A/N: Don't own POTO, but I do own the little flower song. R&R
Christina's heart could not bear being away from Erik. His presence comforted her like nothing else could. Books, poems or even Carlotta calmed her anymore. She had taken a great risk traveling a few days ago when the rain had lulled. She could have been caught in a sudden down pour or snow storm. Now there was no way for her to leave the manor. Sleet was raining down making the library cold. She shivered drawing the blanket someone had draped around her shoulders closer to her chin. The door to the library had been closed, and at her request she had ask no one to disturb her. She got up from her chair and pressed her pale hand against the cold window pane.
"Oh Grandmamma, why it so hard?" She sighed heavily. "Why does the heart take such a long time to heal?"
"The heart is not something that can be flung on the stone and then picked back up and expected to work my little one," Her grandmother's voice seemed to say. "It takes time to heal. It takes time to learn to love again, and to trust,"
"When will it be over?" She forced herself not to cry. Her eyes were beginning to overflow with tears.
"If I could take you into my arms I would my little love," Her grandmother's voice whispered.
"Oh how I wish you could,"
"Be strong...,"
"Grandmamma," Christina said softly. "He asked me to sing for you...I did," The voice said nothing more and there was a satisfied silence. She had felt release in the lair as she had sung would it help her pain now? But without Erik? Could she do that? Her heart felt so heavy she would try anything to buoy it up once more.
"Little flower, little flower" She started off in a whisper. The song was a
melancholy love song, one of her grandmother's favorites.
"Little flower, why do you weep,"
"Where is the sunshine your first love?" "Why are you lonely? Little flower, little flower," Her grandmother hand
sang it to her when she was only a baby.
"Where is the sunshine your first love?"
"Why are you weeping? Why are you weeping?"
"Why are your petals not shining in the soft sunlight?"
"Little flower, little flower, the jewel of the earth," Her face was shining with fresh tears. Her eyes now were the color of the deep sea, a
cold blue. "Oh why are you weeping, where is the sun your first love?" She leaned her
forehead against the window pane and whispered the last words. "Little flower, little flower why... do you weep," She slowly brushed away
stray curl from her tear filled eyes.
Erik sat back in the shadows of the lair. The winter had finally unleashed its full fury. Snow was falling in great heaps all around the opera house. Some of it was coming down from cracks in the roof and falling on the depilated seats. He had wrapped his cloak around his body, and that had kept him warm. Even though he was accustomed to the regular damp cold of the lair, this was different cold. It was a slow creeping freeze that had settled over the hard stones that made up the walls and floor of the lair. He should have been immensely angry at how his glorious opera house was falling apart piece by piece, but he was not. It was a resignation. He brushed his fingers through his coal black hair. A small strand of hair came out and it landed on his shoulder. He almost flicked it off, but something caught his eye. The strand was grey. He was starting to age. No longer would his heart keep him from growing old. Was it true? He stared at the strand closely. It was. So it had begun he had fallen in love. How he had pushed the thought away many times, and now it seemed true. He had fallen for Christina.
Christina's heart could not bear being away from Erik. His presence comforted her like nothing else could. Books, poems or even Carlotta calmed her anymore. She had taken a great risk traveling a few days ago when the rain had lulled. She could have been caught in a sudden down pour or snow storm. Now there was no way for her to leave the manor. Sleet was raining down making the library cold. She shivered drawing the blanket someone had draped around her shoulders closer to her chin. The door to the library had been closed, and at her request she had ask no one to disturb her. She got up from her chair and pressed her pale hand against the cold window pane.
"Oh Grandmamma, why it so hard?" She sighed heavily. "Why does the heart take such a long time to heal?"
"The heart is not something that can be flung on the stone and then picked back up and expected to work my little one," Her grandmother's voice seemed to say. "It takes time to heal. It takes time to learn to love again, and to trust,"
"When will it be over?" She forced herself not to cry. Her eyes were beginning to overflow with tears.
"If I could take you into my arms I would my little love," Her grandmother's voice whispered.
"Oh how I wish you could,"
"Be strong...,"
"Grandmamma," Christina said softly. "He asked me to sing for you...I did," The voice said nothing more and there was a satisfied silence. She had felt release in the lair as she had sung would it help her pain now? But without Erik? Could she do that? Her heart felt so heavy she would try anything to buoy it up once more.
"Little flower, little flower" She started off in a whisper. The song was a
melancholy love song, one of her grandmother's favorites.
"Little flower, why do you weep,"
"Where is the sunshine your first love?" "Why are you lonely? Little flower, little flower," Her grandmother hand
sang it to her when she was only a baby.
"Where is the sunshine your first love?"
"Why are you weeping? Why are you weeping?"
"Why are your petals not shining in the soft sunlight?"
"Little flower, little flower, the jewel of the earth," Her face was shining with fresh tears. Her eyes now were the color of the deep sea, a
cold blue. "Oh why are you weeping, where is the sun your first love?" She leaned her
forehead against the window pane and whispered the last words. "Little flower, little flower why... do you weep," She slowly brushed away
stray curl from her tear filled eyes.
Erik sat back in the shadows of the lair. The winter had finally unleashed its full fury. Snow was falling in great heaps all around the opera house. Some of it was coming down from cracks in the roof and falling on the depilated seats. He had wrapped his cloak around his body, and that had kept him warm. Even though he was accustomed to the regular damp cold of the lair, this was different cold. It was a slow creeping freeze that had settled over the hard stones that made up the walls and floor of the lair. He should have been immensely angry at how his glorious opera house was falling apart piece by piece, but he was not. It was a resignation. He brushed his fingers through his coal black hair. A small strand of hair came out and it landed on his shoulder. He almost flicked it off, but something caught his eye. The strand was grey. He was starting to age. No longer would his heart keep him from growing old. Was it true? He stared at the strand closely. It was. So it had begun he had fallen in love. How he had pushed the thought away many times, and now it seemed true. He had fallen for Christina.