A/N: Thanks for reviewing guys! It makes me smile every time I see one!
For those of you who have been to NYC isn't Times Square amazing?! I also
loved the Majestic Theater (that's where the Phantom is preformed) it's a
beautiful theater. By the way I am very busy this weekend, but I will try
to update as much as possible. Sorry it's short. Read and Review. Ok
onward...
Christina rubbed the dried up rose petals between her fingers. They crumpled into tiny pieces into her lap. She lifted what remained of the dead rose up to her face. She could smell the scent of spring as she breathed in the linger perfume it gave off. She couldn't bear to think she would have to through the rose away now that it was dead. It had been her companion for only a few days. It reminded her so much of Erik, she could smell the scent of the depths of the Opera House emanating from it. She winced as she moved her hand. What a foolish thing to do. She couldn't believe she had cut her hand that deeply. But then she hadn't known the mirror was broken. Why was the mirror broken? She didn't dare ask Erik for fear he would lash out at her. The subject of his mask and face were obviously ones not to broach with him. She could sense him stiffening every time she asked. What was so fearful about it? What was he afraid she would do if she ever "saw" what he revealed? She knew from the dark stories that her grandmother had told her that Erik's face was horribly disfigured on the left side. It was gruesome to look at. Christina knew that Erik hated to be pitied, and comforted about his hindrance, but sometimes Christina just wish she could wish those fears and boundaries away. When would she be able to just be with him without the mask in-between them?
He had been tired of sitting and writing on his music. Imagine him the great master of the Opera House... tired of music. He grimaced at the thought. A little leather bound book had caught his eye. He picked it up. After several hours of reading Erik had poured through Christine's book of poems, from cover to cover. He hadn't wanted to miss a single word that she had written down. He'd almost forgotten what a thrill he'd gotten from reading words from his old love's past. So many insightful things were written in it. She had been intelligent after all. Always such a quiet child with her nose in a book unless she was singing or dancing. He smiled. He sat the book down. He'd read through it so many times he knew most of the words by heart for each poem. He sighed quietly. So much in his world had changed in the past few months. He never thought he would forget Christine for one moment. Now he kept catching himself dwelling on another young lady...
Christina rubbed the dried up rose petals between her fingers. They crumpled into tiny pieces into her lap. She lifted what remained of the dead rose up to her face. She could smell the scent of spring as she breathed in the linger perfume it gave off. She couldn't bear to think she would have to through the rose away now that it was dead. It had been her companion for only a few days. It reminded her so much of Erik, she could smell the scent of the depths of the Opera House emanating from it. She winced as she moved her hand. What a foolish thing to do. She couldn't believe she had cut her hand that deeply. But then she hadn't known the mirror was broken. Why was the mirror broken? She didn't dare ask Erik for fear he would lash out at her. The subject of his mask and face were obviously ones not to broach with him. She could sense him stiffening every time she asked. What was so fearful about it? What was he afraid she would do if she ever "saw" what he revealed? She knew from the dark stories that her grandmother had told her that Erik's face was horribly disfigured on the left side. It was gruesome to look at. Christina knew that Erik hated to be pitied, and comforted about his hindrance, but sometimes Christina just wish she could wish those fears and boundaries away. When would she be able to just be with him without the mask in-between them?
He had been tired of sitting and writing on his music. Imagine him the great master of the Opera House... tired of music. He grimaced at the thought. A little leather bound book had caught his eye. He picked it up. After several hours of reading Erik had poured through Christine's book of poems, from cover to cover. He hadn't wanted to miss a single word that she had written down. He'd almost forgotten what a thrill he'd gotten from reading words from his old love's past. So many insightful things were written in it. She had been intelligent after all. Always such a quiet child with her nose in a book unless she was singing or dancing. He smiled. He sat the book down. He'd read through it so many times he knew most of the words by heart for each poem. He sighed quietly. So much in his world had changed in the past few months. He never thought he would forget Christine for one moment. Now he kept catching himself dwelling on another young lady...