A/N: Hi! Here I am with another one-shot. However, this one-shot is not smut like my other ones. This one holds more of my darker side, written from Christine's P.O.V. Maybe if you guys like it enough, I might continue to write a story off it. So….ENJOY: )

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

Dark Angel

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

1. The Agony of Waiting

There was only one sound in the whole room: tick tock, tick tock.

It was that sound that I feared was going to drive me insane. My fingers twitched against the fabric of my night dress, being that my hands were resting in my lap. The agony of waiting was weighing on me heavily. It was then I realized one thing, and asked myself: What am I waiting for?

I blinked, my brows furrowing as I tried to answer my own question. My hands twisted the fabric of my silky skirt and I bit my lower lip, trying to come up with an answer.

I heard the slow, agonizing tick as I began to lift my head, the tock following, after what seemed a lifetime. It was then my eyes rested on the one thing I had been trying so desperately to ignore: the mirror.

As my eyes met the cold, dark eyes of my counterpart, I hissed, gritting my teeth in anger. I had sworn to myself that I would not even look at the mirror, and here I was staring into it!

However, now that I had made eye contact, I could not tear my eyes away from the cool, entrancing sheet of glass.

I began to take in my appearance.

My dark curls were piled on top of my head, as was the style meant for my part in the newest opera. I had yet to take them down.

I took in how pale my face was, made paler by the darkness of my eyes. I began to wonder how my blue eyes could have turned such a dark shade of blue, but then softly shook my head, throwing that aside.

Beneath my eyes were dark circles, one of the few testaments to my lack of sleep. I wore a white silky nightgown with a lacy white dressing gown over it, the dressing gown closed at my waist, tied by ribbons. I stood, walking slowly over to the mirror as if in a trance at my own appearance.

Along with having become pale, I had lost a lot of weight, and was now bordering on the unhealthy side of being too thin. If I lost any more weight, I'd be far too skinny; just like some of the ballet rats.

I turned to the side, placing a cold hand on my flat stomach, taking in my shape in the mirror. I sighed softly, letting my hand fall from my front to my side. I turned, facing the mirror, and began letting my hand gently glide across the surface of the mirror, tilting my head as I looked into the mirror. If anyone could see me they'd immediately assume I'd lost my mind and that I looked as if I were in a trance.

A cold little voice in the back of my head whispered:

You're waiting for him.

I furrowed my brows, continuing exactly what I was doing as I silently asked in my mind:

Who?

The voice whispered:

You know who. Who else would be behind this mirror?

I furrowed my brows, still not accepting what the voice was telling me.

It again whispered in my head:

Your Angel of Music.

I pulled back as if the mirror had burned me.

I began to take hurried steps backward, and tripped on the hem of my night clothes, falling backward and landing harshly on my bottom; my back hitting the edge of the bed harshly. A mere gasp escaped my throat at the fall.

I simply stared at the mirror, not letting my eyes leave it as I sat perfectly still on the floor.

"No. What I love best," Lotte said, "Is when I'm asleep in my bed…"

Without even realizing it, my voice surged out from my body, somehow singing softly, "…And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head. The Angel of Music sings songs in my head…"

I suddenly stood, filled with rage as I ran up to the mirror and began to pound on the mirror viciously, practically screaming, "The Angel of Music is dead! He no longer exists! He's dead!"

I fell to my knees, shocked to find that I had begun to cry, my shoulders shaking as I sobbed softly. I weakly hit my fist against the mirror and sobbed out softly, almost a whisper, "He's dead. He's….dead!"

It was easier to believe that, because maybe then I would stop hurting. Maybe then I'd stop longing to hear his voice.

I hated the silence. The silence was what threatened to choke me. I needed him. I needed his voice; wanted to hear it; needed to hear it.

I cried softly and whispered desperately, "Angel…..?"

Silence was all I was greeted with.

The truth was I hadn't heard from him since the night Joseph Buquet fell on the stage, hanging by that noose. All had been silence since then.

I cried harder, sobbing as I questioned aloud to myself, "What did I even do? Did I do something wrong?"

The thought hit me that that night was also the night I had been Raoul.

Had the angel seen, and become angry with me, abandoning me?

Images swarmed my brain, drowning me.

Images of my mysterious masked angel who seemed more like a man.

Images of him singing to me, beckoning to me.

Images of him caressing me.

Images of him screaming with rage at me.

Images of his eyes penetrating my soul.

Was he even an angel or just a man? He certainly didn't act like an angel at times.

But his voice…..his voice was that of an angel's.

I leaned my head against the icy-cold, hard glass of the mirror, crying; my body racked with sobs.

What was I supposed to believe?

What was the truth?

Surely he was just a man?

But even so…..he filled me with a power I had never experienced before; a dark power that frightened me, filling me full of passion and dark emotions.

I had soon cried so much that my body was exhausted and I slumped to the floor; crumpled in front the mirror that was my only passage to my dark angel, dreaming of him….my dark angel.

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

A/N: Hmmm…..I'm debating whether to make this an actual story. I don't really know. I suppose it could stand as a one-shot.

I suppose it's up to you all. If I get enough reviews telling me to continue this and make it a real story, then I will.

Please review.