tray of old Sevres china, and drew back the olive satin curtains, with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in front of the three tall windows.
"Monsieur has well slept this morning," he said, smiling.
"What O'clock is it, Victor?" asked Dorian Gray, drowsily.
"One hour and a quarter, monsieur".
How late it was! He sat up, and, having sipped some tea, turned over his letters. One of them was from Lord Henry, and had been brought by hand that morning. He hesitated for a moment, and then put it aside. The others he opened listlessly. They contained the usual collection of cards, invitations to dinner, tickets for private views, programmes of charity concerts, and the like, that are showered on fashionable young men every morning during the season. There was a rather heavy bill, for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet set, that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely old fashioned people and did not realise that we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn street money lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moments notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest.
After about ten minutes he got up and threw down the letters. His thoughts were tumultuous and he could find no peace, so he slipped on a thick wool coat, hat and glove, and left the house quietly so as not to alert Victor to his whereabouts, or lack of them.
As Dorian strolled towards the park, Sybil's face swam through his mind. He saw only her tear streaked cheeks and her eyes, eyes full of misery and fear. A wave of guilt threatened to wash over him and it was only with supreme effort that he pushed it back down. The park was particularly beautiful that day and Dorian stopped to pluck a tulip and examine its beautiful, fiery colours. He twirled it in his hand as he strolled about the fountain and dipped a hand into the water, admiring how the crystal clear liquid sparkled on his white skin.
Dorian continued onwards towards the heart of the park. A swallow wove overhead and a hansom rumbled past on the other side of the hedge. When Dorian came to the bridge spanning a small stream, he stopped and looked at the person leaning on the rails. She had not yet noticed him and was staring down into the water, letting the small crust of bread in her hand tilt and then drop to the ducks waiting nervously below. The birds fought over the food and she straightened up, or rather, unhunched herself a little more, and turned to walk down the bridge towards Dorian. Her eyes were downcast and she walked slowly and haltingly. Dark curls stuck out about her pale face at strange angles and her raggedy grey dress hung limply about her small frame. Dorian could only stare at her, wondering at the humour in which fate was allowing itself to indulge. The girl reached the base of the bridge and walked straight into Dorian, uttering a little cry of alarm and falling back. "I'm so sorry" she whispered, and Dorian could almost hear the pain and despair in her voice, "I didn't see you there". She still had not raised her eyes and so had not recognized him. As she went to scurry away, Dorian put out a hand and caught her arm, saying, "That's quite alright, Sybil".
Sybil Vane's head whipped up and she gazed at Dorian. Her eyes held such a powerful longing that it stunned Dorian slightly and his hold on her arm loosened. Sybil's eyes filled with tears and she stood, her head hanging, clearly not knowing what to say or do. Dorian took in her small figure and felt a hint off the love he had once experienced upon her account rise again in him. "Sybil," he said softly, and she turned her head away, raising a hand to hide her expression, "Sybil, listen to me, I was wrong to behave as rashly as I did. I was disappointed in your performance, yes, and I still wish you had behaved as more of an artist, but I made you a promise and it is a promise I intend to keep. I still love you Sybil, and I want you to be my wife." Sybil looked up at him and Dorian saw a hint of hope and, perhaps, anger in her eyes. "Dorian" she said, and her voice was low and broken, "Dorian I cannot marry you if you don't love me with all your heart, I will be a better artist, I will try harder, but I want to know that you love me as well, and that your love is infinite and certain, not conditional." Dorian was silent, he knew he had acted badly in his treatment of Sybil and that he should have loved her and treated her better. He looked at her face and saw the beauty and purity that could be his, feeling the whisper of love for her that he still held growing stronger. " Yes," He murmured, " Yes, I can love you, I must love you, I will remember the feelings I held for you and they will return, Sybil you cannot imagine how much I adored you, I loved you and wanted you to be mine and mine only. I still do, I think, and I don't want to let you go if it means that I will never feel this way again." Sybil had tears coursing down her face now as he held his arms wide and she pressed herself to him, imagining herself staying like this forever, never letting him go. Dorian held her tightly and felt a feeling of infinite happiness wash over him, he had done the right thing and he would be happy with this girl, this girl who was bright and beautiful and would love him for the rest of their lives.
Sybil and Dorian walked through the park together, back towards Dorian's home. Dorian wiped the tears from Sybil's face with soft fingers and she smiled up at him happily. As they came towards his street, Sybil glanced about in wonder at the magnificent houses and the luxury that surrounded her. She smiled and laughed and her posture was upright and sprightly again. Dorian led her through the gate at the drive of his home and walked with her up the great marble stairs to the large oak doors. Even as he knocked upon it the door flung open, revealing Victor in a state of great distress, " Oh, " he cried, " As he saw his master, " Sir, I thought something dreadful may have befallen you, are you alri….." He stopped short when he saw Sybil Vane and did a double take. "Is this a new servant that Mr Gray wishes to have trained?" He asked uncertainly. Dorian smiled and said, "No, Victor, this is the soon to be Lady Gray, I wish to have her shown to the spare room and then I want my coach prepared. We shall be travelling into London to find some new clothes for Miss Vane." With a look of supreme astonishment upon his face, Victor complied and bowed to Sybil, saying, "This way if you please, Ma'am". Sybil glanced back at Dorian nervously and he smiled at her, indicating that she should follow Victor. She did so and Dorian waited until they were out of sight to hurry to his bedchamber and pull the screen from the painting. There he stood, in all his youth and splendour, his face unmarred by any cruel line or dull mark. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and took the painting from its place on the wall. His face wreathed in smiles, he called his servants to help him and together they carried it to his drawing room, where it was et upon the wall in pride of place. As Dorian left the room, he noticed that the painting had an expression of radiant happiness upon it features, and was standing straight and tall, its face turned towards the front of the canvas. Sighing deeply with relief, Dorian swept into the hall and caught Sybil up in a tight embrace, pressing his lips to hers and silently thinking that he would worship this angelic girl every day, for she was his lifeline and his love. Let Henry Wotton could say what he liked, Dorian would be happy which was more than Henry could claim he had ever been. Taking Sybil's arm, he led the way from the grand entryway to the coach.
Up in the drawing room, a soft, sweet smile curved the lips of The Picture of Dorian Gray. No devils curse can withstand purity, and what could be more pure than the love Dorian held for Sybil Vane?
So that's it. I'm not sure whether the ending was a bit weak or not so review and let me know.