A Time For Us
By: Child of Dreams
Disclaimer: Child of Dreams does not own The Phantom of the Opera.
Nor does she own Romeo & Juliet.
She does, however, own this story, so no plagiarism please!
Prologue: Erik
August 13, 1849
5:21 A.M.
Palais Garnier
Paris, France
It was a breech birth, and so right up to the very last moment of innocent ignorance, Madeleine remained aware of the midwife's encouraging words.
"Just the head now, my dear... almost there... your petit enfant is almost born..."
The 19-year-old Comtesse, widowed just three months before when her husband of barely a year had died of cholera, had now been struggling for nearly two days to bring this child into the world.
Madeleine closed her eyes in relief.
Soon, soon her torment would be over, and she would finally get to meet her child.
Drawing a panting breath, Madeleine pushed with all her strength.
There was a great bursting, tearing sensation, a sudden pop - and then blessed relief.
Madeleine opened her eyes to see the midwife's plump face - rosy with exertion only moments before - slowly draining of color; and her lady's maid, Simonette, backing away from the bed with one hand pressed against her mouth, her face pale with horror.
"What is it?" the new mother demanded anxiously, struggling to sit up against the damp pillow and bloody sheets.
Simonette's eyes moved to the midwife, then to Madeleine before abruptly turning and fleeing the room.
The midwife dropped a small, wriggling bundle into her arms before crossing herself and leaving in much the same way as the maid.
Clutching her child protectively to her chest, Madeleine felt a surge of anger toward the two women.
What could possibly be wrong with her perfect little prince that would give them cause to behave in such a disgraceful manner?
Tucking aside a corner of the blanket, she looked down at her new son - and froze.
His face!
Oh Mon Dieu, his face!
The left side of his face was flawless, perfect, but the right... Madeleine shuddered involuntarily.
There was a ridge of mottled flesh above where an eyebrow should be, his cheekbone was almost visible through the thinner skin beneath his eye, and half of his nose seemed to have collapsed inward.
But the final straw was when he opened his eyes and looked at her.
Instead of the usual newborn blue, his eyes were a strange, unnatural gold, almost like a cat's.
The next thing she knew, a thick, murky fog was clouding her senses.
She could dimly hear It crying, but couldn't make her body respond, not even to quiet It.
Then there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
A/N: If anybody is reading this, I apologize for the lack of updates lately, I've been dealing with a severe case of Writer's Block for the past year and am only just now beginning to feel even the tiniest flicker of inspiration.
I'm hoping that this means that my Muse is finally beginning to emerge from her extended period of hibernation, but I don't know for sure.
I don't know how far apart updates will be, so I would greatly appreciate your patience and understanding during this time.