Christine's footfalls were light against the cool, damp floor of the corridor through which she ran. Clutching her skirts tightly in her fists and glancing over her shoulder every few seconds in a vain attempt at gauging how close behind the Phantom was. Between her heavy breathing and the echoing footsteps of both Christine and the man who pursued her, she couldn't tell if he was directly behind her or far down the corridor.
She knew it wouldn't matter, in her fear she'd run off blindly. Each turn she'd made had been random. She had no idea where she was going, nor had she any idea how to get back to the Phantom's cellar home or her dressing room.
Her legs felt like they were on fire as she pushed on, splashing through an icy puddle before losing her footing and crashing head-first to the ground. A cry escaped her lips, quieted as the darkness seemed to consume her.
The last thing she was aware of was the slow, deliberate footfalls of someone wearing fancy shoes as they sauntered toward her down the corridor.
Christine woke with a start, her breath caught in her throat and her curls tangled around her face. Blinking hard, she realized that she wasn't in the same all-encompassing darkness that had plagued even her dreams-
-had it all been simply that, a dream? She sat up and looked around, finding that she was in her dressing room. The mirror was in its place, and none of the shadows in the room had an overly-mannish quality to them, so she decided she must be alone… But she couldn't remember getting back to her dressing room.
As she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself to her feet, she felt at once light-headed and overcome with an incredible headache. As she sank back into the cushion, her mind raced to make sense of the thoughts swimming through her head. She could still hear his shouting as he chased her, but what had she done to anger him so?
The singing lesson had gone well, quite well. He'd commented about how much she'd improved from last week. The way he had stared at her while she'd sung- it was a look of complete adoration and it had both pleased and frightened her. Something about the way that bloated lip looked when he smiled…
She shuddered just remembering that look, that piercing stare. Reliving those moments, she could almost pinpoint the moment he'd grown angry- she'd opened her mouth and said something, but what? She couldn't remember. In her mind, her words were mush, but his rang clear.
"Do you honestly think you could last one day here, where the sun dare not shine? I suppose you forget about the fate of those who aren't yourself or the vicomte."
He'd slammed his fist against his organ, and she'd needed to shield her ears from the horrible sound that bellowed from the instrument. She could still hear his voice ringing in her ears, but not with the clarity of that one statement.
How now had she angered her angel of music?
The masked man sat at his organ, elbows resting heavily on the keys. The sound that emanated from the instrument was fitting for his mood. It nearly matched the low growl that came from somewhere deep in his chest. Fool, he thought, clawing at his head as he slowly rested his forehead against the keys as well, adding to the strange, sour harmony that echoed through the underbelly of the opera house.