"It's the Vicomte!"

"And Christine Daaé!"

The crowd at the entrance to the Opera Populaire turned its attention towards Christine and Raoul as they emerged from the large front doors. A cacophony of questions hit them at once, the fear and confusion in the air almost palpable. Raoul placed his hand on Christine's back and led her away from the crowd and towards his carriage, which was parked nearby.

Raoul's hair was a nest on his head, his dress clothes damp and ripped in a few places. Christine herself was still wearing the wedding gown, which was now tattered and covered with splotches of dirt. She could feel tears drying on her cheeks, but she didn't have the heart to wipe them away.

"Monsieur Raoul, are you alright? I heard…" the driver said as he caught sight of his employer approaching.

"Yes, Pierre. We are fine, thank you. Can you take us to Christine's flat?" Raoul gave him the address then helped Christine into the carriage before climbing in after her.

Christine settled herself on the bench feeling dazed. They were safe. Her fiancé sat beside her and pulled her against his side. She looked into his concerned blue eyes.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

"I think so," Christine said. "Are you?"

"I'm fine, my love." He kissed the top of her head.

Christine raised her eyebrows. Raoul was always fine. He was always strong for her because he promised her that he would be her shelter and her light. With him, she was supposed to be safe.

She reached out and touched his neck where the rope of the lasso left red welts on his skin. Raoul winced at her light touch. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No, it's okay," he said. He took her hand in his and stroked her fingertips. They fell into silence.

Christine's mind returned to the lair. She and Raoul had raced to the boat, but as they reached the shore Christine felt the weight of Erik's ring on her finger. She stopped short, staring at the ring.

"Christine, we must go!"

Christine looked up to see Raoul striding back towards her. She could still feel the ghost of Erik's lips on her own and could see Erik's dark eyes wide with awe as she pulled away.

"I have to return his ring," she whispered.

Raoul groaned. "It's just a ring, Christine."

"I can't take this from him, too," she said quietly and ran back towards the house, Raoul calling after her.

Christine bound through the front door and hurried around the corner to the room with Erik's organ. Just as she reached the doorway she heard a sound that made her stop short. Erik was crying softly, the sound of his tears harmonizing with the twinkle of his music box.

"Masquerade," he sang through a sob. "Paper faces on parade. Masquerade. Hide your face so the world… will never find you."

Tears sprang to Christine's eyes. It was the most broken and vulnerable sound she had ever heard. Christine squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, then walked into the room.

Erik was on his knees beside the music box, his head hung as his fingers covered the right side of the monkey's face.

"Erik?"

He looked up. His dark, devastated eyes filled with a childlike hope as he took in the sight of her. It shattered her heart. He stood and approached her timidly. She wanted to say a million things at that moment. She wanted to apologize, she wanted him to apologize. She wanted, she wanted, she wanted. But instead, she said nothing and held out the ring.

Disappointment broke through his shy hope. His large bottom lip quivered slightly as he met her gaze with glistening eyes.

"Christine, I love you."

She curled his fingers around the ring and kissed his hand as a sob slipped out. Erik watched her with a compassionate expression, as though he wanted to comfort her even though she was the one breaking his heart. She turned and made her way towards the door then glanced over her shoulder at Erik. He nodded. They both knew a better life waited for her in the light.

Raoul was waiting at the door and held out a hand to her. She looked at him then glanced over her shoulder and whispered, "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime."

"Say the word and I will follow you," Raoul replied. She met his beautiful blue eyes and placed her hand in his.

It was quiet as they left the lair except for the distant sounds of the mob closing in on Erik. Raoul kept glancing at Christine, as if waiting for the Phantom to burst out of the shadows and take her again. Christine's mind was with Erik. He was a murderer. A horrible, despicable murderer. And yet, she felt nothing but guilt and grief. All she could imagine were those broken eyes looking at her like she was a miracle, even as she rejected him. It was a such treacherous responsibility to hold so much power over another person's happiness.

And yet, she held power over the happiness of two people. One was somewhere in the depths of the Paris Opera House, attempting to evade the police. The other was beside her, a slight tremor running through his body as they escaped this terrifying ordeal.

Soon they arrived at Christine's flat.

"Is your aunt home?" he asked as they pulled to a stop.

"Yes, but I am sure she is asleep," she said.

They quietly climbed the stairs and made their way to Christine's bedroom. She immediately went to her wardrobe to find a nightgown. She glanced back at Raoul and saw him stopped beneath the doorframe, taking in the room with a look of wonder. This was his first time in her bedchamber, she realized. This was improper, an unmarried couple standing together in a bedchamber unsupervised, but Christine didn't care. Propriety seemed silly after everything they had just been through.

"You can come in," she said.

Raoul entered cautiously, observing every detail of the room. She watched curiously as he looked at the framed photos on her vanity–one of her mother and father on their wedding day and one of four-year-old Christine perched on her father's lap. Raoul took in her peeling wallpaper, her old chipping furniture, and her thin bedspread.

"It's not much," she whispered, suddenly self-conscious of her simple lifestyle.

"That's alright," he said. He stepped towards her and stroked her cheek. "You will have much more soon."

Christine forced a small smile. "Let me change, my dear," she said. She desperately wanted to get out of the wedding gown.

"Of course." Raoul went to sit on her bed as Christine stepped behind the screen to change. In the silence, she thought not of the boy sitting on her bed, but of the man somewhere in the depths of the Paris Opera House. Was he dead? Was he free? Christine couldn't help but hope he was free. She thought of his face so close to her own and how she saw not the deformities, but his eyes, full of bewilderment and wonder.

Christine wrapped her dressing gown around herself and stepped out from behind the screen. Raoul looked up as soon as she emerged and made to stand up, but Christine sat beside him on the bed. Now that she was out of the wedding dress and in her own room, she felt exhausted. She slumped, her eyelids feeling heavy.

"Christine?" Raoul cupped her cheek in his hand.

"I'm just drowsy," she said.

"Of course, my love. You've just been through quite an ordeal."

"As have you," she said.

"Do you feel safe that I can leave you alone? Or would you like me to stay tonight?" he asked.

"I'll be alright," she said.

Raoul nodded. "I'll come by again in the morning." He kissed her softly, lingering on her lips. "I love you, Christine."