A/N: Hi! If you read my other story 'The Wishes We Wish' and liked it, I'm
sorry but I removed it...IT WAS A MARY-SUE AND IT STUNK! I promise places
hand over heart and holds other hand in air where everyone can see that I
will try not to ever write another Mary-Sue again someone catches a
glimpse of crossed fingers (maybe). Thanx to kind reviewers! A smile to
all of you! (sorry again to Raoul lovers, and I'm sorry if I'm
being mean to Erik...I LUV HIM TOO!)
II. Christine awoke with a cold sweat running down her face. Her room had an eerie look upon it with the full moon's light pouring in through the open window. A light breeze was blowing that made her skin crawl. One year, she thought. She got out of her Victorian bed and slowly made her way to the window. She was having the nightmare again, but never before had it seemed so real...so alive...
When she got to the window intending to close it, she looked out first. The calmness of Paris was frightening to her. She had no one to comfort her, no one to watch out for her, no one to talk to her. She was all alone. Everyone was gone. Ever since the day that she lost both of the men in her life. That day was in the past, but the past always haunted her like a shadow that she could not see; always in darkness, following her every step, watching her every move. Her past always followed her. She was not safe anywhere; not even in her own mind.
Christine remembered the events of one year ago perfectly; at least the ones she was conscious during...
One year ago...
After Christine had fainted, Erik saw no more reason to live. His twisted face was exposed, for Christine had ripped his mask off at the performance of his masterpiece. He was angry, he was murderous, and most of all, he was heartbroken. His love did not choose him, instead choosing to save her own life from him and his world of eternal shadow. He would live alone for the rest of his life...however long that was...
Tears were pouring down the cracks and crevices in his deformed face. He could no longer stand looking upon the beauty of Christine. He was not worthy. He could not even build up the strength to touch the angel on earth. But she could not stay in the cold hell below the Opera Theatre. He wrapped his cloak around her unconscious form for the last time, sobbing as he did. The one chance for love had passed him by...never to return.
When Christine had awoken from her fainted state, she was scared, thinking that she was in Erik's lair alone with the monster. But she was actually relieved to see her room surrounding her.
"Raoul?", she called. She heard no answer. She thought he was the one who had carried home. "Raoul?", she called again. Silence answered her plea. "Raoul?" she cried more desperately for the last time. Then, the horrifying events replayed in her mind...the opera...snatching Erik's mask away for the audience to see...disappearing into the lair below...hearing Erik's yelling and ranting...Raoul coming into the lair...the Punjab lasso around Raoul's struggling neck...the choice...her love, dead...
"NO!", she cried into the darkness. The tears poured out. The emotion welled up in the moment was too much to bear. She started to ease up slowly and she saw on her dresser, a brush. She ran to the dresser, took the brush up in her hand. The detail on the brush was beautiful. Her father had made it for her when he was not playing his violin. He worked on the brush for a full year. The brush was made of mahogany wood. The handle has many carvings of leaves and branches and thorns on it and on the very tip was a crafted rose that took the most time to carve. She loved the brush, for it was one of the only reminders of her father that she had left.
"I'm sorry, Papa," she whispered to the brush that she held in her hand. She threw it into the mirror on her dresser, which smashed to pieces. Each piece looked like a glistening diamond in the moonlight. She grabbed the biggest piece and held it high above her head, closed her eyes, and brought it down.
Christine opened her eyes. The remembrance of her near successful suicide was too real to think about. Good thing her servant came in just in time to call for a carriage to take her to the hospital. The bleeding had stopped a few minutes later. She had to go through therapy; everyone thought that she was crazy.
The cold memory lingered in her mind: of the attempted suicide...of Raoul's death...of Erik...it was all too emotional for her that moment.
It was early morning...around one o'clock. She shivered. The window was still opened. She closed it, but noticed something strange. The silk drapes on her window were still blowing. They did not stop when she closed the window. She was still cold...with the memory of one year ago.
II. Christine awoke with a cold sweat running down her face. Her room had an eerie look upon it with the full moon's light pouring in through the open window. A light breeze was blowing that made her skin crawl. One year, she thought. She got out of her Victorian bed and slowly made her way to the window. She was having the nightmare again, but never before had it seemed so real...so alive...
When she got to the window intending to close it, she looked out first. The calmness of Paris was frightening to her. She had no one to comfort her, no one to watch out for her, no one to talk to her. She was all alone. Everyone was gone. Ever since the day that she lost both of the men in her life. That day was in the past, but the past always haunted her like a shadow that she could not see; always in darkness, following her every step, watching her every move. Her past always followed her. She was not safe anywhere; not even in her own mind.
Christine remembered the events of one year ago perfectly; at least the ones she was conscious during...
One year ago...
After Christine had fainted, Erik saw no more reason to live. His twisted face was exposed, for Christine had ripped his mask off at the performance of his masterpiece. He was angry, he was murderous, and most of all, he was heartbroken. His love did not choose him, instead choosing to save her own life from him and his world of eternal shadow. He would live alone for the rest of his life...however long that was...
Tears were pouring down the cracks and crevices in his deformed face. He could no longer stand looking upon the beauty of Christine. He was not worthy. He could not even build up the strength to touch the angel on earth. But she could not stay in the cold hell below the Opera Theatre. He wrapped his cloak around her unconscious form for the last time, sobbing as he did. The one chance for love had passed him by...never to return.
When Christine had awoken from her fainted state, she was scared, thinking that she was in Erik's lair alone with the monster. But she was actually relieved to see her room surrounding her.
"Raoul?", she called. She heard no answer. She thought he was the one who had carried home. "Raoul?", she called again. Silence answered her plea. "Raoul?" she cried more desperately for the last time. Then, the horrifying events replayed in her mind...the opera...snatching Erik's mask away for the audience to see...disappearing into the lair below...hearing Erik's yelling and ranting...Raoul coming into the lair...the Punjab lasso around Raoul's struggling neck...the choice...her love, dead...
"NO!", she cried into the darkness. The tears poured out. The emotion welled up in the moment was too much to bear. She started to ease up slowly and she saw on her dresser, a brush. She ran to the dresser, took the brush up in her hand. The detail on the brush was beautiful. Her father had made it for her when he was not playing his violin. He worked on the brush for a full year. The brush was made of mahogany wood. The handle has many carvings of leaves and branches and thorns on it and on the very tip was a crafted rose that took the most time to carve. She loved the brush, for it was one of the only reminders of her father that she had left.
"I'm sorry, Papa," she whispered to the brush that she held in her hand. She threw it into the mirror on her dresser, which smashed to pieces. Each piece looked like a glistening diamond in the moonlight. She grabbed the biggest piece and held it high above her head, closed her eyes, and brought it down.
Christine opened her eyes. The remembrance of her near successful suicide was too real to think about. Good thing her servant came in just in time to call for a carriage to take her to the hospital. The bleeding had stopped a few minutes later. She had to go through therapy; everyone thought that she was crazy.
The cold memory lingered in her mind: of the attempted suicide...of Raoul's death...of Erik...it was all too emotional for her that moment.
It was early morning...around one o'clock. She shivered. The window was still opened. She closed it, but noticed something strange. The silk drapes on her window were still blowing. They did not stop when she closed the window. She was still cold...with the memory of one year ago.