Disclaimer: I don't own the song My Immortal by Evanescence. If you'll remember from The Phantom's Daughter, I made it that Christine was the original composer of it.
A/N: This chapter is coming sooner than expected.
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About two weeks later, after Marc, Christine, and Mrs. Wellington had had supper and Christine and Mrs. Wellington had washed the dishes, the three of them made their way into the parlor for Mrs. Wellington and Christine's nightly performance.
"All right, Christine dear," Mrs. Wellington sighed, sitting down on the piano bench. "What are we going to play tonight?"
"Do you think that we could maybe play a song of mine that I wrote?" Christine asked uncertainly, not wanting to irritate Mrs. Wellington. "I wrote the accompaniment for it, if you're up to it."
Mrs. Wellington nodded and smiled. "That's fine, dear. Just go upstairs and get the piano music."
Christine nodded, then went upstairs to go get the piano accompaniment. She returned a few moments later with staff paper that had notes on it. Handing it to Mrs. Wellington, she asked, "Do you need to practice first?"
"No, I'm fine," Mrs. Wellington replied. "I'll just sightread. When do you want me to start?"
"Hold on a moment," Christine replied, standing in front of where Marc was sitting on the sofa and taking a deep breath. Then she turned to Mrs. Wellington and nodded. "When you're ready, madame."
Mrs. Wellington nodded, then started playing as Christine turned back and faced Marc. When it was the right time, she started singing.
I'm so tired of being here,
Suppressed by all my childish fears.
And if you have to leave,
I wish that you would just leave,
'Cause your presence still lingers here,
And it won't leave me alone...
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
When you cried,
I'd wipe away all of your tears,
When you'd scream,
I'd fight away all of your fears,
And I held your hand
Through all of these years,
But you still have
All of me...
You used to captivate me
By your resonating light -
Now I'm bound
By the life you've left behind...
Your face, it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice, it chased away
All the sanity in me
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
When you cried,
I'd wipe away all of your tears,
When you'd scream,
I'd fight away all of your fears,
And I held your hand
Through all of these years,
But you still have
All of me...
I've tried so hard to tell myself
That you're gone,
But though you're still with me,
I've been alone all along...
When you cried,
I'd wipe away all of your tears,
When you'd scream,
I'd fight away all of your fears,
And I held your hand
Through all of these years,
But you still have
All of me...
When she was done and Mrs. Wellington was done playing the piano, Marc smiled and applauded. "Wonderful, Christine."
"Yes, Christine dear," Mrs. Wellington echoed, turning to face Christine as she smiled. "Beautiful, perfect, and crystal clear, as always."
Christine smiled at them. "Thank you, madame and Marc. You are both very kind." She then suddenly closed her eyes and took an unexpectedly deep breath.
Marc and Mrs. Wellington were instantly worried.
"Christine?" Marc said nervously, standing up and putting a hand on her elbow. "Are you all right?"
Mrs. Wellington rose from the piano and placed her hand on Christine's back. "What's the matter, Christine dear?" She placed a hand on Christine's forehead. "Do you feel ill?"
Christine opened her eyes after a moment. "I'm fine," she said softly, smiling and shrugging it off. "I'm just... tired, I suppose." She paused and sighed. "I think I'll go to bed."
"That might be a good idea," Mrs. Wellington replied, nodding and still looking worried. "Marcus, take her upstairs, would you? I don't want her passing out and falling down the steps."
Marc nodded. "All right. Come on, Christine."
Christine nodded and made her way to the stairs. Then she started walking up the stairs, Marc following behind her.
When they reached her closed bedroom door, she turned to him and smiled slightly. "Good night, Marc."
"Good night. Are you sure you're all right? Maybe I should get you some medicine."
"I'm fine," she said reassuringly. "I just need to rest. I'm tired from singing and playing the piano and riding Minuit... I'll be fine tomorrow."
He nodded. "All right, then. Good night."
"Good night." Then she turned, opened her bedroom door, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
He gazed at the door for a moment, then turned and made his way down the hall to his own bedroom, since he was feeling tired himself.
As he turned on the light in his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and started changing into pajamas, he thought about Christine.
He was worried about her. It looked like she was sick, even though she'd insisted that she was fine. Hopefully she'd be better in the morning.
But he didn't stop thinking about her after that. He started thinking about who she was. There were many words that you could use to describe Christine. Angel... phantom... orphan... singer... musician... magician... beauty...
That made him stop short. Beauty? Christine?
After a moment's consideration, he decided that Christine admittedly did, indeed, possess some sort of rare beauty about her that his past courters - young women that he had actually courted - hadn't had. There was something oddly captivating about her.
But did he love her?
He stood there for a moment thoughtfully, then sighed and decided that he'd think about it the next day.
Then he turned off the light in his room, crawled into bed, covered himself up, and soon fell asleep.
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The next morning, Marc awoke to see a ray of sunshine peeping through the curtains of his bedroom door.
He sat up, stretched, and got out of bed. Then he started dressing.
When he was dressed, he made his way downstairs, where he heard two women talking and something clattering in the kitchen.
When he walked into the kitchen, he found himself breathless.
Christine was standing there, cooking a breakfast of eggs and sausage and talking with Mrs. Wellington. She was dressed in the single most beautiful black dress that he'd ever seen, and it was actually her dress, and her jet - black hair was pulled back into a French braid.
She was beautiful.
He stared at her openmouthedly for a moment, enraptured by her. This was the first time that he'd really noticed her. For the first time, it was occuring to him that Christine Vasille was a young woman... and he liked it.
Mrs. Wellington then happened to glanced in his direction and see him. She saw him before he saw her, so she saw him staring at Christine. She smiled, then cleared her throat to get his attention.
He snapped out of his trance. Smiling quickly, he nodded to his mother. "Good morning, Mother."
"Good morning, Marcus," Mrs. Wellington replied, still smiling.
Then he glanced back at Christine, who had turned her head to him and was gazing at him intently. "Good morning, Christine," he said softly, nodding and smiling.
Christine smiled. "Bonjour, Marc." Then she turned her attention back to her cooking.
He stared at her - not openmouthedly this time, though - for another moment, then asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"You don't need to do anything, Marcus," Mrs. Wellington replied. "Just go sit and wait until Christine and I serve breakfast."
He nodded, then walked out of the kitchen and back upstairs to his bedroom. Now that he was sure that he loved Christine, he had a lot to think about.