Chapter 2
Christine POV
I don't know why I am here. I should be at home. Maybe I should turn around. But I don't. I head in the same direction. To the place I call home.
I soon realise that it was a mistake to come so late at night, all alone, on the streets of Paris. So many drunken fools. But I had felt compelled to see him. I had some sort of yearning. Strange, really.
So, after seemingly hours of walking among the drunks, I reached the shell of the former Opera House. Thin wooden boards covered the windows and doors. I went round to the side door, so as not to be seen. I saw that the slats had been lifted. Erik.
He was still here. Maybe I would see him. I walked in the small corridor that lead from the side door to my old dressing room. Of course, it would have got burnt in the fire. But maybe, there was a chance. However slight. I reach it in amazement. Its here! My room is beautiful. More beautiful than it was when I was here. Strands of crystal are shining around a picture of…myself. I never had a portrait taken! Who could have…Erik. I walk up to it, and study it intently. Its exquisite. It looks so like me. Then, I turn to the mirror. Around half an hour later, I'm in his home. I find I am exhausted by the trip, and sit in the chair in my bedroom. I manage to sleep, until I hear splashes coming from the lake. Erik? Why would he be swimming? He enetered, seemingly drunk and soaking. What had happened to my angel? He fell asleep quickly, and looked so beautiful, so harmless, while he lay there, breating peacefully, looking like the angel he was. I found myself longing for touch, and quickly got in beside him. It was perfect.