Thank you for all of your kind reviews! I love you all! - hands out Erik plushies -sorry…that was rather childish. Anyway…
wendela: thank you for pointing out my errors…you made a very good point in saying Christine couldn't know about Raoul…so I will have to edit some of the first chapter.
Also...my friend pointed out Raoul's title is spelled both 'Viscount' and "Vicomte" Anyone know which is correct? Let me know if you do!
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Wearily Christine managed to drag herself from her position on the cold, unforgiving rock-floor. She felt completely void, as if her tears had completely washed out her soul, and left her with pure instinct to survive on. As depressed as she felt, she knew that her body needed its rest, and so she succumbed to her need of sleep.
Pale and still wearing her 'wedding gown', Christine appeared as a ghost when she wandered past Erik, and into lavish bed where she had laid once before. The feel of soft silk of the sheets where her body had been cramped on the floor sent her into an almost instant, dreamless slumber.
Erik had watched Christine drift into the bedroom, sadly. Mayhap sleep would bring back the spirit that had drained out with those tears. He did not know, and the uncertainty of it all made him uncomfortable. Not knowing just what to do, and not wanting to awake Christine, he retreated to his study, and hastily replaced his mask. All in order, and sure that Christine would have something to wear when she awoke, he left the lair to see the remains of the Opera Populaire, and try to salvage a few things that might be needed. Now that his source of income was rather diminished (it wasn't that he had no money, but he would have to be a bit more frugal now), he would need to find something to do about the situation.
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How long she slept, Christine had no idea. Though when she had descended into the Phantom's haven, it had been dark. She had never actually been to his home in the daylight hours, and to her surprise the entire cavern was illuminated with pale sunlight, that reflected against the mist. Candles, no longer needed remained unlit, and reflections of the water danced across the walls and ceilings in a joyous manner. In both waking and sleeping hours, this place seemed magical.
With grace, and still in a sleepy daze, Christine brushed loose hair from her face, and stood up from the bed. The train of her skirt was left upon the soft sheets, as she descended from the bedroom, and toward the organ. With no musical sheets upon its rack, the instrument looked desolate and abandoned, for some reason making her unsettled. Then, almost like a slap across the face she remembered that Raoul was probably dead.
For some reason, the tears did not come. She surprised herself, but figured she had cried a lifetime's worth of tears in only one night before. Curious, and sure that Erik was not around to watch her, she decided to pry into the secrets of the Phantom. She passed the organ, and continued down to the study.
She passed by the burned out skeleton miniature of the opera house, unable to give it more than a glance. Her eyes scanned endless papers scattered about, with random statues and figures upon tables. She however also noticed many pictures of herself, some drawn in charcoal, some sketched, inked, and even one small painting. She shivered as her hand nearly grazed a portrait of her when she had just arrived as an orphan to the Opera house. He had been watching her for such a long time…but he had not done anything cruel when she was young. With a sigh she remembered the long nights when she used to cry herself to sleep, but they would stop when the Angel of Music would sing to her. It was always a dream, but now she knew it was not.