A/N: I have one question what is this Mary-Sue issue I keep seeing?
Somebody please explain. I'm new to Fan Fiction so I need some help on the
history of this.
bubonic woodchuck: I'm afraid this sounds like a Mary-Sue.
So somebody please explain. LOL help this confused person!!
There were only two people standing on the windswept hill in the country-side of France. Christina listened as the Priest said his holy prayers over the dead. Her grandmother was buried here, and so her grandfather was resting by her side once more. The new marble headstone was beautifully carved by the finest craftsman France could produce. Her grandfather would have liked it. It was a day after his death, and Christina had wanted the funeral over as soon as possible so she could move on. You never really fully recover, though. It was like having a big quilt that you loved, and then suddenly with no warning the two patches in the center are torn out. The quilt is ruined. Christina felt ripped and torn to shreds in her heart. She slowly walked away from the gravesite after the Priest was done. She was a vision in black once more and would be for a long time. Two deaths in a year were more than she could take. The fall leaves from the willow trees and other trees crunched under her feet as she walked. Winter would arrive soon. Her face was a picture of grief, ashen grey. Her eyes were dulled with pain. Her heart was in worse shape. Imagine a piece of glass falling to the floor and it breaking, shards going everywhere. That was Christina's heart. It was broken.
Erik had written down some of his music on paper with a quill and ink. He'd been up all night working. Most of the ink had gotten on the keys of the organ, and had been smeared all over the keys by his persistent playing. He heard footsteps and the familiar sound of a cane striking the stone ground with a hollow sound to it. He watched her enter. She was beautiful, but why was she in black? A black mourning veil covered her entire face, and reached down to her waist. She wore a black dress with long silky sleeves, and a drawn in bodice. The skirt was full, and many layers of cloth lay underneath the top skirt. "Hello," His voice rang out as he rose to greet her. Her back was bent with signs of weariness, and her face was pale. Her eyes were streaming with tears.
"What is amiss?" He wondered out loud. She came only a few steps toward him, wondering how she should share her grief with him. Would the man who had shunned every shun her?
"He has finally died," Her voice came out wobbly and coated with emotion. Christina sank down to the floor, she felt tears sliding down her cheek, suddenly there was a warm hand wiping them gently away. He pressed a handkerchief into her palm . "Here," He murmured. He raised her carefully to her feet as if she was a china doll. Was this the Phantom of the Opera? The infamous killer? Being kind? She caught her breath. She felt him looking down at her. She tried to raise her eyes as if looking into his. All she could see was darkness.
"Don't cry," He whispered in her ear.
"It has been a long night," She cried. She had not slept last night or the night before and she was weary to the bone with sorrow.
"After night comes the day, and a glorious sunrise," He smiled looking down at her. "What if I don't know how to face it, Erik?"
"You won't have to face it alone," His voice left him.
"Why are you being nice to me?" She queered stepping back from him.
"After many years I have realized that with only the shadows and the dark music I have played, they don't make good friends,"
"You've changed,"
"Change, is a relative term," Erik said. Then suddenly he went away from her. The spell seemed broken. He was gruff again.
"I must go," She sensing his mood. She had "imposed" too much on his kindness.
"Good night Christina," He whispered as she left.
She had left him for many hours. So there he had sat at his organ. He was silently looking at a nearby candle. It flickered and waved, driven by some unknown wind. He felt as though a piece of music was in the flame waiting to be discovered in some way. Then he heard it echoing as if inside his heart the song he had sang to Christine that night they had traveled to his lair. The ghost seemed to whisper the words.
Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defenses
His breath left him as though sucked from his chest by an unknown source. Christine.... Christine! Would she ever cease to haunt him? Just when he thought she was gone from his mind and that he had moved on she came back with her beautiful form and voice to taunt him.
Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender
Turn your face away from the garish light of day
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night
The voice seemed to whisper in low tones as the words swirled around him.
Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before
Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar
And you'll live as you've never lived before.
"NO!" He shouted. He leapt off the bench which toppled over with a dreadful crack on the stone. The voice did not wish to stop, but it died away. The silence had returned, quiet and heavy. He kneeled down, driven down by his heavy heart. Christine was gone, and in her place had come Christina. But oh how his soul long for Christine's arms to around him and his lips on hers once more. Their final kiss had stayed with him through the years. They had been wrenched away by the fates, and then the fates had seen it fit to give him back a tiny piece of his heart. The knowledge that Christine had died in the arms of her family had given him a little peace in his madness. He felt as if the storms of his life would not end. They were blowing, beating on him like he was the object of the hate of the entire world. "Why?!" He shouted at the silence. There was no answer. His soul was tortured, would there be no PEACE!?!
Winter winds blew dead leaves around Christina's feet. She was leaning against a tree, a shawl around her. Her hair was up in a strict bun; her eyes were dry for the first time in many months. Her skirts were being played with by wind from the cloudy sky. Snow would fall in France. It would cover her grandparent's graves. A snow had already covered her heart. She had known not to go to Erik for comfort, but she had done it anyways. Her heart would not give up on him. It was an endless quest, one she would never win. Erik was done with life, or so it seemed. He was a cursed man. He had lived for so long without growing older; he was still a middle aged man. She did not know how she would be able to go through life that way. Being cursed was an inhumane way to live. She had not been back to see him in a long while. A break had been what she needed. She had needed to get away from his brooding dark spirit. Now she felt she could go back, and not feel weighed down by the heaviness that seemed to linger in the lair...
There were only two people standing on the windswept hill in the country-side of France. Christina listened as the Priest said his holy prayers over the dead. Her grandmother was buried here, and so her grandfather was resting by her side once more. The new marble headstone was beautifully carved by the finest craftsman France could produce. Her grandfather would have liked it. It was a day after his death, and Christina had wanted the funeral over as soon as possible so she could move on. You never really fully recover, though. It was like having a big quilt that you loved, and then suddenly with no warning the two patches in the center are torn out. The quilt is ruined. Christina felt ripped and torn to shreds in her heart. She slowly walked away from the gravesite after the Priest was done. She was a vision in black once more and would be for a long time. Two deaths in a year were more than she could take. The fall leaves from the willow trees and other trees crunched under her feet as she walked. Winter would arrive soon. Her face was a picture of grief, ashen grey. Her eyes were dulled with pain. Her heart was in worse shape. Imagine a piece of glass falling to the floor and it breaking, shards going everywhere. That was Christina's heart. It was broken.
Erik had written down some of his music on paper with a quill and ink. He'd been up all night working. Most of the ink had gotten on the keys of the organ, and had been smeared all over the keys by his persistent playing. He heard footsteps and the familiar sound of a cane striking the stone ground with a hollow sound to it. He watched her enter. She was beautiful, but why was she in black? A black mourning veil covered her entire face, and reached down to her waist. She wore a black dress with long silky sleeves, and a drawn in bodice. The skirt was full, and many layers of cloth lay underneath the top skirt. "Hello," His voice rang out as he rose to greet her. Her back was bent with signs of weariness, and her face was pale. Her eyes were streaming with tears.
"What is amiss?" He wondered out loud. She came only a few steps toward him, wondering how she should share her grief with him. Would the man who had shunned every shun her?
"He has finally died," Her voice came out wobbly and coated with emotion. Christina sank down to the floor, she felt tears sliding down her cheek, suddenly there was a warm hand wiping them gently away. He pressed a handkerchief into her palm . "Here," He murmured. He raised her carefully to her feet as if she was a china doll. Was this the Phantom of the Opera? The infamous killer? Being kind? She caught her breath. She felt him looking down at her. She tried to raise her eyes as if looking into his. All she could see was darkness.
"Don't cry," He whispered in her ear.
"It has been a long night," She cried. She had not slept last night or the night before and she was weary to the bone with sorrow.
"After night comes the day, and a glorious sunrise," He smiled looking down at her. "What if I don't know how to face it, Erik?"
"You won't have to face it alone," His voice left him.
"Why are you being nice to me?" She queered stepping back from him.
"After many years I have realized that with only the shadows and the dark music I have played, they don't make good friends,"
"You've changed,"
"Change, is a relative term," Erik said. Then suddenly he went away from her. The spell seemed broken. He was gruff again.
"I must go," She sensing his mood. She had "imposed" too much on his kindness.
"Good night Christina," He whispered as she left.
She had left him for many hours. So there he had sat at his organ. He was silently looking at a nearby candle. It flickered and waved, driven by some unknown wind. He felt as though a piece of music was in the flame waiting to be discovered in some way. Then he heard it echoing as if inside his heart the song he had sang to Christine that night they had traveled to his lair. The ghost seemed to whisper the words.
Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defenses
His breath left him as though sucked from his chest by an unknown source. Christine.... Christine! Would she ever cease to haunt him? Just when he thought she was gone from his mind and that he had moved on she came back with her beautiful form and voice to taunt him.
Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender
Turn your face away from the garish light of day
Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light
And listen to the music of the night
The voice seemed to whisper in low tones as the words swirled around him.
Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before
Close your eyes; let your spirit start to soar
And you'll live as you've never lived before.
"NO!" He shouted. He leapt off the bench which toppled over with a dreadful crack on the stone. The voice did not wish to stop, but it died away. The silence had returned, quiet and heavy. He kneeled down, driven down by his heavy heart. Christine was gone, and in her place had come Christina. But oh how his soul long for Christine's arms to around him and his lips on hers once more. Their final kiss had stayed with him through the years. They had been wrenched away by the fates, and then the fates had seen it fit to give him back a tiny piece of his heart. The knowledge that Christine had died in the arms of her family had given him a little peace in his madness. He felt as if the storms of his life would not end. They were blowing, beating on him like he was the object of the hate of the entire world. "Why?!" He shouted at the silence. There was no answer. His soul was tortured, would there be no PEACE!?!
Winter winds blew dead leaves around Christina's feet. She was leaning against a tree, a shawl around her. Her hair was up in a strict bun; her eyes were dry for the first time in many months. Her skirts were being played with by wind from the cloudy sky. Snow would fall in France. It would cover her grandparent's graves. A snow had already covered her heart. She had known not to go to Erik for comfort, but she had done it anyways. Her heart would not give up on him. It was an endless quest, one she would never win. Erik was done with life, or so it seemed. He was a cursed man. He had lived for so long without growing older; he was still a middle aged man. She did not know how she would be able to go through life that way. Being cursed was an inhumane way to live. She had not been back to see him in a long while. A break had been what she needed. She had needed to get away from his brooding dark spirit. Now she felt she could go back, and not feel weighed down by the heaviness that seemed to linger in the lair...