Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera
Yea! I finally got to write this up! Though the only reason I did is because I'm sick. (Everyone say "aw" with me. 1…2…3…Awwwwww.) My stomach hurts but on the bright side: NO SCHOOL! WooHoo! D. Unfortunately that means a lot of homework tomorrow. :'-( Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I based it off the movie version but I will be reading the book version soon…I hope. Have fun!
Under the starlight I stared, ashamed, at the mask, the cover that hid the hate deceit…and the pain. Half a year had almost pasted since the fire. The flames that I had caused, destroying everything I had held dear. The music, the magic, and the love. Opera Populaire still stood but it was nothing but a shell housing metal frames that once were numerous velvet chairs…statues…the stage. Oh, the stage! The stage was my battleground bringing triumph and my crippling defeat. I ran my fingers through my hair continuing to stare at the shadowy thing in my hand.
Throwing down the mask from my perch upon the wind-worn statue, I yelled in anger. Anger at Andre and Firmin. Anger at Raoul. Anger at Christine…no…not Christine…she had just been a child. The others had convinced her…seduced her. I clutched my hair angrily squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my teeth. It was all so painful that I wished to leap off the roof of the opera and in to the cold arms of death…a thump. A heavy dull thump. I released my hair from my grip and looked up. A girl…her hair pulled back as a man's. She wore odd pants and a shirt like a man. I frowned. What manner of woman would dress like this? Curious, I hesitantly stepped down from between the wings of the pegasus and causiously approached her side, the mask forgotten. I kneeled down to examine her. She was unconscious and when I lifted her head to see her face, my fingers came back bloody. It was at this point that I picked her up. She needed to be helped. There was no doubt about that. The girl stirred, opening her eyes a bit. She seemed to gaze beyond, dizzily.
"No." She moaned turning her face away from me. " It…my…no." After spouting this nonsense, she weakly reached out as if to grasp something. I followed her gaze…a package covered in brown paper. I walked over then carefully cradling the girl; I managed to snatch up the package. Her hand followed it the entire time, never taking her focus off of it. When it finally came to rest in her lap, she placed the hand that had followed on it and smiled weakly. After that her eyelids fluttered, her face contorted with pain and she lost conciousness.
All the way down the to sewer of my home (in a literal sense of course) I wondered. How had she gotten up there? I had seemed like she had fallen but none of the nearby buildings were high enough to jump from, land on the opera house, and sustain this girl's kind of damage. It was simply impossible. Also, what could be in the package that was so important that she would risk her life for it? Love? Possibly. Money? Unlikely. Power? Definitely no. I reached my home and stared for the bed, which rested in the spot the bed meant for Christine and I had laid (destroyed during a moment of anger). I gently placed her in the bed, slipping off what appeared to be her shoes…I could ask my questions when the girl was awake. As I stood I noticed the blood on the front of my shirt from the girl's arm…Then again in this condition it was questionable whether she would live or not. I frowned, my jaw set. I wasn't about to let her die. I now had an opportunity for companionship, an outlet for my grief, and I wasn't about to pass it up…I had found my "Christine".
Important fact: Italic means its in French. I had to put the language barrier in their otherwise it wouldn't be that good of a story. Please review!