Paper Doll Orphan – Chapter One
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That night, she tucked the letter into a leather bound album. Christine thought of it being foolish to carry the past with her, but it was all that was left for her to hold dear to. She noted as she flipped through the album the faded photographs. Her slender fingertips caressing a picture of herself on her father's lap, another of him and her mother. As she opened the last page, a paper figurine fell out. Christine bent over to retrieve it and found it to be a paper doll she used to play with as a child. She paused, and placed it inside the letter before slipping it into the album. Christine closed the book with ease and thought "This paper doll orphan's been neglected for some time, at least you'll keep her company, Erik."
She slept well for the very first time that night. It felt like Erik's letter brought comfort to her distressed state. She couldn't exactly remember the contents of the letter, the signature was all that consumed her thoughts.
Her slumber was disturbed by a presence which sat next to her. Christine breathed deeply and recognized a certain scent. The room's scent was of candles and rain. She opened her eyes slowly, a little cautious at first, and discovered a shadow sitting on the edge of the bed--its back to her. Christine brought herself closer and noticed the stranger's head rise. She placed her hand onto the shoulder and felt her spine shiver at the touch of the soaked man. He turned his head towards her, free of expression and yet, filled with pity. Christine, completely at loss, let her hands caress his face. She froze when his hand grasped one of her own.
"Angel as you can see here, I'm waiting. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul is lost, forgive me, please speak to me Angel..." Christine felt her throat tighten.
"My dear sweet siren, you know well that your soul is not lost. It's been absent for you have ceased to live, and to cease to live, is to cease to breathe."
"How can I learn to breathe again?" she half sobbed, knowing what she had to do to live again.
"Through salvation." he whispered as he leaned closer with death gleaming in his eyes.
Christine closed her eyes because she was taught that the truth came through diverse sensations. Parting her lips and tasting rain-beat lips, she searched for his heart with her hand to his chest. She felt a frozen hand on her collar bone, gently and so slight. Christine sighed into his lips, the lips of a living and thin-fleshed cadaver. Christine breathed in his frailty; she remembered his helpless and crushed figure when she left him. She opened her eyes with a start, waking up to a bright morning.
"Good morning, darling." beamed the man who sat beside the bed, "I suppose you slept well during my absence."
Christine nodded her head, perhaps her visit was a dream? Raoul looked at her with puzzlement.
"Yes, I did." she forced herself to sound rational, "How was your trip?"
"Quite well, I'd like you to meet our visitors once you're ready."
"Of course."
"Good, meet me in the gardens, then."
Raoul bent over, kissed her on the forehead and was about to leave, when his hands touched the sheets.
"My God, but these sheets are wet!"