Snow day! Of course I wouldn't be so inconsiderate as to have a whole day off from school and not give you an update, so here you are ;-). And look, it isn't midnight!

flamingices- Actually, I've read that story, and I thought the same thing at first, but they do grow apart as they go on. It may have been a coincidence :shrug: Even if not, there isn't much I can do about it, so I'll just live and let live.

K9- I just got your review today, so I hope this qualifies as soon enough for you. ;-)

CHRISTINE

Raoul and I waited nervously in the back of the room as the doctor solemnly poked and prodded Verrill. His face was impassive, utterly emotionless, as though he was examining a broken pipe rather than a real, living, breathing child. I distrusted doctors of all kinds, and this particular specimen did little to relieve these preconceived ideas.

I felt Raoul's hand, strong, warm and dry, twine it's muscular fingers with my own. I squeezed his hand, a wave comfort akin to walking in from a cold winter's day and sitting before a glowing, crackling fire washing over me. With my other hand, I nervously wrenched at a fold in the drape of my dress, the pale pink material absorbing the beads of sweat appearing along my fingertips. A cloud of utter silence enclosed the room. I feared one ragged breath, one tap of my foot, one soft whisper, would bring the whole world collapsing in around us, all of its invisible elements colliding in a single deafening explosion.

The silence was finally broken by the doctor, his smart black shoes striking the floorboards crisply as he made his way toward Raoul and me. I heard myself gasp slightly, involuntarily, as I released Raoul's hand and my contorted dress simultaneously. "What is it?" I asked, sharply, breathily, and in a completely unladylike fashion.

"The first time I came here, you said that he had a high fever, frequent vomiting, and was sleeping a great deal?"

"Indeed," replied Raoul, nodding slowly. His eyes were dark with worry.

"And you said earlier this morning that he seemed to have gotten better since that visit?"

Raoul nodded again.

"But he was exhibiting strange behavior…pray elaborate on that a second time?"

"He seems to be having a difficult time getting hold of things we hand to him," Raoul answered. "And he keeps walking into things, walls, furniture, people…"

"He seems disoriented," I added.

The doctor nodded, scratched his whiskered chin, and appeared to be contemplating. Without changing this pose, he turned around and paced back toward Verrill's cradle. He waved a hand over Verrill's face. Nodding, he then reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and tried to hand it to Verrill. Verrill did not react. He continued to nod his head. The motion was beginning to drive me mad, and I began to twist at the fabric of my dress again, murderously.

The doctor made his way back toward us. I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for whatever the diagnosis might be. Each beat of my heart coincided with an ominous crack of his shoe against the floor, amplified a hundredfold by the depth of the silence in the room. He stopped before us, seeming to take a great deal of time to bring his right foot even with his left. When he finally spoke, I felt as thought my heart might burst forth from my chest.

"Have you a rattle of some sort?"

I exhaled, feeling my entire stature palpably sag. If someone had so much as blown on me at that moment, I would have fallen straight to the floor. "Yes," I replied, deadpan. "Yes, I shall go and get it."

I made the arduous journey across the room, feeling like I was traversing a Persian desert rather than a nursery. My throat was dry as I retrieved the rattle and handed it to the doctor, my eyes unblinking. I watched him like a vulture, every fiber of my being waiting, waiting…

The doctor waved the rattle before Verrill, who inclined his head, reached up, and clumsily took it. Once it was in his grasp, he horded it like a dragon protecting a trove of gold and jewels, delighting in the sound. The doctor nodded yet again, this time with a certain finality about it, and I felt my blood pressure race again. Soon I would be the one who need a doctor.

"The sickness he suffered was probably some relative of the scarlet fever," said the doctor. "It was quite a bit more serious than I had at first realized. It seems to have robbed the child of his sight."

My eyes widened in shock. I felt Raoul's arms supporting me, and if not for his quick reaction, I might have collapsed. I grabbed them like a sailor seeking something to balance himself during a violent tempest. "Will he ever recover it?" I gasped.

"I'm afraid that is highly unlikely, Madame," replied the doctor. Dismissing me as a swooning mother, he addressed only Raoul next. "It is a blessing that he so young. At this age, he will learn how to get along without it very quickly and with little help. Watch him carefully to make sure he doesn't injure himself, but give him a free reign to experiment, and he should be fine. Most blind these days are able to live perfectly normal lives. It is truly not as grave as it may seem right now. Now, Monsieur, may we talk about my fee…?"

He led Raoul out of the room, leaving me standing there, alone, leaning against the wall for support. Verrill, my perfect child, was blind. Still stunned, I turned my glassy eyes skyward. What deity up there held me in such contempt lately? What heinous act of mine had invoked all of this malice?

And then I turned my eyes downward. Toward the streets that I knew led to Paris. And in Paris, five stories beneath these very streets, dwelt the one that I should be addressing.

"Damn you, Erik!" I breathed. Then I finally began to cry.

That was the state Raoul discovered me in, on returning from escorting the doctor out. I sat on the floor, Verrill in my arms, using the corner of his blanket to dry my tears, which had given way to dry sobs. He sat down next to me. I could see tears glimmering in his own eyes, but he held them back. He held my shoulders, and I slid Verrill over so he was evenly distributed between our two laps.

Raoul did not try to stop me from crying with useless words of comfort, or make light of my grief. He just held me tightly, gently running his fingers through my hair, and let me weep on his shoulder. He seemed to understand that what I needed was a calm in the storm, to hold on to. Words would have been meaningless. His warm presence spoke volumes.

The bond between Raoul and Verrill grew immensely and quickly in the following days. Raoul would sit up with him at night when he cried, rocking him, and singing to him softly in his gentle, calm baritone which filled me with warmth rather than fear and awe. He never took his eyes off the boy, watching him with a constant vigilance as he adjusted to his new condition. It did not seem to affect him very much: he smiled and laughed just as much as before, and even more when his father was around to play with him. Verrill delighted in sounds, and especially music even more now, and Raoul and I learned to play games with him that involved singing and clapping.

My worries were waylaid, for the moment. Little had changed with Verrill bar the amount of supervision he required. He still loved it when I sang to him, and seemed to love it just as much when Raoul did, though he was somewhat more reluctant to open his mouth.

"Come Raoul, Verril wants a song, and I have a cold! Sing to him!" I teased with a smile.

Raoul laughed and shook his head. "Christine de Chagny, you know I cannot sing!"

"Of course you can, my dear," I replied lovingly.

"You are the most talented singer in France," he replied. "I cannot sing in front of you! You will laugh at me!"

"I will not!" I grinned, shoving him on the shoulder jestingly.

"Oh yes you will!"

It became a pastime for the three of us, on quiet afternoons, to sit near the piano, while I did my best to give Raoul a singing lesson. Verrill's face would light up with an expression that could melt the iciest heart, and Raoul and I would laugh nearly as much as he. I looked forward to these afternoons like a child to Christmas. An air of happiness surrounded the de Chagny house. It became a place full of music and laughter. As our "lessons" progressed, not only did Raoul actually improve, but he became less self conscious, and there was singing all the time. Even our servants sang. Verrill could not have been more delighted.

And, I realized, as I sat by the fire one afternoon, glancing over my book at Raoul and Verrill, who sat before the fireplace playing a rhythm game by banging on the floor, neither could I. I was surrounded by the two most powerful forces in life: love and music. I had finally found that happiness that came with true contentment. Our lives were not perfect, but they were filled with joy nonetheless. Verrill's blindness, which had come as a curse, brought with it a blessing. It brought our little family closer together than ever.