*Disclaimer* Obviously I don't own any of the characters as of yet...I
haven't posted anything here, so let me know what you think.
*note-this story changes viewpoints, it is signified by the name at the top
of the chapter
Through The Darkness
Introduction
Paris two days after the incident: Christine has left the opera, the mob has destroyed much of the underground, everyone believes the opera ghost to be dead.
The room was dark and cold. A lone candle burned a top a large mahogany desk. The air in the room seemed tired as if all the hope and energy had left it. A single occupant sat at the desk, writing very slowly and meticulously. Her dark hair was swept up into a tight bun, making her eyes, which seemed to burn holes into whatever they happened to be looking at, grow even larger.
During these same moments that the silent women sat at her desk, a man was lying far below where she was sitting. He was lying face down in a shallow puddle of muddy water, mixed with blood and vomit. The only sign of life was the faintest rise and fall of his bloodied back. Beyond the desolate man, lay broken rubble and rocks. There was obvious evidence of a struggle, for the barely conscious man was not the only one lying on that dirty, bloody floor, however, he was the only one alive...
Through The Darkness
Introduction
Paris two days after the incident: Christine has left the opera, the mob has destroyed much of the underground, everyone believes the opera ghost to be dead.
The room was dark and cold. A lone candle burned a top a large mahogany desk. The air in the room seemed tired as if all the hope and energy had left it. A single occupant sat at the desk, writing very slowly and meticulously. Her dark hair was swept up into a tight bun, making her eyes, which seemed to burn holes into whatever they happened to be looking at, grow even larger.
During these same moments that the silent women sat at her desk, a man was lying far below where she was sitting. He was lying face down in a shallow puddle of muddy water, mixed with blood and vomit. The only sign of life was the faintest rise and fall of his bloodied back. Beyond the desolate man, lay broken rubble and rocks. There was obvious evidence of a struggle, for the barely conscious man was not the only one lying on that dirty, bloody floor, however, he was the only one alive...