Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.
Chapter Eleven
Her teeth were chattering, her hands trembling as they clenched the sides of her chemise, and her shoulders were very tense. But luckily (for it was the only thing that could be considered lucky at this point) the water was very shallow. The small sigh of relief she let out quickly transitioned into a violent shudder. Freezing electric tingles shot from her dainty feet to the top of her neck.
As soon as she remembered why she was down there in the first place, she braced her slender shoulders, and took one step, two, three steps forward before she began taking longer strides to make time. She'd wasted so many of the precious thing already the whole time she was Raoul's prisoner. And as she waded through the cold water, she could only hope she hadn't wasted the miracle of her and Erik's love she now carried with her
'Oh Erik, please hang in there, if only for a moment,' she thought. Tears suddenly filled her wide eyes as she thought of her masked lover, all alone and very much mistaken about everything. "How could I let it get this far? I'm such a fool. A big, stupid fool." she cried through clenched teeth. She felt something brush past her ankle, and shivered. But not even death itself could slow her down. She was getting there no matter what.
XOXOX
What he hadn't managed to break by hurling against the walls was neatly packed in two large sacks. His hair, which had been a mess since his return to his lair, was now covered by one of his few black wigs, and his stark white mask had been restored to it's former home on his freshly shaved and scrubbed face. He now wore a clean starched white shirt, black pants, black boots, and a waistcoat. His cloak lay over a chair, waiting to be donned.
He wasn't in too much of a hurry, but he wanted to be out of that hell as soon as possible. He strode about, collecting important papers, sketches, and anything else he found necessary. Every so often, he'd stop in his tracks, and stare at the large gate that opened on his lake. His heart would begin to race, his breath would quicken, all in the hopes of seeing an angel float through. Then, he'd shake his head, and rush to finish what he was doing. How foolish he was. Hoping for a woman who'd betrayed him, and mocked him and his accursed face with false love. Just as soon as his love for Christine had pushed it's way to the front of his heart and mind once again, it was pushed aside by feelings of hurt and anger.
"You're a damn fool, Erik. You should have known it was all a lie. A woman like that could never really want someone as beastly as you," he muttered as he continued to stalk around his home gathering here and there. He didn't really have an actual list of things to take along with him; he was simply coming upon things, and deciding right at that moment if he needed them or not. He had decided that morning what to do. It was a simple fact: if he, who loved Christine more than anything in the world, could not have her, then there was really no reason to stay and see her in the arms of another man. Just the thought of it made an aching lump rise in his throat, and automatically made his fists clench in angst.
After a few more minutes, he stopped what he was doing, and gathered the two sacks containing all his belongings in his arms, and slowly headed to a hidden entrance behind an array of mirrors. Like the one in Christine's room, the mirror that hid the entrance slid open to reveal a short corridor. He tossed the sacks just over the threshold, then stopped. He turned to gaze longingly around the cavern that he'd always called home up until this very moment. Anger swelled up inside his chest; because of one woman, he was giving up his home, possibly his sanity, and his trust towards anyone who tried to show him kindness from this day forward. He immediately shook it off, not wanting the last moments in his home to be wasted. Sighing, he closed his eyes, said a silent farewell, and quickly walked out the exit.