Just one note-
Please don't murder me for not updating in so long....
(Oh, just a little question—why do people feel the need to put a disclaimer??... This site was MADE for people to write stories based on already written and published stories, so wouldn't you think the site itself just had a huge general disclaimer for all the material on it?...)
By the way, this is the shortest chapter in the history of short chapters, but this is my exam week.
I'm just takin' a quick studying break, okay??
...I should win an award for procrastination...
Lise stood trembling on the narrow shelf-like ledge, her eyes closed in reverent prayer. She really wasn't afraid of heights...merely of falling from them. Having nothing, not even a rail or a rope, to hold onto did not help the situation.
Suddenly she felt a strong hand at her elbow, almost knocking her off-balance in sudden surprise—but the hand steadied her, and even though Lise still had no idea who this strange masked man was, she was grateful for his support for the time being. She relaxed a little, and peered through slitted eyes. Not that there was much to see—it was almost completely dark in the theater, and silent at death.
She shivered involuntarily. Then, hearing a rustling beside her, she tilted her head ever so carefully to see him slide his cloak off and drape it around her shoulders.
This confused her even more so than his hand at her arm. She didn't know this man, didn't know his intentions; did he intent to harm her? She couldn't think of anything else he'd want with her...and if he did, why would he bother being kind?
But she didn't have long to ponder these thoughts before the initial wondering fled her mind, pushed out and replaced once again by the fear of her current situation: standing there, swaying on the rickety wooden ledge, waiting for...for what?
"Lise! Lise...Lise, Lise!"
Lise started, jolting dangerously, and the Phantom's grip on her arm tightened. A sliver of light had crept into the theater from the open doorway of the side entrance, and someone had just come in, hissing Lise's name.
She gasped. "Mama!" she began to cry out—but suddenly another hand flew to her mouth, stifling the half-formed cry.
But she'd needed only a whisper. Christine, gliding soundlessly across the sleek stage, whipped her head up at the noises from up above.
"Lise! Oh—my darling—I—"
But what to do in such a situation? No time for a gentle reunion with her daughter—for she had been left teetering on the edge of the shelf. The Phantom was nowhere in sight.
"Mama—help me, please...what shall I—"
"Oh, Lise...just stay there—I'll be up for you..." Christine started towards the wings. She slipped through, into the dark area backstage, and began to feel her way along the wall toward the ladder when a cold hand wrapped around her wrist, a cold whisper cutting in.
"Would you really want to make things that much more dangerous for both yourself and the child?"
Christine hadn't even the breath to let out a gasp. He was here...the angel from her dreams, the Phantom from her nightmares...this mystery of a man, standing before her once again...she truly had never thought a time like this would come again. She felt intoxicated, as she always had then, by his presence, the mere nearness of this dark creature whom she had once so feared and adored.
"No?... I didn't think you would do anything quite so...careless," he murmured, drawing away from her and looking away calmly. "You've changed, Madame."
Christine finally found her voice. "You—you have no right...you bring me here, thinking you can—"
"Oh, but Madame de Chagny, can you go on? Thinking I can what? I know my plans far better than you, I assume...you do know, Madame la Vicomtesse, that I came to...suggest something?"
This infuriated Christine so much that any initial shock or longing was swept away.
"You have the nerve to call me...—you think you can get away with—being so—"
"But that is your name now, is it not?... Madame de Cha—"
"No! Stop! Let me—" Now there was almost a hatred burning inside of her, seeing him so cool and calm, confidently saying what he knew she'd hate. "Let me speak! For so long I've been the ignorant student, blundering blindly after you, taking lessons from you, so gullibly and willingly falling into your trap because of your enchantments; you charmed me into believing your words of kindness...but I will no longer be the stammering student gazing adoringly up at you, Erik," she spat. She felt almost on the verge of tears. "You won't have the last word anymore. You can't do this to me...I'd finally almost broken free of those feelings that swam up when you were there...you can't do this to me again, Erik...you can't..."
For once he was silent. Christine felt emotionally washed up, washed away...but she needed to continue.
"You bring me here again, reminding me of...of everything—and then any wonderings I had about you you confirmed; you lead me here and then take out your spite on me, calling me—you just take out your anger on me—you give me the blame for making my own choice, my choice—when I left with..." She couldn't bring herself to say Raoul's name. She didn't want to bring him any more into reality than she had to. "You had me back then, you had me...the choice you proposed, I didn't have any way out of it...and I only showed some compassion in hopes that you'd show some in return...and you did, Erik, you did! You let me go! But"— she laughed bitterly—"I should have known it wouldn't be for good. You'll never let me go, never let me go free, will you, Erik?"
He stood still, silently taking in her words. She had just emptied herself of this torrent of words, of passion, all in a rush, relating everything she'd never had the courage to say all those long years ago—and she had gotten it all right. He wouldn't...he couldn't let her go again.
He struck his flow of soft thoughts with ice. No, he told himself. You'll never keep her if you openly hand her the reins. Keep the upper hand...don't give in with silly sentiment, don't give her up again with just—what—compassion! A waste of feeling, he resolved. Compassion is for the weak...you can't be weak, Erik...
He finally looked into Christine's soft brown eyes, full of feeling...but the pity was gone, at least. Replaced with a certain fury he'd never expected to see in those soft eyes before.
"Christine." It was the first time he'd spoken her name as simply as that since they'd reunited. Christine was somewhat taken aback: he couldn't be giving in...? No, not so easily; he'd never...
"I..." He was at a loss for words. What to say?
Suddenly a scream pierced the tense silence.
"Lise!" Christine gasped, rushing out of the wings and back onto the stage to see her daughter once more.
Iknow, way short. I just wanted to get it up quick for you darling peoples' sakes.
(...Grammar on that??!)
