A/N: You're the readers how much longer should I go on with this story?
Give me some help here...Also I want to say how much Erik's tale about his
marred face is like so many people who have lost arms or legs, or even born
with defects. It's hard to live like that. The thing is you have to look
deeper into the heart, and don't focus about what's on the outside.
Special thanks to those who took the time in reading my work and actually
commenting on it: Mystery Guest, Linzy Potter, Irene, Lavendar,
LoneGunGirl88, Morilinde, Catherine Morland, and bubonic woodchuck. Keep
the comments coming people. It motivates me to keep writing (even the
constructive comments)...you want an end to the story don't you...lol just
kidding...well wait a minute...lol.
I don't own Phantom Of The Opera, but I do own the Mourning Song Christina
sings. Tell me how you like the song...
Christina slowly entered the lair. She could hear Erik soft breathing. She could not see him, but his hair was mussed and his eyes looked tired. He looked younger for some reason, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Erik," She said softly not wanting to startle him. He sounded as though he was in deep thought.
"Christine," He blinked and then turned to face her, retaining the old dignity that was now familiar to her. He straightened and swept his black cloak back into place, seemingly smoothing the wrinkles away.
"Are you well?" She asked coming closer hearing his tired voice.
"Yes...weary I suppose," He cleared his throat to get rid of the grit from not speaking for so long. "Are you well?" He returned the question. Yes, she looked quite well. She was still in black. Her dress had a modest neckline with a tight bodice with black lace trimming her long flowing sleeves and skirt. Her hair was done up into a bun with loose curls hanging around her shoulders.
"I am also tired," She said. "I miss my family,"
"Understandable," Erik said his voice free of emotion.
"I feel as though I must do something to be rid of this grief Erik," Christina said sadly.
"Sing then," He whispered. He had come over to her quietly so she was startled by his close presence.
"Oh...no...," He voice caught. "I have not since..."
"I know Christina," Erik said tenderly. "Sing for her again. It will soothe you eventually," He comforted.
"Oh but Erik," She pleaded.
"She will love to hear you again. It will help her to rest easier in her grave to know that you still sing," He encouraged. She shook her head no, but then seemed resigned to the task he had assigned her. Her mouth opened slightly, the curve of her rose colored lips was intoxicating. He looked away. Then she quietly began singing. He had half-expected her not to. He stepped back to look at her properly, like a teacher evaluating a student. Her voice was soft and clear a beautiful soprano, a little like Christine's. It had its own distinct quality. She sang the mourning song that was usually sung at funerals.
You are gone
I am left alone
To face life alone
Oh how I want to be lifted up into the heavens
I'll follow you wherever you go
But without wings I cannot journey there
Oh let me fly there
Let me go there
I can not follow you to the celestial places
So I must face this life alone
Alone.....
Her voice carried her on like she was battling a storm on her own. The song reached its climax. She sang notes that were high on the scale perfectly. He looked at her impressed. Her shoulders were set naturally back, her head lifted high with the emotion as if she had wings. The room was filled with the ethereal sounds of the mourning song. When she was done her voice held the last note till she could hold it no longer. It died on her lips slowly and a tear slipped down her cheek. Erik said nothing for a moment about the display of brilliant execution of the song. No words seemed to echo what his soul felt at that moment. It was as though he had been lifted and soared into the heavens with wings. She heaved in air, and leaned against her cane. She felt relieved. She had sung again. Not for many months had she lift her voice even to hum a tune. Her grandmother's death had been the finish of her hope that had shone through whenever she sang. With Christine gone there was no reason to sing.
"Nicely done," Erik said. His voice told her nothing of how the song had affected him. Praise from the man was enough for her.
Christina slowly entered the lair. She could hear Erik soft breathing. She could not see him, but his hair was mussed and his eyes looked tired. He looked younger for some reason, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Erik," She said softly not wanting to startle him. He sounded as though he was in deep thought.
"Christine," He blinked and then turned to face her, retaining the old dignity that was now familiar to her. He straightened and swept his black cloak back into place, seemingly smoothing the wrinkles away.
"Are you well?" She asked coming closer hearing his tired voice.
"Yes...weary I suppose," He cleared his throat to get rid of the grit from not speaking for so long. "Are you well?" He returned the question. Yes, she looked quite well. She was still in black. Her dress had a modest neckline with a tight bodice with black lace trimming her long flowing sleeves and skirt. Her hair was done up into a bun with loose curls hanging around her shoulders.
"I am also tired," She said. "I miss my family,"
"Understandable," Erik said his voice free of emotion.
"I feel as though I must do something to be rid of this grief Erik," Christina said sadly.
"Sing then," He whispered. He had come over to her quietly so she was startled by his close presence.
"Oh...no...," He voice caught. "I have not since..."
"I know Christina," Erik said tenderly. "Sing for her again. It will soothe you eventually," He comforted.
"Oh but Erik," She pleaded.
"She will love to hear you again. It will help her to rest easier in her grave to know that you still sing," He encouraged. She shook her head no, but then seemed resigned to the task he had assigned her. Her mouth opened slightly, the curve of her rose colored lips was intoxicating. He looked away. Then she quietly began singing. He had half-expected her not to. He stepped back to look at her properly, like a teacher evaluating a student. Her voice was soft and clear a beautiful soprano, a little like Christine's. It had its own distinct quality. She sang the mourning song that was usually sung at funerals.
You are gone
I am left alone
To face life alone
Oh how I want to be lifted up into the heavens
I'll follow you wherever you go
But without wings I cannot journey there
Oh let me fly there
Let me go there
I can not follow you to the celestial places
So I must face this life alone
Alone.....
Her voice carried her on like she was battling a storm on her own. The song reached its climax. She sang notes that were high on the scale perfectly. He looked at her impressed. Her shoulders were set naturally back, her head lifted high with the emotion as if she had wings. The room was filled with the ethereal sounds of the mourning song. When she was done her voice held the last note till she could hold it no longer. It died on her lips slowly and a tear slipped down her cheek. Erik said nothing for a moment about the display of brilliant execution of the song. No words seemed to echo what his soul felt at that moment. It was as though he had been lifted and soared into the heavens with wings. She heaved in air, and leaned against her cane. She felt relieved. She had sung again. Not for many months had she lift her voice even to hum a tune. Her grandmother's death had been the finish of her hope that had shone through whenever she sang. With Christine gone there was no reason to sing.
"Nicely done," Erik said. His voice told her nothing of how the song had affected him. Praise from the man was enough for her.