CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Elizabeth attended three more lessons with Erik before her family's trip down to Cornwall. The song he wrote was truly wonderful, it suited her so perfectly and Elizabeth couldn't have sung a better song. And her time with Erik slowly helped her get over her near attack. Fortunately her mother had not been home when she returned that night and the butler (who had always been rather fond of her) helped her hide the bloody cloths before she got back.

Even though they were making preparations, she still found time to sneak away. It only showed just how unnoticed she was.

But unfortunately, all good things must at some point come to an end as Elizabeth fond herself in a carriage practicing her needle point without massacring her hands also. A futile challenge as a needle jabbed her once again in the thumb.

She held her breath and sucked the bleeding thumb as she case a sideways glance at her mother who had fallen asleep. The last thing she needed was her mother waking up and listen to another lecture how unladylike girls never found husbands. Elizabeth had always had no interest in marriage, but recently the interest had become even more so less. In fact, every time Verity pointed out a handsome young man Elizabeth would feel a sick feeling in her stomach and her heart, as if it were rejecting all possibilities.

That bothered her a little, because the sensation reminded her horrible of something, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Elizabeth are you alright, your face is a bit short on color?" Abigail said blinking. Elizabeth shook her head "No, I' quite alright Abi. Are we there yet?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Suddenly the carriage bumped and the needle went propelling into Elizabeth palm "Ow!" she cried and sucked on the hole "Oh bother! Do you think mother will scold me if I 'accidently' drop this out the window the next time the carriage jumps?"

Abigail giggled "I should think so, and she may suspect...however..." and Abigail looked to the left and looked to the right then leaned foreword as Elizabeth did the same. "...If you decide to do so, please 'accidently' throw mine out too."

Elizabeth couldn't help herself, she giggled. Abigail could be such fun when she wanted to be, and although she looked needlework, continuous pin pricking did take its toll on ones nerves. In other words, even Abigail got bored.

"Will you hush will all that infernal racket?" her mother Sofia's voice snapped as she opened one eye "I am trying to sleep."

"Yes mother" Abigail and Elizabeth chorused.

When Sofia was asleep once more they shared an amused glance and continued with their needle point.

After a few more hours of riding in the carriage and Elizabeth was feeling incredibly queasy, accompanied with the restlessness she felt in her stomach it was not a good combination. And the reason for her restlessness? She was itching to sing her song again. Elizabeth had never gone a day without practicing. She didn't know how she was going to survive the time she spent here. The very idea was impossible.

"Elizabeth, stop gawking into space and come along" her mother snapped curtly as Elizabeth blinked and followed her into the hotel they were staying in. Well it certainly wasn't five stars but it was quaint. It gave one the feeling of retiring to a little cottage somewhere and Elizabeth supposed that perhaps that was why it was so popular. And, as a man materialized from but of no where and gently too her bag with a gentle smile, the service was certainly five star. Or so she thought.

As a servant signed her mother in Elizabeth looked around. From a window she could see an outside restaurant, a tennis court and a rather promising looking lake shrouded by trees. She decided to take a walk at some time during her stay here. Other than that there wasn't much that interested her. It was a good thing she had brought with her a small trunk of books and only hoped there was some sort of library nearby.

There wasn't. Not one single library. Elizabeth was so bored!

It had only been four days and she was almost finished with her trunk of twelve thick books! She only had two left and she was desperately trying to save them. She wanted to go to a bookshop, but she knew her mother wouldn't approve, she already felt Elizabeth read far too much as it was.

She was sitting on a bench beside the lake with her hand to her cheek as she sighed heavily and dramatically. It was early morning, almost five, so no one else was here. Elizabeth had chosen a bench completely hidden behind the trees since she didn't fancy the idea of someone waking up later and seeing her sitting there. The idea was a little creepy to her for some reason.

She picked up a stone and tossed it into the pond. Watching it sink gave Elizabeth an idea as she hunted along the ground for a flat stone that would be suitable for skipping. She knew she looked most unladylike that the moment, but dash it all she was bored!

Eventually she found a few and began attempting the task. As most of the tasks she set out to do, it failed. Each stone sank on the first try till she was down to her last "Bother!" she gasped "Why won't this infernal thing skip? I'm sure I'm doing it right" she said to herself as she readjusted her fingers. In the end she gave up and tossed it in. As it made a loud 'Plop' sound she sat back down.

Now what?

The stone throwing may have been futile, but at least it had given her something to do.

But the niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn't left her, and Elizabeth knew what she really wanted to do. So standing up, she looked left and right nervously. Good, there didn't seem to be anyone.

She didn't want to sing Erik's new song. Not out in public like this.

Then she knew what to sing. Her favorite song.

Contrary to popular belief, her favorite song was not anything of Mozart, or even Past the point of no return by Erik. No, her favorite song was another one of his songs. The song he sang for her once when she had been hysterical.

So holding her elbows, she sang.

Christine de Chaney didn't know what had possessed her when she decided to go for a walk.

She and Raoul had come to England for a time due to his conducting certain business here. She had come down to Cornwall for a little sight seeing, seeing as she was in England she might as well enjoy herself. Raoul was in London unfortunately so Christine found herself rather bored.

Little Cornwall saw nothing of London, it was almost a foreign.

She took a step and stumbled a little, surprising herself. It seemed that she had become a little clumsy since the news. Smiling to herself she recalled Raoul's face as the doctor had told him the news of her pregnancy. Clutching her stomach she hoped to herself that the child was a boy. She would very much like to name him Gustav, after her father.

She tucked a tendril of spiraling brown hair behind her ear and went to make back for the path.

"Open up your mind

Let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness that you know you cannot fight

The darkness of the music of the night"

Christine gasped as her hands went to her mouth, memories that she had kept hidden for so long began flooding back as an image of a man in a half mask flashed before her eyes.

She choked.

That song, who was singing that song. Even now as she listened to the words she heard his chillingly beautiful voice singing lowly in her ear, trying with all his might to entrance her.

But then the male voice faded in her ears and became high pitched and gentle. A . . . woman's voice?

Christine followed the voice and pulled back some branches to find a woman standing by the pond with her arms clutching her elbows, singing.

"Let your mind start a journey

To a strange new world

Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before"

She was singing opera, Christine realized. The woman's voice had a perfect libretto and rang out clear and crisp and held something different. It was truly beautiful to listen too. Christine couldn't resist closing her eyes for one delicious moment as music washed over her. After all, this was her childhood. It was what she had grown up in.

Then she remembered what the woman was singing and her eyes snapped open. The singer was young, perhaps only a year or so older than herself. She was tall and had creamy blushing skin and long wavy pitch black hair tied back with ice blue ribbons to match her dress. She wasn't astoundingly beautiful, but she was certainly pretty.

She was singing with the strangest expression, a sort of longing .

"Let your soul take you where you long to be

Only then can you belong to...me?"

Suddenly she gasped at herself and stopped, biting her thumbnail Christine saw to her surprise that her face had gone red as she shook her head and ran away.

Christine watched the place where the girl had stood, thinking deeply.

How had she known his song? The phantom of the opera's song?

This was a song he had sung only for her, no one else knew it?

Christine sat on the stone bench and closed her eyes as she tried to fight the memory of the first time she heard it, but failed.

After all, even despite all that that happened, he still held some importance in her mind. No one could ever forget someone like the Phantom, someone who had loved her so much.

No, it hadn't been love. Not completely. it was obsession that drove him. After so many years to contemplate the happenings of Paris 1870, Christine had come to somewhat understand him.

It was obsession, mixed with love and mixed with need. That's what she believed. He had just, needed someone so badly. And that need had developed into obsession. But there had been love.

She remembered how she had taken his mask and he had flown into such a rage, calling her Pandora and Delilah and a Demon. And then when he clamed...his words of being a gargoyle who yearned for heaven, being a carcass who dreamed of beauty. The way he had spoken of her learning to love the man behind the monster, as if he were speaking to himself because he thought the very idea so impossible. It was both that and also a silent plea the compel her to love him still. And when he collapsed and whispered her name, it had been too much. It was as if he had given up.

Christine often dwelled on that moment in her thoughts. What would have happened if she hadn't picked up the mask and returned it to him? Would he have truly given up, would he still be that beautiful angel of music in her mind rather than the fearful Phantom of the opera?

But his eyes at that moment, that hopelessness. As if his world depended on her acceptance, it had humbled her and at the moment Christine had felt so sorry for him, she had to give it back. In fact she had done so without even thinking about it. Perhaps she shouldn't have?

In the end, it was seeing him kill someone that had shattered the illusion completely. Seeing that dangling body, he had killed so easily. What kind of person could love after having killed? Perhaps she was naive, but that's what she believed.

Wringing her hands she sighed.

But that didn't solve the mystery of who that woman was and how she knew that song.

I CHANGED MY MIND, I THINK IM GOING TO LEAVE MY SURPRISE FOR NEXT TIME SINCE I WANT TO WORK ON IT A BIT MORE.

BUT PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF CHRISTINE, I WAS A LITTLE AT A LOST BECAUSE IVE BEEN SO WORRIED I WOULDENT GET HER IN CHARATER. AND NO FLAMES, I APSOLOUTELY FORBID IT. POLIGHT CRITISIM IS ACCEPTED, BUT I HATE FLAMES AND CONSIDER THEM ALL RATHER USELESS.

REVEIW