Once Upon Another Time
By: Child of Dreams
Disclaimer: Child of Dreams does not own Phantom of the Opera.
Unfortunately.
But she does own this story, so no plagiarism, please!
Notes: In this story, Christine never returned to the Opera House for the Bal Masque.
She and Raoul fled to the De Chagny family chateau after the scene on the rooftop, and three months later, on December 26, Raoul was hit by a shell on his way back home from the Palais Garnier.
"There was a time - not very long ago - when we lived in an enchanted world filled with elegant palaces and grand parties..." - Anastasia (1997)
January, 1871
Paris, France
A small, slender figure wandered through the snowy streets, the moans and cries of the wounded and dying filling the air around her.
At first glance, one would not recognize her as the former diva of the Palais Garnier.
Her chocolate curls were tangled and matted with blood and all manner of filth, her dress in tatters and hanging loosely on her fragile frame.
Her brown eyes, once shining with happiness were now dull and filled with sorrow.
Paris had been under siege by the Germans since September, when she had still lived in the opera house, and everything seemed perfect.
Obviously, the theatre workers had known of what was going on outside the building's walls, but with their daily lives consisting of glamour, hard work and backstage gossip, the war seemed so far away...
Now, however it was impossible to ignore!
Everywhere in the city, people were starving.
Once upon another time, she would have married her childhood sweetheart and they would have left all of this behind.
She would have been a Vicomtesse, living in a chateau just outside of Paris with a wonderful husband and as many children as she could give him.
But now all of that was gone.
Raoul was dead.
Killed while defending their beloved city from the Prussian invaders.
After his death, his mother had coldly informed her that she was no longer welcome in the family chateau, and so - heartbroken and starving with nobody willing to hire The Phantom's Whore, Christine found herself on the streets, forced into begging for food and sleeping in whichever church was closest.
Harsh coughs wracked her thin frame as she sank to the ground in a dirty alleyway, a ragged blanket wrapped around her shoulders for some semblance of warmth, the icy chill of the wind settling into her bones and freezing her lungs.
Not for the first time, she wondered had become of her Angel?
Was he dead? Was he alive? Was he starving like the rest of them, or had he somehow managed to use his talents to procure enough food to satisfy a hungry stomach?
She prayed that whatever the situation, if he was alive, he was safe and away from all of the danger here on the city streets.
As for her, it was probably too late.
She'd been so tired lately and when she coughed, she could see blood.
"Ange de la Musique, guide et gardien..." she whispered weakly into the cold, night air, a dull sleepiness stealing over her mind.
Visions of her father alive and playing his violin danced behind her eyes.
She could almost hear the beginning notes to The Resurrection of Lazarus...
"Papa," she breathed out as she sank into unconsciousness, a peaceful smile on her lips.
Meanwhile, Erik was doing the same thing he had been doing every day of his life.
Surviving.
Presently, he was returning from delivering "liberated" food supplies to an old friend.
Walking past a small alleyway, his highly trained ears picked up a familiar voice on the wind.
His yellow eyes narrowed slightly.
That was Christine's voice.
Erik would know it anywhere.
What was she doing here in the middle of the fighting when she should be safely away from the city and happily married to her thrice-damned boy?
Muttering curses under his breath, Erik stepped into the alley, all the while keeping a cautious eye out for danger, just in case.
The first thing he saw was what, at first glance, appeared to be a bundle of dirty rags.
But then he looked closer, and upon seeing the familiar riot of brown curls, he swore colorfully under his breath.
It was Christine.
But sacre bleu, what had happened to her?
She was so thin!
And was that blood in her hair?
Erik's hands trembled violently as he checked for a pulse, almost breaking out in a fit of relieved sobs when he found one, weak as it was.
Glancing down at her deathly pallor and blue-tinged lips, the former Phantom came to an immediate decision.
Effortlessly lifting the young brunette into his arms - Mon Dieu, she was so light! - he walked out of the alleyway and back out into the street.
Nadir's flat was only a few short blocks away, it wouldn't take long for him to get there - and then he could see to his Angel's recovery.
He just prayed that she would be able to hold out that long...
A/N: Please review if you want Chapter 2...