A/N: Sorry this took so long but I promised a friend of mine I wouldn't update this story till I updated my "I the Dark"
Disclaimer: You get the point don't you?
Chapter Seven: You were warm and gentle…
When Erik had finally calmed down, he released Marguerite from his embrace. He had hugged her, without hesitation, and she had accepted his presence, although she had seen his face.
Erik had come in to check on Marguerite to find her choking on her own blood. Her body was going into shock due to the lack of oxygen. Quickly he had turned her on her side and cleared her throat of all blood. But she was still growing colder, her lips were going blue, and her heartbeat was slowing. He called to her in panic, afraid that death was coming too soon for him. Suddenly, she took a deep breath and her eyes shot open. Never in his life could he remember feeling so relieved.
"Thank you," she whispered her gratitude.
"No need, you think I was just going to let you die?" he looked at her questioningly.
She mumbled something he didn't catch. Before he could question her, she spoke. "No, I mean for everything. You've done so much for me. And I just wanted you to know I'm happy that you're my father. May I call you that, Erik? May I name you my father?" her eyes looked into his, her innocence evident in her wide eyes.
His tears were welling with disbelief. Never in his entire life had anyone loved him, cared for him on their own will, without his influence. "I would be honored Marguerite. And I am happy that you are my daughter, you're all I could have ever wished for. I'm very proud of you, never doubt that."
They embraced again, both happy that had finally gotten what they dreamed of.
~*~
Raoul watched as the train left the station. On that blasted contraption, Christine was being brought closed to his enemy, Marguerite. The next train left in an hour, he WOULD be on it. And then, everything would be fine…
**Just as soon as I kill Marguerite…**
~*~
Last entry of Marguerite's diary-
It was strange at first, getting used to having a father, a real one, who cared and loved you. But as the week passed, it seemed that all was finally falling into place. And I discovered that the longer I was saturated with his presence the harder it was to withhold the secrets that have never escaped my lips before.
Papa and I fell into a schedule of sorts. I would leave for rehearsals at nine and be back by four. After a light snack and a brief nap, I would have a two-hour lesson from papa. Then, after a brief rest (which usually consisted of warming down and a cup of tea), I would be tutored on both organ and violin for an hour each. Dinner would be prepared while I continued practicing. After dinner, we would sit in the study. We usually did an assortment of things such as play chess (I was getting much better but I wonder if he is just letting me almost win), talk, or I would listen to him play while I knit or read. Sometimes he would read to me. I would sit in a stool at his feet and lay my head on his lap as he read stories of many lives. But I much preferred when he told me legends or told me of his travels. I loved to hear about his friend, Nadir. I would love to meet him. I loved Papa's stories almost as much as I loved him. The only possible way my life could be perfected is if mama joined our happiness. Then we would be a happy family and I would be whole at last.
Only one burden rests on my shoulders theses days… if I could only tell Erik that I had been there when my sister was murdered and I had seen who delivered her to Death's door. That the murderer was ind
**ENTRY NEVER FINISHED**
One evening after supper, Marguerite was feeling very weary. But she refused to go to sleep without hearing a legend play out through her father's trance like voice.
He was reading when she entered in her nightgown and she lay on the couch and put her head on his knee. "Tell me a story, Papa," she whispered.
Her looked down to find his little angel gazing at him with doe eyes. He could not deny her, so he bent to his daughter's will and closed the book he had been reading. He searched for the right legend for tonight. Finally, he decided on one that he had told her mother a long time ago, before she had betrayed him.
A nightingale had fallen in love with a white rose but she had refused him due to her fear of Allah's will. Allah had forbid the two to mate. But finally, the rose had overcome her fear and out of their union came a single red rose the world wasn't supposed to know.
By the time he had finished his tale, Marguerite was fast asleep in his lap. Smiling genuinely, **I've been doing that as of late** he picked up her small form and carried to her bedroom. After tucking her in he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. He smoothed back her hair and sighed.
Finally deciding on resting himself, he kissed her forehead. He whispered lightly in her ear, "You are the red rose." And departed to his chambers.
~*~
Christine looked about she was in France. She would rest here a night before heading to Paris. Going into the first inn she saw, she prayed again that she wasn't too late.
~*~
Many rats live in Erik's underground due to his respect for them. One particular rat was rather hungry one evening and started to chew on a wire. Now this wasn't any ordinary wire, this wire signaled the alarm system. Finally chewing through, the rat scurries off leaving the alarm useless.
Disclaimer: You get the point don't you?
Chapter Seven: You were warm and gentle…
When Erik had finally calmed down, he released Marguerite from his embrace. He had hugged her, without hesitation, and she had accepted his presence, although she had seen his face.
Erik had come in to check on Marguerite to find her choking on her own blood. Her body was going into shock due to the lack of oxygen. Quickly he had turned her on her side and cleared her throat of all blood. But she was still growing colder, her lips were going blue, and her heartbeat was slowing. He called to her in panic, afraid that death was coming too soon for him. Suddenly, she took a deep breath and her eyes shot open. Never in his life could he remember feeling so relieved.
"Thank you," she whispered her gratitude.
"No need, you think I was just going to let you die?" he looked at her questioningly.
She mumbled something he didn't catch. Before he could question her, she spoke. "No, I mean for everything. You've done so much for me. And I just wanted you to know I'm happy that you're my father. May I call you that, Erik? May I name you my father?" her eyes looked into his, her innocence evident in her wide eyes.
His tears were welling with disbelief. Never in his entire life had anyone loved him, cared for him on their own will, without his influence. "I would be honored Marguerite. And I am happy that you are my daughter, you're all I could have ever wished for. I'm very proud of you, never doubt that."
They embraced again, both happy that had finally gotten what they dreamed of.
~*~
Raoul watched as the train left the station. On that blasted contraption, Christine was being brought closed to his enemy, Marguerite. The next train left in an hour, he WOULD be on it. And then, everything would be fine…
**Just as soon as I kill Marguerite…**
~*~
Last entry of Marguerite's diary-
It was strange at first, getting used to having a father, a real one, who cared and loved you. But as the week passed, it seemed that all was finally falling into place. And I discovered that the longer I was saturated with his presence the harder it was to withhold the secrets that have never escaped my lips before.
Papa and I fell into a schedule of sorts. I would leave for rehearsals at nine and be back by four. After a light snack and a brief nap, I would have a two-hour lesson from papa. Then, after a brief rest (which usually consisted of warming down and a cup of tea), I would be tutored on both organ and violin for an hour each. Dinner would be prepared while I continued practicing. After dinner, we would sit in the study. We usually did an assortment of things such as play chess (I was getting much better but I wonder if he is just letting me almost win), talk, or I would listen to him play while I knit or read. Sometimes he would read to me. I would sit in a stool at his feet and lay my head on his lap as he read stories of many lives. But I much preferred when he told me legends or told me of his travels. I loved to hear about his friend, Nadir. I would love to meet him. I loved Papa's stories almost as much as I loved him. The only possible way my life could be perfected is if mama joined our happiness. Then we would be a happy family and I would be whole at last.
Only one burden rests on my shoulders theses days… if I could only tell Erik that I had been there when my sister was murdered and I had seen who delivered her to Death's door. That the murderer was ind
**ENTRY NEVER FINISHED**
One evening after supper, Marguerite was feeling very weary. But she refused to go to sleep without hearing a legend play out through her father's trance like voice.
He was reading when she entered in her nightgown and she lay on the couch and put her head on his knee. "Tell me a story, Papa," she whispered.
Her looked down to find his little angel gazing at him with doe eyes. He could not deny her, so he bent to his daughter's will and closed the book he had been reading. He searched for the right legend for tonight. Finally, he decided on one that he had told her mother a long time ago, before she had betrayed him.
A nightingale had fallen in love with a white rose but she had refused him due to her fear of Allah's will. Allah had forbid the two to mate. But finally, the rose had overcome her fear and out of their union came a single red rose the world wasn't supposed to know.
By the time he had finished his tale, Marguerite was fast asleep in his lap. Smiling genuinely, **I've been doing that as of late** he picked up her small form and carried to her bedroom. After tucking her in he wasn't quite ready to leave yet. He smoothed back her hair and sighed.
Finally deciding on resting himself, he kissed her forehead. He whispered lightly in her ear, "You are the red rose." And departed to his chambers.
~*~
Christine looked about she was in France. She would rest here a night before heading to Paris. Going into the first inn she saw, she prayed again that she wasn't too late.
~*~
Many rats live in Erik's underground due to his respect for them. One particular rat was rather hungry one evening and started to chew on a wire. Now this wasn't any ordinary wire, this wire signaled the alarm system. Finally chewing through, the rat scurries off leaving the alarm useless.