It had been some time since Christine and Raoul had wed. The night had been long, and cold, instead of the joyous and triumphant night Christine had thought it would be. Ever since that night, that long and suspenseful night when she had freed herself and Raoul from the Phantom.
Rumors were going around, rumors that he was dead, though Christine didn't believe them. She surprised herself by wanting so much as to not believe them. In a way, besides all that she had been through, she loved him. Loved him with such a passion, that not even Raoul would understand. And he didn't. Not since the night she had mysteriously disappeared and come back the next morning.
She was happy with Raoul, in a way. He took care of her and made her feel safe no matter what the cost. He spoiled her with riches, which she didn't really need, but the thought was nice.
However, no matter what, she always found herself thinking about the Phantom and his whereabouts at the end of the day. Sometimes she would step out onto the balcony when Raoul was sleeping and recall all the wonderful yet sometimes scary memories of being with him.
The sweet and mesmerizing sound of his voice when she slept in her room of the Opera Populaire at night. His haunting but beautiful lair on the shore of the underground lake, surrounded by candles and sheets of his music. His playing music to her on the organ when she woke that most unfortunate morning, knowing she must return to her normal life.
Sometimes she even wept over her decision of leaving him behind. Raoul would wake to the sound of her cries and go to be at her side, clueless as to what was wrong because she would not tell him.
"Christine! My Christine, what has got you so upset, my dear?" She would shake her head and wave him away, wiping at the tears streaming down on her cheeks.
She would never forgive herself, and when she went back to bed after her weepings she would wonder if he would ever forgive her.
This thought is what spiked her most deepest depths of interest one night, while she sat in her mourning on the balcony. She remembered the Populaire being rebuilt, and wondered if he ever went back to living beneath it.
She recalled all the notes that he used to send to people of the Populaire, and outside it. It was his favorite use of communication. She smiled briefly and suddenly, she had an idea.
Struck with hope, she walked quickly to her vanity and opened the drawer, pulling blue ink, a quill pen, and writing paper from it. She sat down once again at the table on the balcony and a thought struck her. Who would she send it to? Who would know how to get it to the Phantom if possible?
She sat in thought of this question, and reminded herself of Madame Giry. Her old ballet instructor in the end had known the Phantom personally! But did she still work at the theater? She decided she'd take the chance, and began to write, first on the envelope, addressing the note to Opera Ghost and filled in the Opera Populaire's mailing information. She then filled in her own onto the envelope, and quickly began to scribble onto the paper.
First, a quick note. Should this letter actually come into possession of the desired person, I would be greatly thankful for whoever it might have been to get it there. If not, then I have struck entirely misfortunate.
Erik,
It may be hard to believe, but yes, I am indeed Christine Daaé writing this letter to you now, and the purpose of it, is to inform you that I ever do miss you dearly. I never figured I would give you a second thought, and I know it may hurt to know that, but it is the truth. Ever since I gave you that second thought, I have missed you so. Your music, your voice, your strong embrace. Your mystery! It has been so long my dear.
I have heard rumors of your being dead. I've secretly hoped like mad they are not true. When I told you I loved you Erik, I did not lie to you. And now, I find myself thinking of how much a fool I was! Oh, that night, that night of pure agony!
I thought I could be happy with Raoul, at the time it seemed what was right. But I am doubting myself, Erik. Should you receive this letter, I anxiously wait your response.
Your Loving Christine
She lay the quill down and fit the folded letter into the envelope. She would have it delivered tomorrow!
She was surprised at herself once again, for possibly having a way to contact Erik. She anxiously hid the letter in her jewelry box, and slipped off to bed. Surely someone would know how to get the letter to him, should he still be living under the theater.
She went to sleep that night, hoping dreadfully that she would get a reply once she sent off her letter tomorrow. If the rumors were to be true, and the Phantom really was dead, Christine wouldn't know what she would do.
Weep? Surely. Regret? Everything she never did. Forget? Never.
It would be hard. Living a life eternally confusing her husband, and regretting for the rest of her time.
Though she would do it. She would weep for a good reason, wether anyone else think it so, should anyone else know.
Dreaming of sheet music and red scribbled hand writing, she woke in a sweat and terrible loss of breath several times. She soothed herself by humming his song, Music of the Night, and drifted off finally into a deep, dreamless sleep, anxious of what was to happen in the next week of two.