Il Commiato, la Mia Principessa
Chapt. 7
Note: These are the last 2 chapters ! *sniff, sniff* Thank you all for reading and/or reviewing! I know the first few parts were sometimes hard to read because of the format and the paragraph breaks, or lack thereof , so I tried to go back and fix it for you guys. When I upload stuff onto ff.net , it usually looks different from what I have on my computer. I have no idea why, but sometimes that can create a problem , as it did with this phic. Anyway, thanks once again , and I hope you've enjoyed this.
The coolness of the gentle lace felt strangely comforting to his trembling hands, as he carefully fingered the garments which hung, untouched since her departure, in the elegant wardrobe. The silence of the room was almost overwhelming. It consumed him, as did his emptyness, and yet, he did not pull away from the painful familiarity of the clothes which would never again feel the touch of their true owner. With one final glance at the yards of hanging fabric, Erik softly shut the wardrobe door and fastened its lock securely; knowing that he, too, would never again gaze upon their lovely colors and delicate patterns. His use for the dresses had ceased to exist, for never again would a woman venture into her bedroom, yet he could not bring himself to dispose of them so readily . To erase evidence of her existence would be to erase her entirely , and though it often brought him pain, he did not wish to destroy the memory. He had come to realize that without Christine , his life would have been nothing more than a dark, loveless void; containing nothing except a black hole of empty emotions which would inevitably consume him in its firey embrace.
No , he was glad that Christine Daae had entered his life ; almost thankful , though he was often unsure of who or what to thank. After her departure , he had indeed been embittered by her decision, and often sat through long periods of delirium; cursing her for being so beautiful, and himself, for being so ugly. His feelings of hatred would vanish, however, whenever he caught sight of her ring; usually resting softly on the floor, or on top of his grand organ which, like his dark kingdom, had also been condemned to silence. The similiarities between the feminine piece of jewelery and its bearer were almost striking at times . Both were simplistic, yet radiantly beautiful; containg only the purest of elements and emitting an angelic halo of light wherever it rested. The cold resentment which clouded his mind would suddenly melt away, as his fingers stroked the ring's exterior, touching it only in ways he had ever dared to touch her. Warmth and memories of almost joy would then flood his heart, as he sat and gazed lovingly upon the bright flashes of light emitted from the gem's exterior; recalling her smile, her voice, and the unconcious grace which surrounded her . It was during these times that he felt no hate for mankind, and no sorrow for the loss of Christine . She had saved him, and he was startled to realize how rarely he had acknowledged this. Without Christine's presence, he might never have known what it was like to be loved, to be admired, or to be kissed. It seemed as though the imprint of her embrace still rested on his body, and he found comfort in the fact that it could never fully be erased . She had given him all that he had ever asked for , and though it had only been for a brief while until she saw what everyone else had always seen, and ran like everyone else had always done, it was enough to mend his broken soul.
Oddly enough, it was the presence of the street girl, Bianca , which had opened his eyes and cleared his lurid brain. It had been quite a long while since he had last met a person with intense pain and unhappiness looming in their past, so, naturally, Erik had become accustomed to focusing the part of his brain which pityed solely on himself. It shocked him to hear her story; to imagine a different kind of suffering that he somehow understood. After she, too, left him in the midst of emotional turmoil, Erik found his thoughts ravaged, not by Christine , but by her. He examined her state of mind in his head, and saw a troubled child who roamed the streets in search of answers to questions far too complicated to even ask. And it was during this strange examination that he realized that he, too, implored the darkness night after night to no avail . He, too, blindly clung to self-pity and hatred of the world, in an attempt to clear his conscience and explain why there was so much pain. But it wasn't until he saw her, truely saw her for who she was, that Erik knew, at last, who he was. His prayers had been answered . He had received at least a taste of what he had always longed for , and though he still could feel the hurt stabbing at his heart, he had finally accepted that the only brief happiness he had ever known had passed. Summertime had come and gone , in the form of an angel he had once , and would always love .
Turning to face the strange, wax figure which stood regally in the corner of the elegant bedroom, Erik approached it for the final time . Touching the smooth fabric of the wedding gown, he once again allowed himself to remember how beautiful Christine had looked in it, and how he had longed to see a radiant smile on her lovely face, instead of the frightened glare which resonated in her eyes. Sighing noiselessly into the stillness of the room, he gently placed the veil on the head of the figure, whispering softly the words he never was able to say.
"Goodbye, Christine ."
Chapt. 7
Note: These are the last 2 chapters ! *sniff, sniff* Thank you all for reading and/or reviewing! I know the first few parts were sometimes hard to read because of the format and the paragraph breaks, or lack thereof , so I tried to go back and fix it for you guys. When I upload stuff onto ff.net , it usually looks different from what I have on my computer. I have no idea why, but sometimes that can create a problem , as it did with this phic. Anyway, thanks once again , and I hope you've enjoyed this.
The coolness of the gentle lace felt strangely comforting to his trembling hands, as he carefully fingered the garments which hung, untouched since her departure, in the elegant wardrobe. The silence of the room was almost overwhelming. It consumed him, as did his emptyness, and yet, he did not pull away from the painful familiarity of the clothes which would never again feel the touch of their true owner. With one final glance at the yards of hanging fabric, Erik softly shut the wardrobe door and fastened its lock securely; knowing that he, too, would never again gaze upon their lovely colors and delicate patterns. His use for the dresses had ceased to exist, for never again would a woman venture into her bedroom, yet he could not bring himself to dispose of them so readily . To erase evidence of her existence would be to erase her entirely , and though it often brought him pain, he did not wish to destroy the memory. He had come to realize that without Christine , his life would have been nothing more than a dark, loveless void; containing nothing except a black hole of empty emotions which would inevitably consume him in its firey embrace.
No , he was glad that Christine Daae had entered his life ; almost thankful , though he was often unsure of who or what to thank. After her departure , he had indeed been embittered by her decision, and often sat through long periods of delirium; cursing her for being so beautiful, and himself, for being so ugly. His feelings of hatred would vanish, however, whenever he caught sight of her ring; usually resting softly on the floor, or on top of his grand organ which, like his dark kingdom, had also been condemned to silence. The similiarities between the feminine piece of jewelery and its bearer were almost striking at times . Both were simplistic, yet radiantly beautiful; containg only the purest of elements and emitting an angelic halo of light wherever it rested. The cold resentment which clouded his mind would suddenly melt away, as his fingers stroked the ring's exterior, touching it only in ways he had ever dared to touch her. Warmth and memories of almost joy would then flood his heart, as he sat and gazed lovingly upon the bright flashes of light emitted from the gem's exterior; recalling her smile, her voice, and the unconcious grace which surrounded her . It was during these times that he felt no hate for mankind, and no sorrow for the loss of Christine . She had saved him, and he was startled to realize how rarely he had acknowledged this. Without Christine's presence, he might never have known what it was like to be loved, to be admired, or to be kissed. It seemed as though the imprint of her embrace still rested on his body, and he found comfort in the fact that it could never fully be erased . She had given him all that he had ever asked for , and though it had only been for a brief while until she saw what everyone else had always seen, and ran like everyone else had always done, it was enough to mend his broken soul.
Oddly enough, it was the presence of the street girl, Bianca , which had opened his eyes and cleared his lurid brain. It had been quite a long while since he had last met a person with intense pain and unhappiness looming in their past, so, naturally, Erik had become accustomed to focusing the part of his brain which pityed solely on himself. It shocked him to hear her story; to imagine a different kind of suffering that he somehow understood. After she, too, left him in the midst of emotional turmoil, Erik found his thoughts ravaged, not by Christine , but by her. He examined her state of mind in his head, and saw a troubled child who roamed the streets in search of answers to questions far too complicated to even ask. And it was during this strange examination that he realized that he, too, implored the darkness night after night to no avail . He, too, blindly clung to self-pity and hatred of the world, in an attempt to clear his conscience and explain why there was so much pain. But it wasn't until he saw her, truely saw her for who she was, that Erik knew, at last, who he was. His prayers had been answered . He had received at least a taste of what he had always longed for , and though he still could feel the hurt stabbing at his heart, he had finally accepted that the only brief happiness he had ever known had passed. Summertime had come and gone , in the form of an angel he had once , and would always love .
Turning to face the strange, wax figure which stood regally in the corner of the elegant bedroom, Erik approached it for the final time . Touching the smooth fabric of the wedding gown, he once again allowed himself to remember how beautiful Christine had looked in it, and how he had longed to see a radiant smile on her lovely face, instead of the frightened glare which resonated in her eyes. Sighing noiselessly into the stillness of the room, he gently placed the veil on the head of the figure, whispering softly the words he never was able to say.
"Goodbye, Christine ."