Christine DeChagny (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lethermindwander) wrote2018-04-24 07:50 pm
lethermindwander) wrote2018-04-24 07:50 pm
Entry tags:
Meet me in mystery, meet me in the hollow, (LH!verse fic)
She wonders exactly when they had switched roles in this twisted performance.
It was before Christine had crossed that final line and stolen a human soul from the living world.
It was before he had given up his voice to save her.
It was after her descent into Hell but before she had lost her angel’s wings.
There’s far too many moments that could be interpreted as the reversal and in the end, it likely doesn’t matter when it was. The only thing that matters now is that it has and there’s no changing it back. She’ll never be a shy, shrinking ingenue again. She can apologize and atone for her actions for the rest of eternity but that will never erase the sound of bullets exploding through bone or the sensation of blades ripping through skin from her memory. And yet, in the same vein, as each day passes, she finds it harder and harder to feel remorse for her actions.
He doesn’t even know she’s up here, watching him. He seems oblivious to it, distracted by the violin tucked beneath his chin and the haunting notes crying through the night. His song pulls at her heart. Tugs at her insides and begs her to swoop down from her rooftop perch and smother him with promises of love and forgiveness.
But this song is not meant for her. It can’t be meant for her.
This is a song for his rose. She is not his rose, not anymore, at least. She’s just another nightingale in the garden, singing out to find that transcendental love.
She’s pretty sure she’ll never find it.
Christine hates that Erik is here. She hates that he left his happy little, contented existence behind. She feels insurmountably guilty that he felt obligated to come this far, that he sacrificed so much for her freedom. She hates that he won’t just go away, return to his broken fairytale in a carefully cultivated castle and just leave her be in the untamed wilderness of Hell. There’s no room for two nightingales.
She keeps telling herself that. It has to be enough.
And yet she can’t help but wonder how many times he had watched her from the shadows like she’s watching him now. How many times he looked through the mirror and his heart ached to reach out to her. How badly had he wanted to possess her heart and soul…
There’s a twinge of hope that flares up in her chest and Christine desperately tries to smother it. There’s nothing left to salvage. He can hardly bear his own existence let alone see it reflected back at him in her eyes. Anytime she is near him, she can feel his misplaced guilt radiating off his presence. Despite his attempts to hide it, she has gleaned the broken way he stares at the scars that travel from her cheek down her neck and shoulders and back. The permanent reminder of all the things that had transpired on the day she became a true demon.
There’s no chance for them, now. Not unless he accepts who she is now. What she is now.
He’ll always arrogantly blame himself, the fool. He’ll never stop and think and make the connection that perhaps this is just the person she was all along. That the wilting flower he fell in love with was never really a flower at all. She was just a bird, same as him. She simply hadn't figured out how to sing, yet.
It seems especially apt with her abilities concerning ravens.
Christine has always been a creature engrossed in her fantasies, though, and so she sits and listens to the nightingale’s lonely violin. It’s easy to imagine that this song is for her, it’s easy to imagine playing a harmony on her own violin. The notes she dreams of almost bubble up through her voice but she stops them before they can truly manifest.
It’s also a cruel reminder that as much as he tries, Hancock will never be as connected to music as Christine is. As much as Erik is. Songs flow so freely through her head these days, yet she dares not write them down.
It’d be such a picture perfect fantasy, as picture perfect as anything involving Erik could be. He, sitting at a piano, she with her own violin, forever tied together by the melodies they’d create. A soulful connection far beyond just that of flesh and bone--yet Christine can hardly stop herself when she dreams of his arms folding her in against his chest. She dreams of his horrifying smile, of all things, his kiss, his hands, his skin, his laugh, his voice.
She wishes he’d go home. It’d make it so much easier to hold herself together if he was gone. His presence constantly reminds her of what could have been, what should have been, what will never be. Just how much she’ll always love him. It’d be so much easier to move forward if he was gone. But he’s here. Voiceless and a symbol of her failures.
A scream wants to escape her but Christine suppresses it. It would be no good to alert him to her watchful presence. Instead, she crashes her fist against the concrete rooftop until her hand bleeds. At least the pain is something tangible.
She flexes her fingers to assess the damage on her hand and wipe the blood away. And still, Erik plays his nightingale’s lament below.
Unfortunately, it’s about to be interrupted by a hellbeast lured this direction by the music. The second Christine hears it growl, she jumps to her feet and rushes towards the sound. She leans over the side of the building and sees the vicious thing stalking. Is it sad that she recognizes the species? She hasn’t seen one of these since leaving Little Hades behind. Still, being familiar with this monster only makes it all the easier for her to dispel the threat without much thought.
The beast is tall, almost as tall as the building and yet, that doesn’t phase her one bit. She draws her handgun forth and loads it. She takes a few steps backward and uses that space for a running start. Christine jumps off the side of the building and lands on the creature’s scaly back. At the sudden intrusion, the monster’s head whips around towards her and snaps in an attempt to get her off itself. She unloads three shots into the beast’s skull, aiming for it’s eyes.
It wounds the creature but doesn’t quite kill it yet. It rounds the corner of the building and thrashes around, still trying to shake her off. It roars and shrieks, trying to scare her and Christine can feel the vibrations of it’s terrifying voice through its skin. It’s exhilarating, simply put. In order to eliminate the threat for good though, she has to get closer to it’s skull.
Her gun gets put back in its holster for the moment and she climbs up the monster’s back, using the spines for leverage. She slips a few times, trying to anticipate the animal’s motions but failing to keep her footing. Still, she eventually reaches her goal. Her gun comes back out, gets cocked and she shoots it in the back of the neck, aiming up and into it’s skull. A shot like that is a usually a surefire way to get rid of creatures like this and--
It works. The large lizard thing’s body comes crashing to the ground and Christine rides it all the way down with practiced nonchalance. She slides off the beast, brushes the dust off her clothes and looks up.
And makes eye contact with Erik.
Those striking eyes will never cease to send shivers down her spine.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” she growls, “Especially not making noise.” Without his voice, he can’t respond with words, and yet Christine still hears his biting sarcasm in her head.
“Am I truly alone if you are here?”
Just the thought of those words riles her temper and her gold eyes stare him down with nothing but something close to fury.
But behind the mask, he’s standing there grinning ear to ear like he has won some ultimate prize. She can see it in his eyes and his shoulders subtly shake. He’s laughing.
And when it occurs to her why he would be, she turns away and instantly disappears into the shadows with a cloud of black feathers.
It was before Christine had crossed that final line and stolen a human soul from the living world.
It was before he had given up his voice to save her.
It was after her descent into Hell but before she had lost her angel’s wings.
There’s far too many moments that could be interpreted as the reversal and in the end, it likely doesn’t matter when it was. The only thing that matters now is that it has and there’s no changing it back. She’ll never be a shy, shrinking ingenue again. She can apologize and atone for her actions for the rest of eternity but that will never erase the sound of bullets exploding through bone or the sensation of blades ripping through skin from her memory. And yet, in the same vein, as each day passes, she finds it harder and harder to feel remorse for her actions.
He doesn’t even know she’s up here, watching him. He seems oblivious to it, distracted by the violin tucked beneath his chin and the haunting notes crying through the night. His song pulls at her heart. Tugs at her insides and begs her to swoop down from her rooftop perch and smother him with promises of love and forgiveness.
But this song is not meant for her. It can’t be meant for her.
This is a song for his rose. She is not his rose, not anymore, at least. She’s just another nightingale in the garden, singing out to find that transcendental love.
She’s pretty sure she’ll never find it.
Christine hates that Erik is here. She hates that he left his happy little, contented existence behind. She feels insurmountably guilty that he felt obligated to come this far, that he sacrificed so much for her freedom. She hates that he won’t just go away, return to his broken fairytale in a carefully cultivated castle and just leave her be in the untamed wilderness of Hell. There’s no room for two nightingales.
She keeps telling herself that. It has to be enough.
And yet she can’t help but wonder how many times he had watched her from the shadows like she’s watching him now. How many times he looked through the mirror and his heart ached to reach out to her. How badly had he wanted to possess her heart and soul…
There’s a twinge of hope that flares up in her chest and Christine desperately tries to smother it. There’s nothing left to salvage. He can hardly bear his own existence let alone see it reflected back at him in her eyes. Anytime she is near him, she can feel his misplaced guilt radiating off his presence. Despite his attempts to hide it, she has gleaned the broken way he stares at the scars that travel from her cheek down her neck and shoulders and back. The permanent reminder of all the things that had transpired on the day she became a true demon.
There’s no chance for them, now. Not unless he accepts who she is now. What she is now.
He’ll always arrogantly blame himself, the fool. He’ll never stop and think and make the connection that perhaps this is just the person she was all along. That the wilting flower he fell in love with was never really a flower at all. She was just a bird, same as him. She simply hadn't figured out how to sing, yet.
It seems especially apt with her abilities concerning ravens.
Christine has always been a creature engrossed in her fantasies, though, and so she sits and listens to the nightingale’s lonely violin. It’s easy to imagine that this song is for her, it’s easy to imagine playing a harmony on her own violin. The notes she dreams of almost bubble up through her voice but she stops them before they can truly manifest.
It’s also a cruel reminder that as much as he tries, Hancock will never be as connected to music as Christine is. As much as Erik is. Songs flow so freely through her head these days, yet she dares not write them down.
It’d be such a picture perfect fantasy, as picture perfect as anything involving Erik could be. He, sitting at a piano, she with her own violin, forever tied together by the melodies they’d create. A soulful connection far beyond just that of flesh and bone--yet Christine can hardly stop herself when she dreams of his arms folding her in against his chest. She dreams of his horrifying smile, of all things, his kiss, his hands, his skin, his laugh, his voice.
She wishes he’d go home. It’d make it so much easier to hold herself together if he was gone. His presence constantly reminds her of what could have been, what should have been, what will never be. Just how much she’ll always love him. It’d be so much easier to move forward if he was gone. But he’s here. Voiceless and a symbol of her failures.
A scream wants to escape her but Christine suppresses it. It would be no good to alert him to her watchful presence. Instead, she crashes her fist against the concrete rooftop until her hand bleeds. At least the pain is something tangible.
She flexes her fingers to assess the damage on her hand and wipe the blood away. And still, Erik plays his nightingale’s lament below.
Unfortunately, it’s about to be interrupted by a hellbeast lured this direction by the music. The second Christine hears it growl, she jumps to her feet and rushes towards the sound. She leans over the side of the building and sees the vicious thing stalking. Is it sad that she recognizes the species? She hasn’t seen one of these since leaving Little Hades behind. Still, being familiar with this monster only makes it all the easier for her to dispel the threat without much thought.
The beast is tall, almost as tall as the building and yet, that doesn’t phase her one bit. She draws her handgun forth and loads it. She takes a few steps backward and uses that space for a running start. Christine jumps off the side of the building and lands on the creature’s scaly back. At the sudden intrusion, the monster’s head whips around towards her and snaps in an attempt to get her off itself. She unloads three shots into the beast’s skull, aiming for it’s eyes.
It wounds the creature but doesn’t quite kill it yet. It rounds the corner of the building and thrashes around, still trying to shake her off. It roars and shrieks, trying to scare her and Christine can feel the vibrations of it’s terrifying voice through its skin. It’s exhilarating, simply put. In order to eliminate the threat for good though, she has to get closer to it’s skull.
Her gun gets put back in its holster for the moment and she climbs up the monster’s back, using the spines for leverage. She slips a few times, trying to anticipate the animal’s motions but failing to keep her footing. Still, she eventually reaches her goal. Her gun comes back out, gets cocked and she shoots it in the back of the neck, aiming up and into it’s skull. A shot like that is a usually a surefire way to get rid of creatures like this and--
It works. The large lizard thing’s body comes crashing to the ground and Christine rides it all the way down with practiced nonchalance. She slides off the beast, brushes the dust off her clothes and looks up.
And makes eye contact with Erik.
Those striking eyes will never cease to send shivers down her spine.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” she growls, “Especially not making noise.” Without his voice, he can’t respond with words, and yet Christine still hears his biting sarcasm in her head.
“Am I truly alone if you are here?”
Just the thought of those words riles her temper and her gold eyes stare him down with nothing but something close to fury.
But behind the mask, he’s standing there grinning ear to ear like he has won some ultimate prize. She can see it in his eyes and his shoulders subtly shake. He’s laughing.
And when it occurs to her why he would be, she turns away and instantly disappears into the shadows with a cloud of black feathers.