Archive of Our Own

She had insisted on doing itherself. The voluminous dress with the Spanish floral pattern seems to weigh a ton on her lap. She tries to concentrate on her task, on how her fingers are working. Even more than usual, because the room is dark, only lit by a single candle next to her. But the distraction Christine had hoped for so badly doesn’t come. Her thoughts are simply caught in a vicious cycle she can’t escape. Hands of foreboding tighten their grip threateningaround her neck, so that it feels as if her lungs have to fight for every single breath. No angel is here with her now, no heavenly voice. Neither is Raoul for she has sent him away. Silence is her only companion, just the hard beating of her heart inside her chest is unbearably loud like the ticking of a huge clock in an empty room. On Christine’s tongue lies the bitter taste of betrayal and mixed with the heavy scent of her sweet perfume, it makes her feel nauseous. Maybe the world will fall apart tomorrow or maybe it will only be her. It doesn’t matter – everything is already over anyway. The tale her father had told her has come to a tragic end and it’s all her fault. Her glance flies to the big mirror, voiceless, imploring for the angel’s comforting tone, which she knows will never sound again. For she is the one who will break his wings and certain that he knows. His silence is her punishment and it is perfect in his cruelty. She can’t stand the total quietness which dominates the mysterious world behind the glass. The lack of paradisiacal melodies as well as the absence of earthly conversation makes her feel like an incomplete puzzle with the last piece missing. It shouldn’t be like that after all that has happened, but she can’t help it. Her mind is clouded with worry. She doesn’t want to sing this role. She wants to be carefree once again. The urge to simply run away from it all is still alive inside her, stronger now than ever before. And yet she knows she can’t – there is no way out of this labyrinth where despair haunts her through the long paths of helplessness. A needle suddenly bites her finger and a mouse-like squeak escapes Christine’s mouth, filling the room with surprising pain. Her eyes are captivated by the drop of blood which begins to form ominously dark on her flesh. And the feeling of something fatal happening tomorrow invades her soul, felling the last trees of hope on the ground of her distressed heart.