Thank you for your reviews. I couldn't see the story up on home page for Phantom, and was not sure whether anyone could find it. Maybe that's me and my technical difficulties…I always have them with new sites.
ToryD: Thank you for your comments. I'm glad you liked it.
MJ MOD: Thank you also for your constructive criticism. As a stickler for punctuation and spelling and grammar (etc.) I was positively kicking myself for making such mistakes. Thank you for pointing them out. And don't worry… this will not be a "girl falls into Erik's arms" kind of thing, because after a while they get boring. I know this. And to clear a few things up; although Erik pretends he has, he still has not rebuilt his heart after it was broken with Christine, and because this is the room where he spoke to her, trained her and fell in love with her, the pain he felt with Christine has a sort of link with her dressing room. Ere go, now that there is someone else in that dressing room, he feels threatened. All shall be revealed in the next chapter.
There is not much action in this chapter, just something clearing up what happened after Chapter One. I needed to put it in, as it is a bit of a scene setter, although it is not very exciting.
Thank you for your time. Constructive criticism always welcome!
Disclaimer: Yes, I own Phantom of the Opera. Monsieur Leroux at your service…yes, bonjour men in white coats…why have you put me in this strange, coat like contraption?
Chapter 2
With the Passing of Time
Madame Giry
As the weeks passed, she slowly began to recover from her horrific injuries. For the first few days, the only signs of life she gave were a few gasping breaths, and after a week she began to whimper in her unconscious state from the pain. I would sit by her, dabbing at her forehead, dressing and redressing her wounds, tilting cups of water to her lips.
At the end of the third week, many of her cuts had healed, but many more would leave vicious scars that she would probably have forever. She was able to sit up in bed, fully awake. But this was a severe misfortune on her part; she would sometimes just cry from the pain that was all over her body, and sometimes she would lie there with her eyes closed, teeth gritted against the agony.
It hurt me, knowing I could do nothing for her, and I was particularly strict with the girls of the ballet. Erik's ever watchful presence did nothing to help me either, and my temper grew shorter and shorter as the weeks past. He was pressuring me to move her to the ballet girls' dormitories as soon as possible, and I dreaded to think of what may happen if his orders were not obeyed. I, more than anyone in the Opera House, knew what consequences his temper could bring.
It was the last day of the sixth week when we finally helped her out of bed, and she walked a few feet on unsteady, weak legs. Very soon afterwards she collapsed into Nicolas's arms, and he helped her back onto the bed, before I shooed him out of the room, so I could focus my full attention on the poor child.
I tried in vain, all the time I was nursing her, to learn her name, her age, anything that could help me identify who she was, but apart from the cries of pain she gave, she was as silent as the countryside at midnight. She spoke not a word in all those six weeks, from the moment she came to the moment she began to walk unassisted.
She lay there in, for want of any stronger to word to describe it, in isilence/i
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Erik
I wanted the girl out of the room as soon as possible, and my impatience was beginning to grow. Antoinette insisted that she fully recover before she was moved, but it had been six and a half weeks and she was now walking for herself. I could see no reason why she should not be moved to the ballet girls' dormitories.
Finally, my frustration became too much and I confronted Antoinette angrily, just outside the room. She was tired from weeks of nursing and playing her part in Opera's upcoming production of a…how should I put it…somewhat iadjusted/i version of iDon Juan Triumphant/i. The new managers were sceptical, even more sceptical of my existence than Andre and Firmin had been when they first joined, and they had not heeded the warnings of the inhabitants of the Opera House.
I was angry at them, angry at the new performance, but most of all I was angry about the creature in what was once Christine's room. I thought of it as being contaminated, but I also felt threatened by her presence. The last girl to be in that room had torn my heart into little pieces, pieces that I was still salvaging after three years later. I was afraid that this room, that had brought me love before, and then brought me hartbreak, would do the same again, even though I had barely set eyes on the girl. I did not even want to risk it; it was as if the room was cursed.
"Antoinette, I insist that you move her from that room at once," I almost yelled, toning down my voice at the last minute to avoid being caught. "I will allow her to be in Christine's room no longer."
"Erik, Christine is gone, when are you going to accept that?" she hissed, her frustration and tiredness shining through as anger. "She cannot be moved just because of your selfishness."
"The world does not show compassion, Madame, and therefore neither will I," I spat, not even attempting to keep my temper in check. "Move her to the ballet girls' dormitories now."
"Erik, when will you learn that by simply using your temper you shall not achieve everything you wish for?" She sighed turning back to the room, and I caught her by the arm.
"I don't want anyone in there, Antoinette." I insisted, my voice dropping to a low whisper. She pulled out of my grasp and went back into the room, closing the door, until it remained open just a crack, and she looked at me through it.
"I know you're scared about falling in love again Erik, but I assure you that her being in this room will do you no harm," she said softly Just because she is in here does not mean what happened with Christine shall happen again. Not everyone is Christine. If you just leave her alone, then no harm will come of it." And with that, the door closed in my face, and I was left to my own thoughts.
TBC
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Merci, my friends. Your comments are always appreciated.
