A/N: Ah yes the eternal youth issue, I don't think of Erik having eternal
youth. I think of how his heart has longed for love for so long that his
soul preserved his person to stay the same age until he found peace from
his many demons....
I decided after giving my friend this story that Erik needed a little more
depth to his character, so in the last chapter I gave him the flash backs.
To show how he was really molded into whom he was. Like many abuse victims
it is not healthy to bottle all the emotions up. Erik had suffered many
years, and I believed it was time for him to face what had happened and
deal with it. So that was my reasoning for that. Also thanks again for the
comments! Oh and I own the song Meg Giry sings, and Christine's favorite
poem. But I don't own phantom of the opera, or any of Andrew Lloyd Webber's
songs....darn it...lol
Christina fingered the delicate threads of the shawl that had belonged to her Grandmamma. She could not see it, but she had been told that it was a shimmery violet color. It had been with Christine in the Opera when she'd met her Angel of Music for the first time. It held great affection and history for Christine. She had not let anyone touch it, as if hoping the magic would not wear off. Christina's eyes welled up with tears. The grief from the past months had not subsided in the least. It was what woke her every night. She cried everyday, but always in secret. Her only consolation was standing at their graves pouring her problems out to them. What was the point? She was talking to two big headstones. They couldn't talk or comfort, they were just pieces of cold rock. She wandered outside into the falling snow. She felt it land on her nose and face. She smiled up at the sky. Her blindness took away her sight, but it hadn't taken her senses of touch or hearing. The snow swirled around her as if doing some strange methodic ballet dance from the sky as it drifted down to the earth.
Erik was leaning against a wall. Not an unusual occurrence, but it didn't happen very often. He usually sat at his organ. The many thoughts that had once tormented him were gone, never to be heard from again. He was left with the pleasant ones. He closed his eyes and leaned against his head against the smooth stones...
Meg Giry sat in a prim manor at the piano. She did not see little Erik watching her from a crack in the door. Meg who was only seven at the time was considered something of a prodigy at the piano and at singing. She was giving a small concert for the adult. Erik's mama was having over for tea, Meg's mother had volunteered her daughter for the entertainment. It was a rare thing that his mother would invite people over. She had warned him to stay out of sight from the others. Little Meg was singing also, her clear childlike voice echoed through the small parlor.
"As the lark sang to me," Her voice carried outside the door where Erik was
peeking. "She sang from the snow covered tree. Find some shelter for the cold little bird," It was a mournful tune to say the least, but Erik was enjoying it.
"She whispered to me; Find some hope in this wintry world, for the snow covers everything...everything...everything...she sang to me," Meg's voice died
out in a clear high note.
It resonated out and touched Erik's soul. How he felt like the lark, so cold and lonely. Her song made him feel better some how, to know that he wasn't the only one feeling that way.
Christina felt the soft fur of her lap dog. It's tongue lapped her hand, leaving it wet and sticky with drool. She called the dog Carlotta after her grandmother's rival from the Opera House. She thought about how much her grandmother would laugh about the name. Carlotta seemed content in Christina's arms, nuzzling her head into her hand. She was sitting in her chair in her bedroom listening to the rain pelt the window. It had been a welt muddy wintry day. She had stayed inside. A servant had come to her in the afternoon and read to her the book of poems that had been her grandmother's favorite. The servant never quite captured the passion that the words were supposed to be read with. Her grandpapa had always had fervor and deepness in voice that was needed to read them correctly. She had a favorite poem called "Love's lost Light" She slowly recited the words in a whispery tone, trying to remember how it sounded when her grandpapa read it to her.
Love is not lost
It only hides away deep in the heart where no one can take it away
Like a bird love sings continuously even if no one can hear
Love is not lost
It is more than a passion or a flame for those can be put out
It can not be pushed out of mind or out of sight
Love is never lost
It is like a wound that never heals
It is deep and settles like snow lightly upon the wearer
Love is not lost
Seasons pass and lovers grow old
Young love is not to be tamed, for it is like a wild mustang bent on
freedom
Love is not lost...
She sighed and leaned back into her chair. She loved that poem. It was not just some fanciful penned note to be tossed around. It had a sort of depth of light and hope to it. Carlotta licked her hand again, hoping for a morsel of food. Erik fluttered into her mind. She had not seen him in a week. The days passed slowly getting colder by the hour. She dared not travel out for fear of being caught in a winter storm. She missed his presence like a nightingale wishing for her song. She was determined to get to him soon or later.
Christina fingered the delicate threads of the shawl that had belonged to her Grandmamma. She could not see it, but she had been told that it was a shimmery violet color. It had been with Christine in the Opera when she'd met her Angel of Music for the first time. It held great affection and history for Christine. She had not let anyone touch it, as if hoping the magic would not wear off. Christina's eyes welled up with tears. The grief from the past months had not subsided in the least. It was what woke her every night. She cried everyday, but always in secret. Her only consolation was standing at their graves pouring her problems out to them. What was the point? She was talking to two big headstones. They couldn't talk or comfort, they were just pieces of cold rock. She wandered outside into the falling snow. She felt it land on her nose and face. She smiled up at the sky. Her blindness took away her sight, but it hadn't taken her senses of touch or hearing. The snow swirled around her as if doing some strange methodic ballet dance from the sky as it drifted down to the earth.
Erik was leaning against a wall. Not an unusual occurrence, but it didn't happen very often. He usually sat at his organ. The many thoughts that had once tormented him were gone, never to be heard from again. He was left with the pleasant ones. He closed his eyes and leaned against his head against the smooth stones...
Meg Giry sat in a prim manor at the piano. She did not see little Erik watching her from a crack in the door. Meg who was only seven at the time was considered something of a prodigy at the piano and at singing. She was giving a small concert for the adult. Erik's mama was having over for tea, Meg's mother had volunteered her daughter for the entertainment. It was a rare thing that his mother would invite people over. She had warned him to stay out of sight from the others. Little Meg was singing also, her clear childlike voice echoed through the small parlor.
"As the lark sang to me," Her voice carried outside the door where Erik was
peeking. "She sang from the snow covered tree. Find some shelter for the cold little bird," It was a mournful tune to say the least, but Erik was enjoying it.
"She whispered to me; Find some hope in this wintry world, for the snow covers everything...everything...everything...she sang to me," Meg's voice died
out in a clear high note.
It resonated out and touched Erik's soul. How he felt like the lark, so cold and lonely. Her song made him feel better some how, to know that he wasn't the only one feeling that way.
Christina felt the soft fur of her lap dog. It's tongue lapped her hand, leaving it wet and sticky with drool. She called the dog Carlotta after her grandmother's rival from the Opera House. She thought about how much her grandmother would laugh about the name. Carlotta seemed content in Christina's arms, nuzzling her head into her hand. She was sitting in her chair in her bedroom listening to the rain pelt the window. It had been a welt muddy wintry day. She had stayed inside. A servant had come to her in the afternoon and read to her the book of poems that had been her grandmother's favorite. The servant never quite captured the passion that the words were supposed to be read with. Her grandpapa had always had fervor and deepness in voice that was needed to read them correctly. She had a favorite poem called "Love's lost Light" She slowly recited the words in a whispery tone, trying to remember how it sounded when her grandpapa read it to her.
Love is not lost
It only hides away deep in the heart where no one can take it away
Like a bird love sings continuously even if no one can hear
Love is not lost
It is more than a passion or a flame for those can be put out
It can not be pushed out of mind or out of sight
Love is never lost
It is like a wound that never heals
It is deep and settles like snow lightly upon the wearer
Love is not lost
Seasons pass and lovers grow old
Young love is not to be tamed, for it is like a wild mustang bent on
freedom
Love is not lost...
She sighed and leaned back into her chair. She loved that poem. It was not just some fanciful penned note to be tossed around. It had a sort of depth of light and hope to it. Carlotta licked her hand again, hoping for a morsel of food. Erik fluttered into her mind. She had not seen him in a week. The days passed slowly getting colder by the hour. She dared not travel out for fear of being caught in a winter storm. She missed his presence like a nightingale wishing for her song. She was determined to get to him soon or later.