Christine DeChagny (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lethermindwander) wrote2017-11-05 03:45 pm
lethermindwander) wrote2017-11-05 03:45 pm
Entry tags:
[LH!Verse fic] Bridges may burn, Heavens may fall down.
You have to leave without me.
What? Chris, you can’t back out now.
I have to stay here, for the moment. I’ll catch up to you two.
Why?
Erik.
He’s back?
Don’t tell Hancock.
And that’s all that needs to be said, for now. The details will get explained at a later date. Christine had purposely waited until the last possible moment before notifying Elizabeth that she wasn’t coming along. Just so that she and Hancock wouldn’t get any ideas and insist on joining her.
This is something Christine has to do alone.
She stands in her room, contemplating her next move. She knows what has to be done but Christine’s nerves are getting the better of her in this moment. After today, whatever illusion Erik still has left of her innocence is going to be irrevocably shattered. There’s a knot in her stomach; Christine has been trying to protect him from this from the beginning. The stakes had been high when her quest was simply to find him. Now the stakes are higher. She isn’t even sure herself of the lengths she will go to be victorious this time.
Her eyes fall to the old leather-bound book sitting on her vanity. A white rose is placed to the side of it, a note reading “I will return” laying on top of it. A message meant for Erik, should he have come looking for her while she was gone on the Booker mission. A gift of sorts, a reminder of all their shared history and assurance, some kind of proof that her full intention was always to come back to him.
It’s a bit pointless now, she thinks. Christine pushes the note away and picks up the book. She flips it open, the musty smell instantly assaulting her senses. She had once sought comfort from this book, this journal containing the full account of her thoughts and feelings before she had realized what she truly wanted.
She looks to the last entry and begins to read. Instantly, she can imagine herself sitting in her dressing room, writing these words. The memory is as fresh in her mind’s eye as the night that it happened. She can’t help but compare that night to this day.
In half an hour, the curtain rises on Faust. In half an hour, the curtain rises on what Christine thinks might just be her final downfall.
The next passage angers her as she reads it. She barely even has to see the words, they’ve been permanently scorched into her mind. Running away. She had decided to run away from Erik because it was easier than examining the truth.
“I trusted you! I trusted you to treat me like a civilized human being and come back with your answer.”
Those words, spoken with such hurt and rage knife through her heart. A tangible, physical hurt afflicts her at the memory. Tears prick at her eyes when she is carried to the next one.
“Perhaps I don’t want a Druid sacrifice after all, a petrified little girl who shrinks from my touch and tries to commit suicide the moment I leave her alone. Perhaps I don’t want a dead wife lying in a glass coffin. I don’t want you, Christine, are you so vain, so stupid that you can’t comprehend that?”
The tears fall and stain the pages of her journal. Even now, she questions those words of his. Christine wonders if there is still truth to them. It doesn’t matter how many times Erik has held her and kissed her and assured her he loves her. Little by little, those words have corroded her already spotty sanity since the moment they were spoken.
She only blames herself for them. If she had just been a little braver, a little more cognizant of her own wants and needs, they would never have been spoken. If she hadn’t been a timorous, shrinking mouse afraid of taking that final plunge, perhaps people wouldn’t have had to die that night. Perhaps Raoul and Nadir wouldn’t have had to suffer and perhaps-- Perhaps she and Erik would have gotten more time to simply love each other.
She’s not a mouse anymore. Just about every moment since her death has been spent trying to change that. Christine has certainly turned it into an unhealthy obsession because even now, there’s a part of her that doesn’t think she deserves to be loved by someone as intense and passionate. She chose to run away, once. She chose to slam her own head against a brick wall repeatedly so she could take herself out of the equation entirely.
And now she chooses to be reckless on a scale that would be repeatedly suicidal if she were still alive. All to prove how intensely she loves Erik back. To prove that she’ll never, ever choose anything other than him because she needs him in so many different ways. He’s her father, he’s her friend, he’s the very goddamn heart that beats in her chest and existence without him is bleak at best. She has to do this. It feels like everything she’s ever done has led up to it. She’d rather die a thousand times than stand by and let these heathens hurt him.
“Somehow, I don’t think any of us are destined to live happily ever after…”
Words that still might ring true and Christine hates that fact. It burns in her chest and she denies it, over and over. With sudden anger, she tears that last line out of the journal and crumples it up before haphazardly tossing it to the floor. She and Erik will get their happily ever after, their fairytale won’t have a tragic ending, this is what she’s been fighting so hard for. She cannot just accept that there’s some sort of preordained path for her to follow. Christine won’t believe that she doesn’t have the power to change her own destiny.
She sets the journal back down on the vanity and turns towards the mirror. The image of herself she sees is startling when she has spent so much time just thinking of the person she used to be. Christine is dressed in all black, from head to toe. The silhouette she cuts is cold and ruthless; if she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t recognize herself at all. She can’t help but wonder if this is simply who is is, who she has always been and she had just been too afraid to show it or if she has only grown into this relentless force because of Erik and his influence.
But it doesn’t matter; there’s no going back. There’s no more pretending that she can be that girl anymore. She only feels a minimal pang of regret at this. She’s done the impossible, she’ll do the impossible again. However many times it takes to show Erik her utter devotion. However many times it takes to prove to herself that she deserves his devotion.
She walks away, her sharp heels clicking against the marble floor. She takes the long coil of violin string sitting on the edge of the bed and tucks it into the pocket inside her coat. One more weapon to add to the arsenal she’s got strapped to herself.
It’s time to be like the phantom and haunt the damn opera.
What? Chris, you can’t back out now.
I have to stay here, for the moment. I’ll catch up to you two.
Why?
Erik.
He’s back?
Don’t tell Hancock.
And that’s all that needs to be said, for now. The details will get explained at a later date. Christine had purposely waited until the last possible moment before notifying Elizabeth that she wasn’t coming along. Just so that she and Hancock wouldn’t get any ideas and insist on joining her.
This is something Christine has to do alone.
She stands in her room, contemplating her next move. She knows what has to be done but Christine’s nerves are getting the better of her in this moment. After today, whatever illusion Erik still has left of her innocence is going to be irrevocably shattered. There’s a knot in her stomach; Christine has been trying to protect him from this from the beginning. The stakes had been high when her quest was simply to find him. Now the stakes are higher. She isn’t even sure herself of the lengths she will go to be victorious this time.
Her eyes fall to the old leather-bound book sitting on her vanity. A white rose is placed to the side of it, a note reading “I will return” laying on top of it. A message meant for Erik, should he have come looking for her while she was gone on the Booker mission. A gift of sorts, a reminder of all their shared history and assurance, some kind of proof that her full intention was always to come back to him.
It’s a bit pointless now, she thinks. Christine pushes the note away and picks up the book. She flips it open, the musty smell instantly assaulting her senses. She had once sought comfort from this book, this journal containing the full account of her thoughts and feelings before she had realized what she truly wanted.
She looks to the last entry and begins to read. Instantly, she can imagine herself sitting in her dressing room, writing these words. The memory is as fresh in her mind’s eye as the night that it happened. She can’t help but compare that night to this day.
In half an hour, the curtain rises on Faust. In half an hour, the curtain rises on what Christine thinks might just be her final downfall.
The next passage angers her as she reads it. She barely even has to see the words, they’ve been permanently scorched into her mind. Running away. She had decided to run away from Erik because it was easier than examining the truth.
“I trusted you! I trusted you to treat me like a civilized human being and come back with your answer.”
Those words, spoken with such hurt and rage knife through her heart. A tangible, physical hurt afflicts her at the memory. Tears prick at her eyes when she is carried to the next one.
“Perhaps I don’t want a Druid sacrifice after all, a petrified little girl who shrinks from my touch and tries to commit suicide the moment I leave her alone. Perhaps I don’t want a dead wife lying in a glass coffin. I don’t want you, Christine, are you so vain, so stupid that you can’t comprehend that?”
The tears fall and stain the pages of her journal. Even now, she questions those words of his. Christine wonders if there is still truth to them. It doesn’t matter how many times Erik has held her and kissed her and assured her he loves her. Little by little, those words have corroded her already spotty sanity since the moment they were spoken.
She only blames herself for them. If she had just been a little braver, a little more cognizant of her own wants and needs, they would never have been spoken. If she hadn’t been a timorous, shrinking mouse afraid of taking that final plunge, perhaps people wouldn’t have had to die that night. Perhaps Raoul and Nadir wouldn’t have had to suffer and perhaps-- Perhaps she and Erik would have gotten more time to simply love each other.
She’s not a mouse anymore. Just about every moment since her death has been spent trying to change that. Christine has certainly turned it into an unhealthy obsession because even now, there’s a part of her that doesn’t think she deserves to be loved by someone as intense and passionate. She chose to run away, once. She chose to slam her own head against a brick wall repeatedly so she could take herself out of the equation entirely.
And now she chooses to be reckless on a scale that would be repeatedly suicidal if she were still alive. All to prove how intensely she loves Erik back. To prove that she’ll never, ever choose anything other than him because she needs him in so many different ways. He’s her father, he’s her friend, he’s the very goddamn heart that beats in her chest and existence without him is bleak at best. She has to do this. It feels like everything she’s ever done has led up to it. She’d rather die a thousand times than stand by and let these heathens hurt him.
“Somehow, I don’t think any of us are destined to live happily ever after…”
Words that still might ring true and Christine hates that fact. It burns in her chest and she denies it, over and over. With sudden anger, she tears that last line out of the journal and crumples it up before haphazardly tossing it to the floor. She and Erik will get their happily ever after, their fairytale won’t have a tragic ending, this is what she’s been fighting so hard for. She cannot just accept that there’s some sort of preordained path for her to follow. Christine won’t believe that she doesn’t have the power to change her own destiny.
She sets the journal back down on the vanity and turns towards the mirror. The image of herself she sees is startling when she has spent so much time just thinking of the person she used to be. Christine is dressed in all black, from head to toe. The silhouette she cuts is cold and ruthless; if she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t recognize herself at all. She can’t help but wonder if this is simply who is is, who she has always been and she had just been too afraid to show it or if she has only grown into this relentless force because of Erik and his influence.
But it doesn’t matter; there’s no going back. There’s no more pretending that she can be that girl anymore. She only feels a minimal pang of regret at this. She’s done the impossible, she’ll do the impossible again. However many times it takes to show Erik her utter devotion. However many times it takes to prove to herself that she deserves his devotion.
She walks away, her sharp heels clicking against the marble floor. She takes the long coil of violin string sitting on the edge of the bed and tucks it into the pocket inside her coat. One more weapon to add to the arsenal she’s got strapped to herself.
It’s time to be like the phantom and haunt the damn opera.