A/N- Sorry it took me so long to update...I went on a trip (again) and I do
not own a laptop...darn...R&R...stuffies in brackets are stuffies in italics...my
italics don't show up on fanfic...darn...again...
IX.
The first...
Another headache, thought Christine as she walked the rain-soaked cobblestones. She hadn't remembered what had happened at all, only that she had seen someone familiar to her but could not put a name on him...those eyes...those blazing blue eyes...
Christine pulled her shawl more tightly around her. She had experienced many cold nights as these. That was when her father was there to calm her tears by the soft melodic sounds of his prized violin. Christine had always loved that violin; almost as much as her father had. The soft feel of the chestnut wood, the strong hum of the bow pulling across the chords, the intricate detail of the carvings upon the instrument. She had remembered the cruel day her father was forced to sell it. They hadn't even met Mama Valerius yet. They had no money left and had not eaten in days. A man in a finely tailored suit passed by them and heard their peaceful duet. He stopped and Papa stood up to talk to him. Little Christine had not heard much, but she did hear that the man was offering Papa 200 francs for the violin that 'played music to soothe angels', as he had said. She was horrified as she saw her father slowly trade his violin for the bills. "Do not worry, Little Lotte," Papa had said, "we will get it back someday." But they hadn't. Papa got sick, and the violin could no longer soothe his pain. To try and calm her father's choking coughs, Christine would sing to him.
"Little Lotte let her mind wander...
Little Lotte thought...
Am I fonder of dolls...?
Or of Goblins or shoes...?
Or of riddles or frocks...?
Or of chocolates...?"
Christine, coming back out of her flashback state, paused after singing the short hymn. Should she continue? She knew what words lay ahead. Certainly they were just words, right? No, they were much more. But, she continued to sing:
"No, what I loved best,
Lotte said is when I'm
asleep in my bed..."
She sang slower:
"And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."
[And the Angel of Music sings songs in your head], a voice echoed. Christine looked wildly about her searching for the owner of the voice but found something different. It was true: Little Lotte certainly did let her mind wander. The passage she took had seemed familiar, but she had not realized where she was going. She was standing right in front of the solid, cold, dark memory that haunted her. Tears fell down her cheeks as she gazed upon the Paris Opera Theatre.
The second...
How can someone so beautiful be so cold?, he thought. Her soft features were all looking harsh, tense, afraid. He had scared her away. He had always frightened those he loved, those he hadn't loved him. Erik was upon Apollo's Lyre staring at his Angel as if to remembers her appearance for all of eternity. Not that he didn't already.
He saw the statue had droplets on it. It was raining. He didn't even know. He could no longer feel: he had lost his sense of touch a month after Christine left. He would never be able to feel her soft skin...never.
Erik turned his gaze upon the small beauty. He remembered the night of her first performance. The overly dramatic cow, Carlotta, was scared because of a simple prank he had played and Christine won the part. She had done better than he had expected. That was when that boy ruined his plans. Erik's thoughts shifted. The boy was no longer there, and Christine was. A small smile crept upon his face. With a sweeping of his cloak, Erik summoned a violin tune coming from Christine's dressing room that was so hypnotic, she could never resist it.
The third...
She was there. He had seen her. She looked so beautiful after so long. He had never seen someone as beautiful as her. Her delicate curves and petite form were all too beautiful her almost felt unworthy. Almost.
He was sitting on the ground of somewhere unknown to all but himself, thinking of the woman he had seen. He knew today was important to her, even fearful. She had not even recognized him. Good. She was very close, though. So, she was going crazy. He was just an assistant, not a patient as was said. Maybe she wasn't crazy. Maybe she was. No matter. He would find out soon enough. He had little time left as it was, so he stood up and started walking the streets of Paris, searching for the girl. The young, beautiful girl called Christine Daae.
A/N- Very sorry for shortness of everythin'...this was written in VERY small notebook to be typed on the computer...this was also written on the road and I have a VERY short attention span as you can see...yeah...
Your Mission: Figure out who 3rd person is (no, Erik was the 2nd person!)
My Mission: Say sorry for shortness, and confusion, and complete pointlessness of this chappie... "Sorry for shortness, and confusion, and complete pointlessness of this chappie!"
Your OTHER Mission: Review...HOP TO IT!...please?
IX.
The first...
Another headache, thought Christine as she walked the rain-soaked cobblestones. She hadn't remembered what had happened at all, only that she had seen someone familiar to her but could not put a name on him...those eyes...those blazing blue eyes...
Christine pulled her shawl more tightly around her. She had experienced many cold nights as these. That was when her father was there to calm her tears by the soft melodic sounds of his prized violin. Christine had always loved that violin; almost as much as her father had. The soft feel of the chestnut wood, the strong hum of the bow pulling across the chords, the intricate detail of the carvings upon the instrument. She had remembered the cruel day her father was forced to sell it. They hadn't even met Mama Valerius yet. They had no money left and had not eaten in days. A man in a finely tailored suit passed by them and heard their peaceful duet. He stopped and Papa stood up to talk to him. Little Christine had not heard much, but she did hear that the man was offering Papa 200 francs for the violin that 'played music to soothe angels', as he had said. She was horrified as she saw her father slowly trade his violin for the bills. "Do not worry, Little Lotte," Papa had said, "we will get it back someday." But they hadn't. Papa got sick, and the violin could no longer soothe his pain. To try and calm her father's choking coughs, Christine would sing to him.
"Little Lotte let her mind wander...
Little Lotte thought...
Am I fonder of dolls...?
Or of Goblins or shoes...?
Or of riddles or frocks...?
Or of chocolates...?"
Christine, coming back out of her flashback state, paused after singing the short hymn. Should she continue? She knew what words lay ahead. Certainly they were just words, right? No, they were much more. But, she continued to sing:
"No, what I loved best,
Lotte said is when I'm
asleep in my bed..."
She sang slower:
"And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."
[And the Angel of Music sings songs in your head], a voice echoed. Christine looked wildly about her searching for the owner of the voice but found something different. It was true: Little Lotte certainly did let her mind wander. The passage she took had seemed familiar, but she had not realized where she was going. She was standing right in front of the solid, cold, dark memory that haunted her. Tears fell down her cheeks as she gazed upon the Paris Opera Theatre.
The second...
How can someone so beautiful be so cold?, he thought. Her soft features were all looking harsh, tense, afraid. He had scared her away. He had always frightened those he loved, those he hadn't loved him. Erik was upon Apollo's Lyre staring at his Angel as if to remembers her appearance for all of eternity. Not that he didn't already.
He saw the statue had droplets on it. It was raining. He didn't even know. He could no longer feel: he had lost his sense of touch a month after Christine left. He would never be able to feel her soft skin...never.
Erik turned his gaze upon the small beauty. He remembered the night of her first performance. The overly dramatic cow, Carlotta, was scared because of a simple prank he had played and Christine won the part. She had done better than he had expected. That was when that boy ruined his plans. Erik's thoughts shifted. The boy was no longer there, and Christine was. A small smile crept upon his face. With a sweeping of his cloak, Erik summoned a violin tune coming from Christine's dressing room that was so hypnotic, she could never resist it.
The third...
She was there. He had seen her. She looked so beautiful after so long. He had never seen someone as beautiful as her. Her delicate curves and petite form were all too beautiful her almost felt unworthy. Almost.
He was sitting on the ground of somewhere unknown to all but himself, thinking of the woman he had seen. He knew today was important to her, even fearful. She had not even recognized him. Good. She was very close, though. So, she was going crazy. He was just an assistant, not a patient as was said. Maybe she wasn't crazy. Maybe she was. No matter. He would find out soon enough. He had little time left as it was, so he stood up and started walking the streets of Paris, searching for the girl. The young, beautiful girl called Christine Daae.
A/N- Very sorry for shortness of everythin'...this was written in VERY small notebook to be typed on the computer...this was also written on the road and I have a VERY short attention span as you can see...yeah...
Your Mission: Figure out who 3rd person is (no, Erik was the 2nd person!)
My Mission: Say sorry for shortness, and confusion, and complete pointlessness of this chappie... "Sorry for shortness, and confusion, and complete pointlessness of this chappie!"
Your OTHER Mission: Review...HOP TO IT!...please?