Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay and Sony
Character: Erik/Christine
Warning: crack!

A Winter Storm

My anger at the intrusion fell like the last snowflake. In the instant before I truly looked at her, the winter that had become my life bloomed into a brilliant summer. She's come back to me – my angel has returned! Then my eyes widen in shock as the euphoria that had blanketed my eyes was abruptly lifted and winter returned in the form of a chaotic blizzard.

She stumbled towards me, her disheveled hair filthy and matted with blood; blood that runs freely down her face, staining the porcelain skin with its angry brilliance. The dress – the damnable wedding dress I'd last seen her in, covers her like a burial shroud; torn and filthy, ragged bits clinging to torn flesh; it too stained in hateful blood.

I stare aghast as it changes before my eyes, turning a brilliant red. Winter gripped my heart with its icy chill.

My angel had fallen.

I hold her cooling body, denying myself the truth as she caresses my face, the only warmth of her pooling in my hands.

"Christine..." My once beautiful voice cracks for the first time; strained to its limits in my sorrow. Satan himself could not have faced more misery at the having been cast from Heaven. At least he hadn't watched Heaven die before him.

The once brilliant, now dull blue of her eyes look into mine, her lips smiling a skeleton's smile. Her voice, however, is still a siren's; as entrancing as the first time I'd heard her.

"I thought you were gone, my angel. I couldn't live…without you…"

Sickening terror sweeps through me, realizing the implications of her words.

"I come to you now…a living bride..."

Her last words wash over me with a cold chill even as she goes limp in my arms. Numb I look at the woman-child in my embrace; a perfect bride for a corpse like me.

Tears stream down my skeleton face as I cradle my bride, pressing desperate kisses to her cold flesh. Laying her down I continue to map her body with my half-lips, claiming my living-dead bride one first-last time.