Lots of stuff happened at home… for the last 4 months, I've been basically kept from doing anything well…social… and therefore I have been deprived of fanfiction –both writing it and reading it regularly – for the past few months. For those who are following this story – I apologize. Profusely. And hope that you have not lost interest! Now that I'm back in school, I finally have a chance to continue the story! I know this is a short chapter… but I needed to update… to get things back in motion… please bear with me!
Bergerac – Thank you v. much for the enthusiasm!
And so I bring you…
Bittersweet – Chapter 6
It had been six days since Christine woke up from her sleep. Six unbearable days and six restless nights. Her days were filled with useless things; she stayed in bed most of the time, for Raoul had forbid her from leaving it. She wanted to go out and be in the gardens, absorbing the life that was outside. Instead, she was forced in this cold, sterile room. Not that the room itself was the cause of this feeling. It was decorated with warm, golden tones that had nobility, prestige and power painted and woven into anything and everything. Everything that hung on the walls, sat on the floor, and draped across windows were the finest that Paris could offer. Christine, however, longed for her home back in the Opera. This room made her feel smothered, as did Raoul's presence. She was a lowly chorus girl, a dancer, and a forced diva. She was not used to this luxury and elegance that graced the very walls, was the very essence of this building.
Mme. Giry had come in often, as did Meg, to help her get over her boredom. She knew that Mme. Giry had many questions to ask her, but surprisingly, she did not find a single opportune moment to ask. Something would always happen that would need Mme. Giry's attention before she could. Christine was grateful for whatever powers that caused this to happen. She did not want to live through that nightmare again. Meg provided some sort of companionship for her. She was a lot more subdued than the bright, sprightly Meg that aspired to be the Prima Ballerina of the Opera Populaire. The events that had put Christine to bed rest had rattled Meg's life. Now, she had to get her life back in order. She was making good progress with that.
The days were, in some ways, tolerable to Christine. It was the nights that caused chills to go down her spine when she woke. They were restless nights. Nightmares filled her sleep, from the very first moment she closed her eyes to the moment when she shot up in bed, tears streaming down her face. Every night, she would relive the night of Don Juan Triumphant. His face would be right in front of her, contorted with pain, agony, and betrayal. His brokenness as he sat, looking up at her when she had returned the ring. It would always be when she looked into his expressive eyes when he said those words that she woke up.
Christine, I love you…
Tears streamed down from her eyes every single time she woke up. She would always be at odds with herself. She was supposed to be fearful of this… this… creature, for lack of a better word. But she could not feel that; not when it came down to this tearful admission of love. She could not hate him, no she could not. He meant so much to her – he taught her how to sing. He was there for her when she needed something, someone to trust, to turn to. He was her angel of music, whether he be spirit or human. He was still her protector, her guidance, her mentor. Her relationship with him was just that peculiar. She just couldn't figure out why it seemed so peculiar.
A series of sharp raps on the door interrupted her musings.
"Enter," she called out. She was definitely curious. Nobody sought her out this early in the morning. Dawn had broken, yes, but this was much earlier than her usual rising time.
The door opened to reveal Mme. Giry's stricken face. The ever-present curiousness inside Christine brought her to ask.
"Mme.? What is it? You look so pale…"
Mme. Giry was hesitant to answer. She did not know what the news she held behind her back would do to Christine. She didn't want to expose this to her when she had not recovered, but she knew that Christine would blame her for the rest of their lives if she did not. She stepped into the room, her hands still behind her back.
Christine was wondering why Mme. Giry seemed so tense, so held back. Usually, the madame would be very straightforward, but not today. For some reason, her stomach started to twist into knots. She had a feeling that she would not like the news, whatever it was that Mme. Giry brought.
Mme. Giry handed Christine one lone sheet of paper. It was page out of the newspaper, l'Epoque, carefully folded to reveal one small article.
Elusive Phantom of the Opera House found Dead.
