Angels Never Die (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 3

Just before my body reached the surface, I was suddenly able to breathe.

With my lungs already feeling like they were collapsing, I gasped in a huge breath, sitting straight upwards in my chair. When I blinked the light out of my eyes, I realized that I was..still on the airplane.

I frowned for a moment, running my fingers through my nappy hair as my brain struggled to process what my eyes were clearly seeing.

Did I just--dream all that up? It seemed so real...I could feel everything, see everything, and I could control my body, something I could never do in a dream before. It felt so vivid...and now I have to believe that it was all in my head.

Leaning back in my seat in a somewhat dazed state, I tried to regain my breath as I looked out the window.

I could already see Paris, and it (of course) looked perfect, especially in the morning sunlight. I chuckled to myself while I took a swig from my day-old water bottle from the airport. The morning sunlight must've been the "bright light" I saw in my dream. Silly me, to think that any of that craziness was actually real. It must be one of the many ways my brain was coping with my recent trauma or something; perhaps it thought by giving me incredibly lucid dreams, I could forget the real insanity that was happening out in the real world.

I smirked grimly as I took another sip of water. I wish.

A few moments later, the captain came on the intercom to announce that the plane was finally landing, and to thank us for flying with him or the airline or whatever. I wasn't really listening, as fear curled into my stomach once again. I gripped the armrests of my seat tightly, which gained me another confused yet sleepy look from the passenger beside me. This was it; the worst part of the whole flight. Even before my parents' plane crash, I'd hated this part of a plane trip. And now...well, now this landing would take me to a destiny that I didn't want and probably wouldn't have gotten if the Fates had been kind to me.

For a moment, I almost wished that the plane would crash so I didn't have to face what the rest of my life apparently was, but I immediately shook the thought away. Why am I being so selfish? Paris can't be as bad as I think it is...right?

Shaking my head in frustration, I tried distracting myself from the sinking feeling in my stomach by slowly recollecting what certainly was the strangest dream I have ever had-or remember having, anyway. 

Surprisingly, I was able to remember almost all of it, save for a few unimporant frames, and afterwards I wasn't really sure if that was a good thing or not. After all, who really wants to remember their slow, agonizing death, or the fact that you were almost going to see their dead parents again but then realized that it was all a dream?

And lastly, who was the person/entity/creature that I was so afraid of in my dream? Was it some form of symbolism? Was it my brain's weird way of putting memories together? Or...was it an actual person, perhaps trying to actually kill me in real life, and I was just warning myself?

I snorted as the plane bumped to the ground, relief washing over me. Why would any sane person take in interest in me? I hardly make a mark on the world before this whole ordeal happened, and I sure as hell tried to make myself invisible in the aftermath. Why would someone want to kill me when there were billions of far more interesting people to feast their eyes on?

As the plane finally came to its shuddering stop, the dread that had disappeared for most of the flight came back with full force, and I took a deep breath. I shoudn't be that afraid, really; besides a language barrier and having to live with some family members I haven't met since I was three, living in Paris shouldn't be that bad of a place to live in.

Oh, and that whole "message" in my dream--that could make a girl nervous, I guess.

The dread only festered as I climbed out of my seat to get my luggage, no matter how hard I tried to reason with myself that there was no reason to be afraid. It took an eternity to even get on the aisle, and even longer to actually start walking out of the plane, which I was partly grateful for and partly resentful for. I didn't really need the extra time to worry myself even more about my predicament, even though it was saving me from actually forcing myself to move. When I was eventually allowed to inch down the aisle, my dread turned into all-out fear, and I actually froze in my tracks a few times until I realized that there were other people waiting for me to continue walking. 

With my head held high, I finally walked off that awful plane, putting on my bravest face and telling myself that I was ready to face a future that would change me forever.

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AUTHOR: Hello! Yes, I know, this was a short and pretty awful chapter, but hopefully I will change my way of writing and make this a million times better. And while I don't usually leave little messages like this because I think their annoying, I need some help from my readers:

I've been trying to find an FC for both Rosalind and the Phantom since I started writing this story, and despite my extensive internet research I have not found a suitable FC for either of them. So, I will leave a basic description for both, and you guys can do the rest :D:

Rosalind: Brown hair, brown/blue eyes (leaving the eye color up to you), 16-18 yrs. old.

Phantom (Erik Destler): Black hair, icy blue eyes, 20-25 yrs. old.

Thanks so much for reading and leaving comments! I will be updating soon :).