Into Dust
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber own this park. I just like to sit in the trees and dream about the big kids on the jungle gym.
Thick white snow blanketed Paris that evening, causing most of the little side shops in the center of the city to shut down. This including "Bella's Ladies Wear," which Madame Jacob closed about an hour after had Christine rushed up to her flat.
Christine knew this not from any announcement from Madame Jacob, but from the dimming of the electrically run sign just below the window she liked to sit next to. She preferred that window to the one next to her small heater because it gave her a view of the Paris skyline that included the outline of her familiar opera house, which the other did not.
After her 10-hour workday at the dress boutique, she normally changed into her night things and sat by that window on a wooden stool, watching the city life from her second-story view. Some nights Christine would spend hours reading books from the library down the street or just looking out at the sky lost in her own thoughts. She only left the building out of necessity for food or reading material.
Christine never listened to any form of music anymore, and she hadn't sung in about a year. Raoul had quickly curbed her desire to sing with his raging temper, boldly proclaiming to her that no wife of his would be a, "gutter-fed opera trollop."
And she had loved Raoul so dearly then, and it only seemed right to do whatever he asked.
ISo many sacrifices, I she thought bitterly. ISo much lost and the only thing to show for it is a scar on my cheek. /I
And unknowingly, Christine touched this scar as she starred out at a Paris she had become utterly lost to. She knew she was no longer and could never be an opera singer again. Too much of her practiced voice had wilted away, for it was even rare for her to speak anymore. And despite her fleeting popularity from her short run as a diva, she was considered by most a novice at best.
She recalled a line from a newspaper report on the tragedies that had plagued the Paris Opera House, where a critical journalist had called her, "A student who should have absorbed more from a proper instructor before going out as a performer, because in about a year or two's time she could have been truly magnificent."
IAnd what's a student without her teacher there to guide her? /I, Christine thought bleakly. A depraved sort of chuckle escaped her lips. Christine laughed a lot when she was alone- it was never because of anything funny. It was always because she was thinking of him.
After the events of last year, it was rare when the thought of the legendary Phantom of the Opera brought anyone to laughter, yet Christine Daae intimacy with the situation gave her the privilege to.
It hadn't taken long after Christine's emergence from Erik's underground home to realize she had done wrong thing as far as going with Raoul went. A little under a week had gone by before she had become aware that his temper could possibly outmatch her Phantom's as he a railed against her singing career with all his fury.
Christine, seeing the chance for a fresh start free of her old opera demons, had reluctantly folded to her betrothed and canceled plans to sign for a year-long contract with the opera house the next day. She had thought that would be the end of her problems.
Yet Raoul's short temper wasn't his only fault. She had noticed the signs of his alcoholism right after her messy parting from the opera house, and had briefly become victim to his physical abuse a few times before that dark night after dinner.
Christine blinked back tears and miserably wished she had Erik there with her then. She had been sure her Phantom would make an appearance after the embarrassingly public trial of the Vicomte, in which she had to testify against her fiancé for all of France to see.
But Erik had not come. No entrance on a hotel balcony one rainy night, no roses, no threats of death towards Raoul, no IErik. /I And it had only been recently when Christine realized that she would probably never see Erik again, as he could possibly be either dead or just no longer overly concerned for Christine's welfare.
IWell, Christine, /I she thought Iof course he hates you. You left him to be killed by a rampaging mob, or at least to rot alone and unloved under the opera forever. /I
In retrospect, Christine could see that she hadn't really had much of a choice as Erik had practically thrown her out of his underground lair, threatening to kill her fiancé if she didn't leave, all the while. The mob of frightened opera-going Parisians hadn't made things any easier.
Once she and Raoul had risen to the top floors of the opera, Christine could tell by the general disarray of the backstage how bloodthirsty the crowd was. But she had left with her Vicomte as soon as possible, hearing later in the week from Madame Giry that Erik himself (nor any other body) had been found under the opera house.
Christine ceased her nightly melancholy reflections to turn her few gaslights off and go to bed. That night, like most others, she dreamed of her Erik with a slight smile gracing her now marred features.
Author's Notes: Two chapters in two nights- go me. If you feel at all inclined to assist a hopefully improving author, please throw her a bone and leave a review. And to those who did.
BSoldier of Darkness/B: Erik's been a little disconnected from the real world for the past year. He'll be making an appearance shortly, but he won't really be aware of Christine's situation until later.
BMidnight Rain/B: Yeah, that'll be his first inclination when he finds out, unless someone could possibly restrain him.
(Girly-Vamp 2003
Disclaimer: Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber own this park. I just like to sit in the trees and dream about the big kids on the jungle gym.
Thick white snow blanketed Paris that evening, causing most of the little side shops in the center of the city to shut down. This including "Bella's Ladies Wear," which Madame Jacob closed about an hour after had Christine rushed up to her flat.
Christine knew this not from any announcement from Madame Jacob, but from the dimming of the electrically run sign just below the window she liked to sit next to. She preferred that window to the one next to her small heater because it gave her a view of the Paris skyline that included the outline of her familiar opera house, which the other did not.
After her 10-hour workday at the dress boutique, she normally changed into her night things and sat by that window on a wooden stool, watching the city life from her second-story view. Some nights Christine would spend hours reading books from the library down the street or just looking out at the sky lost in her own thoughts. She only left the building out of necessity for food or reading material.
Christine never listened to any form of music anymore, and she hadn't sung in about a year. Raoul had quickly curbed her desire to sing with his raging temper, boldly proclaiming to her that no wife of his would be a, "gutter-fed opera trollop."
And she had loved Raoul so dearly then, and it only seemed right to do whatever he asked.
ISo many sacrifices, I she thought bitterly. ISo much lost and the only thing to show for it is a scar on my cheek. /I
And unknowingly, Christine touched this scar as she starred out at a Paris she had become utterly lost to. She knew she was no longer and could never be an opera singer again. Too much of her practiced voice had wilted away, for it was even rare for her to speak anymore. And despite her fleeting popularity from her short run as a diva, she was considered by most a novice at best.
She recalled a line from a newspaper report on the tragedies that had plagued the Paris Opera House, where a critical journalist had called her, "A student who should have absorbed more from a proper instructor before going out as a performer, because in about a year or two's time she could have been truly magnificent."
IAnd what's a student without her teacher there to guide her? /I, Christine thought bleakly. A depraved sort of chuckle escaped her lips. Christine laughed a lot when she was alone- it was never because of anything funny. It was always because she was thinking of him.
After the events of last year, it was rare when the thought of the legendary Phantom of the Opera brought anyone to laughter, yet Christine Daae intimacy with the situation gave her the privilege to.
It hadn't taken long after Christine's emergence from Erik's underground home to realize she had done wrong thing as far as going with Raoul went. A little under a week had gone by before she had become aware that his temper could possibly outmatch her Phantom's as he a railed against her singing career with all his fury.
Christine, seeing the chance for a fresh start free of her old opera demons, had reluctantly folded to her betrothed and canceled plans to sign for a year-long contract with the opera house the next day. She had thought that would be the end of her problems.
Yet Raoul's short temper wasn't his only fault. She had noticed the signs of his alcoholism right after her messy parting from the opera house, and had briefly become victim to his physical abuse a few times before that dark night after dinner.
Christine blinked back tears and miserably wished she had Erik there with her then. She had been sure her Phantom would make an appearance after the embarrassingly public trial of the Vicomte, in which she had to testify against her fiancé for all of France to see.
But Erik had not come. No entrance on a hotel balcony one rainy night, no roses, no threats of death towards Raoul, no IErik. /I And it had only been recently when Christine realized that she would probably never see Erik again, as he could possibly be either dead or just no longer overly concerned for Christine's welfare.
IWell, Christine, /I she thought Iof course he hates you. You left him to be killed by a rampaging mob, or at least to rot alone and unloved under the opera forever. /I
In retrospect, Christine could see that she hadn't really had much of a choice as Erik had practically thrown her out of his underground lair, threatening to kill her fiancé if she didn't leave, all the while. The mob of frightened opera-going Parisians hadn't made things any easier.
Once she and Raoul had risen to the top floors of the opera, Christine could tell by the general disarray of the backstage how bloodthirsty the crowd was. But she had left with her Vicomte as soon as possible, hearing later in the week from Madame Giry that Erik himself (nor any other body) had been found under the opera house.
Christine ceased her nightly melancholy reflections to turn her few gaslights off and go to bed. That night, like most others, she dreamed of her Erik with a slight smile gracing her now marred features.
Author's Notes: Two chapters in two nights- go me. If you feel at all inclined to assist a hopefully improving author, please throw her a bone and leave a review. And to those who did.
BSoldier of Darkness/B: Erik's been a little disconnected from the real world for the past year. He'll be making an appearance shortly, but he won't really be aware of Christine's situation until later.
BMidnight Rain/B: Yeah, that'll be his first inclination when he finds out, unless someone could possibly restrain him.
(Girly-Vamp 2003