This is a sequel to the musical, my first Phantom work which is my own creative idea. In this book there are a few things I'm sure you'll be surprised about and I'm not sure you'll like.
Warning: In all my books, Erik always wins! Even if it is in a rather peculiar way in which it seems no one won!
Anyhow, since I have the aspirations of becoming a full-time author someday, I need all the practice and criticizing I can get. So don't be stingy on the criticizing of anything! I don't get easily offended and I like it when people are completely honest, even if it does hurt a little! So enjoy!
Christine Daa� looked out the window into the dreariness of the cold ruin outside in Paris, France. Christine was young, about twenty-five, and possessed a beautiful voice, as well as a beautiful face.
Today, though, as it had been for the past weeks, there was a shadow cast over her pretty features; one that matched the wet, darkening gloom outside the window.
It was the same window she had been standing in front of for the last quarter of an hour, not seeing or hearing, just silently thinking.
Finally, Christine roused herself from her thoughts with a pensive sigh and returned to her armchair by the lit fireplace. She picked up her previously dropped sewing and made an effort to concentrate on it, but her hands shook so badly that she couldn�t hold the needle straight. She sighed again and gave up, placing it beside her chair. Her eyes hurt from lack of sleep and she was in no mood to embroider hearts and doves on a piece of cloth anyway, so she leaned back and closed her eyes. It wasn�t long before she fell asleep and then she began to dream...
Christine lay on a bed in a dark, musty smelling room. A music box played a tune beside her, and across the room was an organ, where the Phantom sat composing.
Christine got up silently and made her way over to him. He did not see her for she was behind him. At just the right moment, she tore off his mask and then let out a scream at what she saw. The Phantom, enraged, stood up and showed her fully his scarred, deformed features...
The scene changed. She was still in the Phantom�s lair, but this time, as she saw his face she didn�t feel afraid.
The Phantom was standing, waiting, looking at her as she walked over to him. Silently she held out her hand, which contained the ring, and offered it back to him. He hesitated a moment, then slowly reached out to take it. Their fingers touched, time seemed to stand still for that moment, then he spoke softly, "Christine, I love you."
Christine withdrew her hand and walked out, leaving him all alone.
As Raoul and Christine glided away in the boat, she distinctly heard the Phantom say, over the cries of the quickly approaching mob, "You alone can make my song take flight, it�s over now the music of the night!"
Christine awoke with a start, breathing a bit heavily and feeling more than a little anxious. That had been another frequently recurring nightmare. Over four and a half years had passed since that fateful night, but still those dreams haunted her... as he did.
The memory of how he�d pleadingly begged her to marry him drowned out all thoughts of her dream. And how coldly she had torn off his mask, revealing his horrible secret to everyone! His one weakness and she had displayed it, almost taunted him with it, to the world.
Christine pressed her eyelids shut to keep in the ready flow of tears that threatened to spill out. How many nights she had passed as such. Running every memory through her mind, remembering all of the things he had said to her... Her only one memory she didn�t regret was when she had kissed him...even if it was an unintentional goodbye; and how he�d loved her...
But she had been so cruel; and had regretted it for the last few years! She wished she could�ve seen him, really seen him, how he truly was. Not as some cold-blooded murderer as Meg had seen him; or a beast, but a man. A man who�d loved her like the Dickens, and who�d proved it--even though she�d been so blind then!--by sparing Raoul and letting her go. He would have given her the world had she asked for it; given her his very life! And all he�d wanted was to be loved, deformed or not, just pure, trusting love.
But she had denied him that; denied him everything important to him. The one thing in the world he needed most and she did not give him: love.
