What if?
Chapter 2
Christine sat at her dressing table in her bedroom in the house of Mama Valérius. She stared blankly into the mirror, her chin resting on her hand. Her head shot up and she glanced around the room when she heard a mournful sigh echo around the room.
"Erik," she murmured to herself.
She was certain she could feel his presence in her bedroom. She thought she felt his warm breath fan across her cheek and his cold hand touch her shoulder. She thought she saw his love-filled eyes, burning deep into her soul. She was going crazy! She stood up and paced to her window where she drew the curtain aside, hoping she would see his silhouette in the moonlight, hiding behind the drapes.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered all that he had done for her and the horrible words she had flung at him. He offered her a balm to the sorrow, which had filled the last few years of her life. She knew that in his eyes, he offered her his love. He offered her warmth and safety, which could only be found in the comfort of his arms. She had betrayed him once again.
Erik moved about his townhouse on Rue-Richelieu in a black fury. He looked up and saw his reflection in one of his many vases of flowers. How he hated what he saw! Beyond the mask hiding his twisted face, he saw a hated carcass of disgust and contempt. Roaring with rage, he seized the side table and hurled it at the vase, sending glass, silver and flowers to the floor. The destruction only served to fuel his anger.
Christine was gone; he had lost her. The pain of her betrayal cut deep. There was no hope for him. He was helpless, lost and pushed a distressing conclusion. His life was worthless. He turned on his heel and stepped through the flowers, crushing a red rose under his shoe as he made his way to the only place he had truly belonged; the place where no one knew of his existence as the monster he had always been.
He stood on the edge of the lake under the opera, staring, entranced into the black waters, hopeless. His dreams were dead. His goal to shape Christine into the best opera singer the world had ever seen was dashed. His hope that Christine would love him and be his living wife was ruined, he realised as his hand tightened painfully around Christine's shoe buckle.
Love was a chimera, he realised with a moan. He had loved Christine and hoped that she would love him too. If he couldn't love Christine, there was no one. She was the only one, the only thing that could improve him. There was no point living if Christine could not love him. There was no point. There was the only way to escape his anguished existence. He stepped closer to the dark waters…
