Chapter 5 "Blessed Potion"
What's a Montague? It is not hand nor foot nor arm nor face nor any other part belonging to man. Oh be some other name! What's in a name? A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet
Christine put down the book Raoul had given her. It was Romeo and Juliet, Christine had already read the book countless times as a child, and was now just brushing up on the Literature of today. Raoul had told her the book would get her mind off "the past", but it wasn't helping. Everything in the book reminded her of Erik. It was funny that Romeo and Juliet's love had been so sweet but still had many hard ships. It was a lot like Christine and Erik's love but yet both wonderful stories had one more thing in common their tragic ending.
Christine set her book in the drawer of her nightstand and looked over at her sleeping husband. He looked so calm and at peace, he thought his wife was living a happy life with him at his estate. But he was terribly wrong, yes Christine loved Raoul but it was time to face the facts. Her heart did not belong to him only, it was divided in two. One part with Raoul and one. . With Erik. Christine got out of her warm bed and decided to write down the thoughts she just had in her diary. She grabbed the candle she was using and quietly walked out of the room. She walked down the narrow hallway, careful not to make a noise. Christine started to walk down the stairs. The cold marble almost paralyzed her bare feet. She hurried down the stairs frantic to get to a carpeted section of the house. Christine finally got to the small living room she had been in the night before. Christine sat down the off-white candle on the same small table. She bent down next to the chair expecting to find the same contents underneath it. She brought out a pen, ink, and her diary but she felt something else still lurking underneath her secret spot. Christine grabbed the unknown object and pulled it into her view. It was a clear glass bottle, with a blue liquid inside. It had a note attached that read in small hand writing:
- Christine
I heard you were sick, so I made this for you. It is not harmful, just another one of my concoctions. Simply a combination of herbs and spices. Take a small drink of this everyday until you are well again.
- Erik
Christine could not believe what name it said at the end of the note. How could he have known, that she was sick, where she kept her diary, or for that matter where she lived? Christine examined the bottle very carefully. When she found nothing wrong with it she took off the lid and took a small swig of the nasty drink. She instantly felt better but a little weary. Christine got over it and got into the comfortable chair. She put the bottle back where she had found, got into the soft chair, and opened her diary to the next clear page and wrote:
December 6th 1872
Dear Diary,
I am such a foolish girl. I went out in the frigid air and walked to the opera house. I got into the lake, shared a long passionate kiss with Erik and left back out to the icy day. By the time I got home I felt horrible, Raoul came home from his trip, and had a doctor look me over. The Doctor said it was a cold but could get worse. Now, my dear Erik has sent me a medicine to make me well. I do not deserve the love of two men. Blast our wretched hearts, for being so cruel to us, and it seems as if I must choose once again whom I will spend the rest of my life with. I feel so sorry for Raoul he has tried so hard to help me forget my Erik, yet that kind of love is not so easily forgotten.
- Christine
Christine closed her diary and suddenly felt very weak. Before she could have another thought she drifted off to sleep.
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Erik's P.O.V.
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I watched the angelic girl from outside her window. She had found my potion and the note I left for her. She looked bewildered after she read it but took a drink of it. I watched her put the bottle back under the fabric, and then get comfortable in the chair. She wrote down her thoughts inside a diary or journal, during her writing she frequently looked up at the flame of her candle. When she fished writing she closed her diary and feel asleep, my drink had affected her very quickly. I watched her sleep for a while and thought to myself "I have lost her, I let her slip through my fingers and into the arms of another man. It's quite ironic though that she would call me her angel and say that I saved her, but in all actuality she was the one who had the angelic features and if even for a brief moment, she had saved me from the loneliness that I had experienced all my life."