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Description
Christine fled into her dressing room, locked the door. She sat at her vanity and laid the drawing on it, stared at its contents. “Erik,” she thought. So this was how he looked like.
Or would have looked like.
She grasped her shoulders, feeling a cold not unlike the one she had felt the day before, deep in the caverns underneath the opera house. She remembered his venomous words—“Only five days. Could you not have waited five days you little whore!? Five days and then you would have seen my face, for you would have loved me then. But now…now you have seen me too soon. Now you are mine.”
Seemingly without her own volition, her hand grasped a stick of charcoal, one she normally would use to scribble down notes, and drew thick, dark, childish strokes over the artful ones Meg had drawn. She began to sweat, as those imaginary thoughtful eyes metamorphosed into big, watery, sunken, glaring ones; his calm lips into a thin, strained, animal snarl; the shading Meg had tried so hard to master darkened, his cheekbones sticking out like a starved man’s; and finally, a gaping hole over that beautiful, simple, normal one that did not exist. A living skull.
Christine was no artist; yet with a few simple strokes she had transformed the drawing into a grotesque parody of what was already grotesque.
Erik’s face.
She had hoped, that, with this picture, she could see a better face—or at least a different one, to put in place of the ugliness. To be able to bear the burden of this creature’s love, to be able to love him back.
For the Phantom of the Opera had claimed her, and she had no choice but to love him.
She crumpled the picture and threw herself against the vanity, sobbing.
I can’t…I can’t…I can’t…

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this is the very same picture used in [link] , defaced with an actual stick of charcoal. (okay it was a pencil) Happily I saved the original sketch from permanent destruction by tracing it, to be used for future reference. I was surprised that it actually turned out okay.

This entire piece, picture, defacement and prose together, was a little "between the lines" thing that popped up whilst I was reading the novel...I'd like to do a retelling of it, dunno whether it'd be comic, or animation, or movie, or illustrated novel...the last one would go well with this piece, I think.

Description
Christine fled into her dressing room, locked the door. She sat at her vanity and laid the drawing on it, stared at its contents. “Erik,” she thought. So this was how he looked like.
Or would have looked like.
She grasped her shoulders, feeling a cold not unlike the one she had felt the day before, deep in the caverns underneath the opera house. She remembered his venomous words—“Only five days. Could you not have waited five days you little whore!? Five days and then you would have seen my face, for you would have loved me then. But now…now you have seen me too soon. Now you are mine.”
Seemingly without her own volition, her hand grasped a stick of charcoal, one she normally would use to scribble down notes, and drew thick, dark, childish strokes over the artful ones Meg had drawn. She began to sweat, as those imaginary thoughtful eyes metamorphosed into big, watery, sunken, glaring ones; his calm lips into a thin, strained, animal snarl; the shading Meg had tried so hard to master darkened, his cheekbones sticking out like a starved man’s; and finally, a gaping hole over that beautiful, simple, normal one that did not exist. A living skull.
Christine was no artist; yet with a few simple strokes she had transformed the drawing into a grotesque parody of what was already grotesque.
Erik’s face.
She had hoped, that, with this picture, she could see a better face—or at least a different one, to put in place of the ugliness. To be able to bear the burden of this creature’s love, to be able to love him back.
For the Phantom of the Opera had claimed her, and she had no choice but to love him.
She crumpled the picture and threw herself against the vanity, sobbing.
I can’t…I can’t…I can’t…

------------------------

this is the very same picture used in [link] , defaced with an actual stick of charcoal. (okay it was a pencil) Happily I saved the original sketch from permanent destruction by tracing it, to be used for future reference. I was surprised that it actually turned out okay.

This entire piece, picture, defacement and prose together, was a little "between the lines" thing that popped up whilst I was reading the novel...I'd like to do a retelling of it, dunno whether it'd be comic, or animation, or movie, or illustrated novel...the last one would go well with this piece, I think.