Author's note: School is done. Vacation is done (sadly). BUT! I can finally write fanfiction. From the first chapter, I can go in many different paths and it was quite difficult to find a good one. ChristinexEric is getting there. I will try to update it as fast as I can. Hope you guys like it. I would love to here from you guys. :)
In the carriage on her way home, she leans her head on the side to watch the snow covered Parisian night scenery passes by like the years of emptiness she has felt. No expression or emotion from her ivory face but a blink of indifference and regret. Now, her eyes peers the sidewalk for answers and her mind raging with wonder. The silver bell replays in her mind over and over again, couldn't help not to think that he is alive. Finally, the carriage stops in front of the house entrance and the coachman helped her get down. Gazing at the grand mansion, she recounts the life she and Raoul created together. What else could be missing? As she enters the house, the scent of spring welcomes her. To her right, the living room is filled with white flowers from elegant lilies to the adorable doilies of baby's breath. The maid happily shows her the room, "Madame, another set from your most loyal fans! I am so proud to be serving you." Christine gives her an acknowledging smile. The maid, in turn, nodded and leaves her be.
The flowers are a usual occurrence in the household. Never missing one concert from the famous opera singer, even during the freezing winter, the room overflows with blooming flowers. As she admires the field of flowers, a single red rose calls her from the fireplace slowly burning away. She quickly saves it extinguishing the ember that is consuming it. She holds the rose to her nose and inhales the rich dark floral scent that prevails over the burnt smell. Somehow, that one rose suppresses her painful longing and revives the ache in her heart. She takes the rose to her bedroom and places it on her bedside table. She lies on the bed not removing her eyes from it.
Later that night, Raoul comes into the bedroom with a glass of scotch in his hand. He walks straight towards the bar, gulps down the remaining scotch, and refills the glass with more liquor. He misses the table and sent the bottle crashing down to the floor waking up Christine. She gasps and rushes to help Raoul. She takes the glass off his hands and guides him to the bed. He manages to sit on the side of the bed. Beside him, Christine strokes his cheeks looking at his eyes filled with despair. "Raoul, what's wrong?" Raoul turns away from her ignoring her kind brown eyes. It pains him to see her worried. At that moment, he sees the red rose he threw at the fireplace. His eyes widen. Christine gets increasingly anxious. "Raoul, please speak to me." He looks at Christine with torment and shrugs off her concern. He grabs the rose and examines its half-crisped petals from the flames, yet it still holds its vibrant blood red color. "Raoul?" He scoffs at her plead. Unconsciously, his grasp tightens crumbling the rose like a piece of paper. Its thorns pierce through his skin wetting his hand with his blood. As if the rose itself is fighting back. Raoul smirks at the irony. "All these years, he still haunts us," He mumbles to himself. Christine leans her head on his shoulders comforting him.
"Say Christine, do you still love me?" She faces him and slightly purses her lips.
"Of course Raoul," she says meekly.
