Hmm. This could take some time. My vault of good ideas is empty, replaced by ones that include setting a flowerbed on fire. Do tell me if this installment is stupid. I hate it when I have no ideas. It's like having a milkshake and no straw. In other words, it sucks! Forget it. This is a very fop-lovery chapter for all you Raoul lovers out there.
Ch. 4: Letters From the Arctic
Dear Christine,
This is probably the tenth letter that I have sent you today, and I apologize if I am annoying you. I have not given you a proper chance to respond, but I count the hours until I read your thoughts. The arctic is a barren, cold place and my fellow sailors are cumbersome company. I will not trouble you with my woes right now. How are you? I feel terrible leaving you all alone in that flat of ours. The engagement ring on my finger is the force keeping me going, for when I return home, my lovely wife will be waiting for me. Once again, I send my love and fond regards.
Your Always,
Raoul
Christine folded the letter up and tossed it to the floor amongst the others she had read earlier that day. It was true, she missed him deeply, for a portion of her heart belonged to him. His boyish nature and kind ways were very endearing. She had embellished upon these detail of her fiancée after she was so rudely forced to the wall by another shareholder of her feelings.
Their flat had seemed quite empty for the three weeks Raoul had been gone, lacking his melodious, warm voice and hearty laughter. She sighed deeply. The overwhelming, eating pang of guilt in her heart had grown by the day, fueled by the little stranger that she had with her always. Horrible episodes of anxiety would come at the most inappropriate times, but thankfully, she had somebody to help her. Meg would come by at all hours of the night or day, coming daily to check on Christine. Madame Giry was still on forced holiday, so she still had no news of the baby.
With the best handwriting she could muster at the moment under her shaky mental state, she began to write a reply to Raoul's letter.
Dearest Raoul,
I thank you kindly for all of your letters. You, my dear, are certainly not irritating in the least. I enjoy hearing from my silly little lover. You ask, and I am well. Paris sends it regards to you. They are missing their favorite Vicomte. Well, I must keep this letter brief, as society demands my presence. I hope these two years go by quicker than they have been.
All my love,
Christine
She put down her pen, staring at the written lie that her fiancée would receive in a few weeks. Christine shuddered, placing the wax seal on the envelope. Two years was a long time. Raoul was never to know about this child.
Meanwhile, back underground; another individual was nearly losing his already sporadic mind. With a handful of darts, he took out his unease on a helpless corkboard. He cared not when one had shattered a wine bottle, and another piercing a cello sitting in the corner. With this kind of eating worry, Erik could not muster the strength to care. Christine's life was ruined. His fault, all his fault. Those thoughts would chase each other around his mind, making the guilt even worse. There was something he had to do, all ha had to do was figure out what he could do.
I know, very short. But hey, schools on the verge of ending and there is a social life to be entertained. There is only so much I can do at the age of ----teen.