The Willow Still Weeps

I was only a scared little girl! It wasn't my fault! Yet again and again, I was told it was my entire fault. Raoul's death; Erik's death. Everything was blamed on me, over and over again. I cried myself to sleep, night after night, until I found reason to believe that Erik was alive-I started a search immediately. The search was all I lived for. It got me up in the morning and put me to bed for almost a year, until finally my search was completed.

I am getting ahead of myself; let me start at the beginning. I was born on a cold winter day- January 7. My mother, a beautiful singer, my father, the greatest violinist I will ever meet, and I traveled the countryside, staying where we could. Though we had more than enough money to buy a house, my parent's always said adventure was their passion, and so it was mine. That is another thing- I had to do everything exactly like my parents. One hot summer day, I believe we were in northern France; we were having a picnic by a small lake. I remember it perfectly, or at least, her. She moved with the grace of an angel, my mother. I would always sneak glances at her, staring at her beauty. My father would always whisper sweet-nothings into her ear, and she would chuckle.

Oh, that chuckle! It was like an angel's laugh. After what I guess was a very funny joke, my mother picked up a croissant and began putting some toppings on, laughing the whole while. Her smile was incredible, too. Imitating her, I shyly reached for a croissant, but ended up making everything spill all over! As my mother raced to pick it up, my father led me away, telling me to play on the swing. Glancing once more to see my mother, I saw her body fall to the ground, and my father rush after her. I didn't know what happened, I was 5 years old! I thought she just fell asleep or something. And, being 5 years old, I didn't break the rules. I sat on that little swing, swinging back and forth, back and forth, as my father rushed around looking for help.

After a few minutes, I decided to go and get another croissant. Lightly jumping off the swing, I began walking toward the food. I remember this part the best-

The small pitter-patter of my feet on the soft grass, my father's whimpers, far away, and that image, forever burned in my memory.

My mother, one arm across her chest, and one arm lying limply at her side-a small trickle of blood from her mouth to her chin, a smile forever engraved on her face. Drinks and food spilled everywhere, the faint smell of death hanging around me. I didn't know what was going on, and if I did, I just ignored it. Walking up to her, I kissed her lightly on her cold cheek and whispered "I love you, mama." in her ear before grabbing a croissant and walking back to the swing.

I sat at that swing all day, until my papa came back and had to carry my mother's body away by himself, leaving a small trail of blood behind. When I asked where Mama was, he told me she was an angel, now.

"But mama," I said, in that little 5 year old voice. "…was always an angel. Didn't you know?"

That was how my mama died, all those years ago. For the first couple of years, it was hard, her image still burned in my memory. But as I grew older, I forgot certain things about her. Her eyes, her hair, her scent...it all became a blur. When I turned 11, her lack of presence became too much, and I collapsed into a deep sleep. That is how I stayed for so long. That is how I wanted to stay, with my mama.

But god was cruel. 8 months after I entered my deep sleep, I awoke to the sound of the sea. Slowly opening my eyes, I was greeted by a new face. I called her Mama Valerius, for she was my mother-figure from then on. The salty-sea smell hung around her, so I could only guess that we were by a beach.

I stayed in my bed until my 12th birthday, because my papa told me I was very low on energy. On my 12t birthday, everyone in the house crowded around me, each giving me a present.

Mama Valerius gave me a beautiful cross, which looked like ribbons with a diamond where each ribbon met. It was truly beautiful, and the next Sunday we went and got it blessed. Each night I would say my prayers with it, and I would tightly hold it in my hand whenever I wanted to feel close to anyone who wasn't with me.

My other gifts were gifts you would expect to get when you were 12; ink, a doll, books, a new dress, but my father's gift will always be my favorite one. A blood red scarf, with a design of a red rose on the left end. Tassels hung at each end, and it was uncanny how much the scarf smelt like my mama. Papa said it used to be hers, and then I remembered; the picture.

Blood trickling down her mouth to her chin...her blood red scarf protecting her neck from the cold, to make sure her voice was not injured.

A tear fell down my face, as I took another breathe of the scarf. The tears fell freely now, like a thunder storm. Like magic, rain started to fall, and I could hear it land on the roof. The rain and I were in sync, falling at a rhythmic pace. We were one in the same; lonely, sad, alone. A room full of people, but I could not connect to any of them, except my papa. I almost fell into my sad existence once again, but when I saw a tear spill from my father's eye, I knew I could not leave him alone again. I quickly wrapped the scarf around my neck, in the same fashion my mother had.

"Thank you, papa. This is the best gift I could ever receive." I whispered, before standing up and trying to walk. This was the first of many lessons I would learn before the age of 20: Don't believe you can run when you are rusty at walking.

My legs felt soar, like they were on fire, but I kept walking towards the door, showing everyone nothing could defeat me.

I stood outside in the rain, the smell of morning dew still fresh. My dress was soaking, but I didn't care. Once the rain let up, I began to explore my new home, which, in the whole year I was here, I never experienced. I began to run, falling quite a lot. I was correct in my first assumption; we did indeed live by a shore. I saw, very far off, a boat coming toward me. My mothers scarf flew off my neck, flying into the sea. That is when I first met Raoul-rest in peace. He must have been only 12 or 13 then, but he was still as handsome as ever. His hair was a bit shorter, too.

"Help!" I had cried. The scarf was slowly drifting away to meet the boat. Raoul ran up to me and asked what was wrong. At this point I was already breaking down, fresh tears streaming down my face.

"My...my mama...'s scarf!" I pointed towards the water, where the scarf was 'drowning.' Raoul immediately jumped in after it. I think that is when I began to love him. He was so kind to me...

As the clouds above became darker, I urged the boy who jumped into the water to come back. My scarf was already slowly drifting out of reach, and I could see the young boy was losing control. At any second he could have drowned, but he kept swimming further out, until finally I could barely see him.

"Come back! It is too dangerous!" I had screamed, but he couldn't hear me. I decided to sit down, hoping Raoul would come back soon. I debated about talking to my papa, but he would probably have been mad at me for letting my scarf escape. So I sat there, as the rain began to pour once again. Oh, that memory is so painful to remember! I thought he had died, drowned! I had fallen in love with him then, I believe. The nameless man who went in search of my scarf.

The thunder began, and I felt as if the world under me would shake at any minute. Finally, Raoul returned, scarf in hand. He was soaking wet, and, even though I was too, told him so. He began to laugh.

"Well, it seems I am not the only one wet here, now am I?" he said

"I guess it seems that way." I replied. Then I began to laugh, also.

"Raoul de Chagny" Raoul announced, holding his hand out.

"Christine Daae" I said. He took a glance at the scarf, then held it out for me. "I guess I should give this back."

As I went to grab the scarf, I heard my father's call from the house. "That is my papa. It was nice meeting you!"

Running back to my house, I swear I could hear Raoul say "yes it was." A smile came upon my face.

"Who was that?" My father asked when I returned. I told him of the adventure I had(well, Raoul) with the scarf. "Well, that must be a brave young man, that Raoul."

"Yes, yes he is"

A/N Ok this is the first chapter...I thought since everyone always wrote stories about Erik's past, I would write what I think should have been Christine's past. Christine is very smart for a 5 year old. Ha. And a 12 year old Review! I am sorry I keep writing new stories instead of updating my old ones, but when inspiration hits, it hits. OK YOU CAN'T SUE BECAUSE I MADE THIS ALL UP! And don't flame saying this never happened, Character's are OOC, or any of that, because this is MY story and I can say whatever I think happened(or should have happened)