A/N: So ladies how do you like it? Erik seem dashing enough. Wouldn't we
all love to be Christina when she finally gets to kiss him? I'm sure he's a
good kisser...lol. Though some phantom bashers could contest that thought...oh
well...onward...
Daniella her personal maid ran a brush down Christina's long curly blonde hair. It was their usual custom before the morning meal. She would help her lady get dressed, and then put her hair up. Today Christina seemed a little more relaxed than usual. Daniella pulled out one of the many black dresses Christina had acquired, and contemplated which would look better on her mistress. She finally chose an ebony dress that had a low neckline and a tight bodice, the latest style in Paris. She looked like a pale glass poupée, a doll. The sleeves clung to the arms of the wearer tightly and were fastened at the black silky cuff with a diamond. Daniella did Christina's hair up loosely into a curly bun, and carefully placed a delicate diamond pin into the golden tresses. She was beautiful.
Christina sat at the table in the ornate dining room her grandfather had designed. The table was large and could seat thirty guests. She was the only one eating there, and looked lost among the large mahogany chairs, and crystal candelabras. She was served her usual breakfast fare of an omelet and crapes with strawberries and cream. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was her usual morning. It would be what she would do each morning until she died. Her life would not change much or so it seemed.
"Is it still raining?" She asked forlornly to her server Andre.
"Yes my lady," He said looking out the large glass window. The snow had turned to rain. It was a seemingly endless pattern, the rain and snow.
"And the roads will be treacherous?"
"Yes my lady," He said slowly. "It is not advisable to travel anywhere,"
"Thank you," She said softly. It did not seem that she was very thankful for the bad news. Her soul longed for the man. But now she could not be with him. The rains would stop soon, but when?
Erik listened to the steady drops of water as they fell on the stone floor. The candle's flickered. It was pouring rain outside. Even though he was many miles underground he could hear the intense thunder and rain as it fell in torrents. Christina usually visited twice a week, and today was her usual day to see him. She had not come in the morning or in the afternoon. Now it was evening. He could understand. Women didn't want to get their skirts wet, but even in this weather he wouldn't dare go out. He tried concentrating on his composing, but that didn't work. He paced the floor, his black cape brushing against his legs every time he turned. Something caught his eye. It was a door he had not used for many years. The handle was rusty from not being used, and the hinges squealed horribly as he pulled it open knowing what he would find. He picked up a candle and held it up to bring light into the dark space.
The room was dusty and covered with spider webs. Crates and boxes lay scattered haphazardly around the large room. Paintings were strewn about, torn off the walls. His prizes. He had bought them on his many travels. They were real, all done by masters of the art. His eyes fell upon a particular one. He picked it up carefully and wiped the dust away from the canvas. Someone had tried to puncture it. It was a painting of Christine. He held the candle up to see it better. He had gotten the best painter in France and paid a higher price than all the other famous works for this painting. She had been a beauty. Her long light brown hair had hung in soft curls around her shoulders. Her green eyes were captured sparkling by the artist. Her dress had been bought with his money and sent to her as a gift. It accented her figure perfectly as if it had been made just for her. It had been. It was a creamy white dress with a hint of blue. It hung on her frame beautifully. He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger. He looked back down at the puncture mark that had been half indented into Christine's ring finger. Ah so now he remembered. He had forced Christine inside his painting gallery to await Raoul who would eventually come. She had been the one who had tried to blot out the memory of the engagement ring Erik had given her. It had been a lovely ring, a pure gold band with etchings of roses going around it. He smiled. He carefully set the painting down, and began to look around again. He slowly surveyed the room, walking around it and setting paintings, boxes, and crates back in order. He picked up a crate near the back of the room and discovered something. A piece of dirty white silk lay on the stone, and under it laid the ring. It was part of the wedding dress that he'd forced Christine to wear that night. She had ripped it purposely. What a silent way to rebel, he shook his head. She had been a little more secretive than he had known. He picked up the small ring. It shone in the light of the candle. It was the engagement ring he'd given to her. She had hidden it away from him. She had truly loved Raoul after all. He closed his fingers over the cold ring. He strode out of the room and closed the door. More memories could be left in the dark until tomorrow. It was how things were meant to be.
Daniella her personal maid ran a brush down Christina's long curly blonde hair. It was their usual custom before the morning meal. She would help her lady get dressed, and then put her hair up. Today Christina seemed a little more relaxed than usual. Daniella pulled out one of the many black dresses Christina had acquired, and contemplated which would look better on her mistress. She finally chose an ebony dress that had a low neckline and a tight bodice, the latest style in Paris. She looked like a pale glass poupée, a doll. The sleeves clung to the arms of the wearer tightly and were fastened at the black silky cuff with a diamond. Daniella did Christina's hair up loosely into a curly bun, and carefully placed a delicate diamond pin into the golden tresses. She was beautiful.
Christina sat at the table in the ornate dining room her grandfather had designed. The table was large and could seat thirty guests. She was the only one eating there, and looked lost among the large mahogany chairs, and crystal candelabras. She was served her usual breakfast fare of an omelet and crapes with strawberries and cream. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was her usual morning. It would be what she would do each morning until she died. Her life would not change much or so it seemed.
"Is it still raining?" She asked forlornly to her server Andre.
"Yes my lady," He said looking out the large glass window. The snow had turned to rain. It was a seemingly endless pattern, the rain and snow.
"And the roads will be treacherous?"
"Yes my lady," He said slowly. "It is not advisable to travel anywhere,"
"Thank you," She said softly. It did not seem that she was very thankful for the bad news. Her soul longed for the man. But now she could not be with him. The rains would stop soon, but when?
Erik listened to the steady drops of water as they fell on the stone floor. The candle's flickered. It was pouring rain outside. Even though he was many miles underground he could hear the intense thunder and rain as it fell in torrents. Christina usually visited twice a week, and today was her usual day to see him. She had not come in the morning or in the afternoon. Now it was evening. He could understand. Women didn't want to get their skirts wet, but even in this weather he wouldn't dare go out. He tried concentrating on his composing, but that didn't work. He paced the floor, his black cape brushing against his legs every time he turned. Something caught his eye. It was a door he had not used for many years. The handle was rusty from not being used, and the hinges squealed horribly as he pulled it open knowing what he would find. He picked up a candle and held it up to bring light into the dark space.
The room was dusty and covered with spider webs. Crates and boxes lay scattered haphazardly around the large room. Paintings were strewn about, torn off the walls. His prizes. He had bought them on his many travels. They were real, all done by masters of the art. His eyes fell upon a particular one. He picked it up carefully and wiped the dust away from the canvas. Someone had tried to puncture it. It was a painting of Christine. He held the candle up to see it better. He had gotten the best painter in France and paid a higher price than all the other famous works for this painting. She had been a beauty. Her long light brown hair had hung in soft curls around her shoulders. Her green eyes were captured sparkling by the artist. Her dress had been bought with his money and sent to her as a gift. It accented her figure perfectly as if it had been made just for her. It had been. It was a creamy white dress with a hint of blue. It hung on her frame beautifully. He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger. He looked back down at the puncture mark that had been half indented into Christine's ring finger. Ah so now he remembered. He had forced Christine inside his painting gallery to await Raoul who would eventually come. She had been the one who had tried to blot out the memory of the engagement ring Erik had given her. It had been a lovely ring, a pure gold band with etchings of roses going around it. He smiled. He carefully set the painting down, and began to look around again. He slowly surveyed the room, walking around it and setting paintings, boxes, and crates back in order. He picked up a crate near the back of the room and discovered something. A piece of dirty white silk lay on the stone, and under it laid the ring. It was part of the wedding dress that he'd forced Christine to wear that night. She had ripped it purposely. What a silent way to rebel, he shook his head. She had been a little more secretive than he had known. He picked up the small ring. It shone in the light of the candle. It was the engagement ring he'd given to her. She had hidden it away from him. She had truly loved Raoul after all. He closed his fingers over the cold ring. He strode out of the room and closed the door. More memories could be left in the dark until tomorrow. It was how things were meant to be.