Author's Note:
Thanks for all the reviews!!! Umm..okay. Christine Persephone, I did not
post this story anywhere before now. I wrote it a long time ago, but this
is the first time that I've shared it with anyone. I haven't even written
the ending yet... So I think that it's a different story that you're
thinking of. =) This story isn't going to be very long, it's almost done
actually. I hope that you guys like the ending. Heheheee...
~*~
Four days before her funeral, Christine had been on her way to the Opera.
In the days that followed her escape from Erik, the man she believed to be and even still thought of as her Angel, Christine had felt odd and out of place. There was no abrupt change that she had felt or become aware of... No, it wasn't like that.... It was more of a gradual shift of mind...as well as the slow acceptance of her heart's true, pure desire. Weeks went by, and all of her time, she spent with Raoul in his estate... He never ceased to amaze her with his loving kindness and forever-patient nature... His sisters did not echo this mindset, but Christine neither blamed nor resented them for their cool aloofness or for the fire in their eyes. Most of the time, she hardly even noticed their poorly concealed haughtiness. They spoke to her in a way that was far too concerned and tender to be sincere compassion. But no...the young girl did not see it...And whenever she did, she convinced herself that it was her imagination...for Christine was not a defiant girl by nature, and anyone's blunt hatred would hurt her gentle soul...or what was left of it. She would, however, meet each of the sisters' gazes with her own, which was filled with shame and apology. Her protests to remain with her Mama Valerius fell on deaf ears. Raoul was determined to keep her well, and that meant taking care of her. In the course of his arguments, Christine had realized that it would be kinder if she didn't allow Mama Valerius to see what had become of her... It was best to let her believe what would make the dying woman happiest. Deeply inside and subconsciously, Christine was afraid of returning...
Other then the feelings of uncertainty and doubt, there was only an emptiness that grew with each passing day and the coming of spring. Christine had left a part of herself behind, with Erik... She wasn't sure how or what part...and it left her eyes dull, lifeless, and separated from her emotions to form their own entity. Raoul could look at her and believe that she was perfectly blissful...and all the while, she could feel miserable inside. There never before had been a time when Christine found herself capable of hiding what she felt, and this new talent unnerved her greatly. She wanted to be whole again, and she had believed in the beginning that Raoul would be the one to save her.
But Raoul hadn't... He tried, and his attempts broke her heart when she could only answer him half-heartedly and when she did not feel like going on evening walks to the park even when he would ask her so sweetly... But how could she go to the Bois when she could hear Erik's voice in the back of her mind speak of how he wished for his wife to go out with him on Sundays? In the end, she always ended up telling Raoul no, and she told herself that it would be unfair to go with him while having only Erik on her mind. But...whatever Raoul wanted to do made her think of Erik... It came to the point of being ridiculous. She wished to be free of the hold that Erik still had over her, and at the same time, did not want to forget him completely...But it seemed entirely impossible to do! And in the meantime, she was hurting Raoul, which was something that she couldn't bear to do anymore...
Then there had been her revelation.
It didn't occur for nearly a month, and it was after Raoul had asked her to go to the park for the third and final time...
"Christine..." Raoul's voice was so infinitely sad.
In her eyes, there was a look so haunted that it frightened him. She heard the horror in his voice. Her white skin was pale and transparent, which made her bones visible underneath. Christine was always thin, but now she'd become frail...and she actually looked sickly. Her poor arms were like sticks, and her hands always held one another and were constantly squeezing to the point of nearly breaking her own small, delicate fingers.
The young, confused Vicomte took her hands lightly and held them in his own. "My darling...tell me what's wrong..."
The eyes that had once held so much life were downcast, sadly, and Christine's voice trembled with emotion. "I..." How could she even begin! Where was there to start? There were so many things that were not fair in the world...
Why must they completely leave the Opera? Why couldn't she be happy in her decision while knowing that Erik would have wanted her to be happy? He would have been disappointed if he saw just how far she'd let herself slip into hopelessness...and into the idea and state of mind that she would never see her Angel again, if only in her dreams! Why must she focus only on what she had lost? Raoul would do anything for her...if only to ease her pain...
Sleep used to be an escape...but even her dreams eluded her lately...they had all become nightmares...oppressive, dismal, and dark...Her mind created such fearful fantasies that she was unable to sleep at night, and the glassy look to her eyes showed as much.
"Tell me what I can do."
The wide blue eyes from his childhood rose to meet his, the longing in them so deep and sincere...
Longing that was not for him...
The voice did not sound like hers, and Christine was inclined to jump at the sound of it. Her weak hands tightened on his with momentary determination. "I have...I need...to go back to him..."
Whether it was briefly, for a few days, or forever, Christine did not elaborate, and Raoul did not ask.
He let her go with no questions and with the desperate optimism of someone who has already lost something and it was now far beyond his reach. She still wore his ring around her neck, and he read that as a good sign...even though there was another that remained on her wedding finger. Raoul hated that ring.
Danielle and Cecilia were delighted that she'd returned to her " dear Mama Valerius." Their sarcastic cruelty used while speaking of the woman contrasted with Christine's quiet adoration. Raoul would have never tolerated it...if he'd actually been paying attention to the conversation at all. He left his sisters in their merry peals of laughter and went to Christine's room where he gathered the red scarf that she had left behind and strung the material through his fingers until the day grew dark...
The blood would have frozen in his veins if he had known what had happened during the time when he stayed calmly in her room.
In the early evening, Christine walked down the streets of Paris alone. She was quite used to it, and had softly refused Raoul's offer to actually walk her back himself. There was no reason to worry for her safety...She was sure of it.
What surprised her the most was how Paris had not changed in the course of her distress. Christine was still very young, and it continued to fascinate her...how the world held still while people were suffering...people that were not simply she, but Erik as well. Oh, how she thought of Erik! The idea of returning frightened her; it nearly terrified her, but only because she was afraid of how he would react. She almost expected to be turned away angrily, or perhaps he would laugh and declare that he never wanted her and didn't want to see her...and that she was wasting her time... It had been so long that he could have even found someone else! Someone who was far more accepting of him...and someone who did not scream when he took off the mask...
Christine's shame was unrelenting at the memory, and she paused in the center of the sidewalk and almost turned back. But something stopped her, and with more confidence, she went forward again. Things were different now...She would tell him so. She would say that his face no longer frightened her, and that she wished to know him again, for the first time really...and to spend time with him... She would tell him that she was lost without him, afraid, and that her life was intertwined with his still. How could she hope to break ties with him completely when he possessed a part of her? Returning to the darkness did not scare her now, not when she was dying slowly in the light...Even Raoul could see it...and she would forever love her childhood friend for allowing her to return and speak to the man who would have killed him. He was so understanding...Christine would always love Raoul...
It did not confuse her that she felt a stronger connection with Erik. She knew why, in a way...but she needed to tell him before it became too late...And oh, why did Christine believe that time was running short?
Her small boots clicked on the stones as she went faster. She held the key to Erik's home in her pocket; her small hand was wrapped around it possessively. Christine knew where to go...She only hoped that it was still open to her. She knew Erik's extraordinary ability to make doors disappear and then reappear again...
She couldn't wait to see him...The simple excitement made her eyes glow with a happiness that she hadn't felt in weeks, and her heart picked up its pace as the magnificent columns of the Paris Opera came into view. Christine could picture how he would look...the billowing black cloak and the slightly angled hat...worn so that it hid part of his face but still showed the white mask... She could remember him perfectly and in every glorious detail. He was so powerful... and one look from his loving gaze would fix everything, including her horrible, turbulent confusion and despair. Once she saw him, everything would be fine again...Christine would have her Angel, and she would finally be complete in a way that she hadn't been since before her father died.
Disregarded newspapers fluttered absently by the Rue Scribe entrance as she approached it. One fell across her foot, blew flat against her legs from the wind, and refused to dislodge. Christine picked it up with every intention of setting it aside, but something caught her eye.
In all of her years, Christine had never read the obituaries. It was rare that she even read the newspaper...and when she did, it was in a form of nostalgia...Her father would always give her old sections of his newspapers to look at while they traveled inside of train cars for long hours...And he would always oblige his young daughter if she suddenly wanted to see the section that he was busy reading.
Christine's gaze only flitted over unfamiliar names briefly before she started to fold the paper again.
And stopped.
At the very bottom, in small, black letters, was the shortest obituary that the Paris Epoque had ever printed:
"Erik is dead."
~*~
Four days before her funeral, Christine had been on her way to the Opera.
In the days that followed her escape from Erik, the man she believed to be and even still thought of as her Angel, Christine had felt odd and out of place. There was no abrupt change that she had felt or become aware of... No, it wasn't like that.... It was more of a gradual shift of mind...as well as the slow acceptance of her heart's true, pure desire. Weeks went by, and all of her time, she spent with Raoul in his estate... He never ceased to amaze her with his loving kindness and forever-patient nature... His sisters did not echo this mindset, but Christine neither blamed nor resented them for their cool aloofness or for the fire in their eyes. Most of the time, she hardly even noticed their poorly concealed haughtiness. They spoke to her in a way that was far too concerned and tender to be sincere compassion. But no...the young girl did not see it...And whenever she did, she convinced herself that it was her imagination...for Christine was not a defiant girl by nature, and anyone's blunt hatred would hurt her gentle soul...or what was left of it. She would, however, meet each of the sisters' gazes with her own, which was filled with shame and apology. Her protests to remain with her Mama Valerius fell on deaf ears. Raoul was determined to keep her well, and that meant taking care of her. In the course of his arguments, Christine had realized that it would be kinder if she didn't allow Mama Valerius to see what had become of her... It was best to let her believe what would make the dying woman happiest. Deeply inside and subconsciously, Christine was afraid of returning...
Other then the feelings of uncertainty and doubt, there was only an emptiness that grew with each passing day and the coming of spring. Christine had left a part of herself behind, with Erik... She wasn't sure how or what part...and it left her eyes dull, lifeless, and separated from her emotions to form their own entity. Raoul could look at her and believe that she was perfectly blissful...and all the while, she could feel miserable inside. There never before had been a time when Christine found herself capable of hiding what she felt, and this new talent unnerved her greatly. She wanted to be whole again, and she had believed in the beginning that Raoul would be the one to save her.
But Raoul hadn't... He tried, and his attempts broke her heart when she could only answer him half-heartedly and when she did not feel like going on evening walks to the park even when he would ask her so sweetly... But how could she go to the Bois when she could hear Erik's voice in the back of her mind speak of how he wished for his wife to go out with him on Sundays? In the end, she always ended up telling Raoul no, and she told herself that it would be unfair to go with him while having only Erik on her mind. But...whatever Raoul wanted to do made her think of Erik... It came to the point of being ridiculous. She wished to be free of the hold that Erik still had over her, and at the same time, did not want to forget him completely...But it seemed entirely impossible to do! And in the meantime, she was hurting Raoul, which was something that she couldn't bear to do anymore...
Then there had been her revelation.
It didn't occur for nearly a month, and it was after Raoul had asked her to go to the park for the third and final time...
"Christine..." Raoul's voice was so infinitely sad.
In her eyes, there was a look so haunted that it frightened him. She heard the horror in his voice. Her white skin was pale and transparent, which made her bones visible underneath. Christine was always thin, but now she'd become frail...and she actually looked sickly. Her poor arms were like sticks, and her hands always held one another and were constantly squeezing to the point of nearly breaking her own small, delicate fingers.
The young, confused Vicomte took her hands lightly and held them in his own. "My darling...tell me what's wrong..."
The eyes that had once held so much life were downcast, sadly, and Christine's voice trembled with emotion. "I..." How could she even begin! Where was there to start? There were so many things that were not fair in the world...
Why must they completely leave the Opera? Why couldn't she be happy in her decision while knowing that Erik would have wanted her to be happy? He would have been disappointed if he saw just how far she'd let herself slip into hopelessness...and into the idea and state of mind that she would never see her Angel again, if only in her dreams! Why must she focus only on what she had lost? Raoul would do anything for her...if only to ease her pain...
Sleep used to be an escape...but even her dreams eluded her lately...they had all become nightmares...oppressive, dismal, and dark...Her mind created such fearful fantasies that she was unable to sleep at night, and the glassy look to her eyes showed as much.
"Tell me what I can do."
The wide blue eyes from his childhood rose to meet his, the longing in them so deep and sincere...
Longing that was not for him...
The voice did not sound like hers, and Christine was inclined to jump at the sound of it. Her weak hands tightened on his with momentary determination. "I have...I need...to go back to him..."
Whether it was briefly, for a few days, or forever, Christine did not elaborate, and Raoul did not ask.
He let her go with no questions and with the desperate optimism of someone who has already lost something and it was now far beyond his reach. She still wore his ring around her neck, and he read that as a good sign...even though there was another that remained on her wedding finger. Raoul hated that ring.
Danielle and Cecilia were delighted that she'd returned to her " dear Mama Valerius." Their sarcastic cruelty used while speaking of the woman contrasted with Christine's quiet adoration. Raoul would have never tolerated it...if he'd actually been paying attention to the conversation at all. He left his sisters in their merry peals of laughter and went to Christine's room where he gathered the red scarf that she had left behind and strung the material through his fingers until the day grew dark...
The blood would have frozen in his veins if he had known what had happened during the time when he stayed calmly in her room.
In the early evening, Christine walked down the streets of Paris alone. She was quite used to it, and had softly refused Raoul's offer to actually walk her back himself. There was no reason to worry for her safety...She was sure of it.
What surprised her the most was how Paris had not changed in the course of her distress. Christine was still very young, and it continued to fascinate her...how the world held still while people were suffering...people that were not simply she, but Erik as well. Oh, how she thought of Erik! The idea of returning frightened her; it nearly terrified her, but only because she was afraid of how he would react. She almost expected to be turned away angrily, or perhaps he would laugh and declare that he never wanted her and didn't want to see her...and that she was wasting her time... It had been so long that he could have even found someone else! Someone who was far more accepting of him...and someone who did not scream when he took off the mask...
Christine's shame was unrelenting at the memory, and she paused in the center of the sidewalk and almost turned back. But something stopped her, and with more confidence, she went forward again. Things were different now...She would tell him so. She would say that his face no longer frightened her, and that she wished to know him again, for the first time really...and to spend time with him... She would tell him that she was lost without him, afraid, and that her life was intertwined with his still. How could she hope to break ties with him completely when he possessed a part of her? Returning to the darkness did not scare her now, not when she was dying slowly in the light...Even Raoul could see it...and she would forever love her childhood friend for allowing her to return and speak to the man who would have killed him. He was so understanding...Christine would always love Raoul...
It did not confuse her that she felt a stronger connection with Erik. She knew why, in a way...but she needed to tell him before it became too late...And oh, why did Christine believe that time was running short?
Her small boots clicked on the stones as she went faster. She held the key to Erik's home in her pocket; her small hand was wrapped around it possessively. Christine knew where to go...She only hoped that it was still open to her. She knew Erik's extraordinary ability to make doors disappear and then reappear again...
She couldn't wait to see him...The simple excitement made her eyes glow with a happiness that she hadn't felt in weeks, and her heart picked up its pace as the magnificent columns of the Paris Opera came into view. Christine could picture how he would look...the billowing black cloak and the slightly angled hat...worn so that it hid part of his face but still showed the white mask... She could remember him perfectly and in every glorious detail. He was so powerful... and one look from his loving gaze would fix everything, including her horrible, turbulent confusion and despair. Once she saw him, everything would be fine again...Christine would have her Angel, and she would finally be complete in a way that she hadn't been since before her father died.
Disregarded newspapers fluttered absently by the Rue Scribe entrance as she approached it. One fell across her foot, blew flat against her legs from the wind, and refused to dislodge. Christine picked it up with every intention of setting it aside, but something caught her eye.
In all of her years, Christine had never read the obituaries. It was rare that she even read the newspaper...and when she did, it was in a form of nostalgia...Her father would always give her old sections of his newspapers to look at while they traveled inside of train cars for long hours...And he would always oblige his young daughter if she suddenly wanted to see the section that he was busy reading.
Christine's gaze only flitted over unfamiliar names briefly before she started to fold the paper again.
And stopped.
At the very bottom, in small, black letters, was the shortest obituary that the Paris Epoque had ever printed:
"Erik is dead."
