An excerpt from my story Christine: The Phantom's Angel. I was going to put it in with my other excerpt Passion de la Musique. However, many people have been asking me to continue that part of the story. So I have decided that Passion de la Musique will no longer be a collection of one shots.

Here is a tale from the Vicomte de Chagny on how he first met Christine by the sea. I do not own the rights to Phantom... God knows I own enough Phantom crap already!! Please read and review and check out my other Phantom story while you're at it!

ENJOY!!!

The Girl in the Red Scarf

Le Fantôme de l'Opéra 100th Anniversary

The cold March air cut through me like the sharpest of daggers. I pulled my thick wool coat tight around me as my eyes scanned along the shoreline of the English Channel. It was much too cold to be standing on the sandy beach in Northern France, but my brother, Philippe, had been called to Normandy on business and I- being no older than fourteen at the time- had no choice but to accompany him.

I had been kept up in the Chagny family chateau since our arrival to the north five days prior. Early spring time is not a beautiful sight in the northern countryside and the skies remained dark and wet- refusing to let the sun shine through, refusing to let a young boy out to play. But one week exactly after our arrival, the gods seemed to take pity on the mortals below and I awoke to see the sun shining through the stained glass window of my room.

Seeing a blue sky and hearing the birds chirping in the garden, I leapt up from the mattress and rushed over to my armoire, dressing in record time. I donned a white round collared shirt, a pair of brown knee length breeches with a matching jacket, and brown stockings. I laced up my black shoes and reached for my black wool coat as I ran from the room. Stomping down the carpeted stairs, I felt a hand grasp my shoulder, halting me in my determined dash.

"Monsieur de Chagny, where do you think you are running off to so early in the morning?" It was my governess, Madame Moreau. Against my wishes, Philippe had decided to bring her along with us on our holiday to the north in hopes of me continuing in my education away from home. From what I recall, she was soft spoken but very firm- much like a distant aunt who loves a child but at the same time has no difficulty in disciplining that child as well. She had an old and weathered face, though she could not have been any older than forty- I was always too terrified to inquire. Her dark hair was pinned tightly back at the nape of her neck with the occasional gray strand. Her eyes were a dark brown- the color of the chocolate my elder sister, Hélène, would often sneak me after supper. She was a plump woman who appeared foreboding to any child and occasionally Philippe did not dare try to oppose her. I felt all hope I had of enjoying the day slip away as I continued to stare at her large hand clamped on my shoulder. "Well, young master?"

"Out," I stated simply. Out into the sunshine; anywhere that was beyond the confines of the stone walls of the house.

"But where?" Her face grew larger as she drew closer to my pale face. She hated ambiguous answers- that may have been the biggest lesson I learned from her. If I did not come up with a decent enough answer for her I would be trapped in the house doing mathematic equations and verb conjugations for yet another day. "Monsieur?"

"I thought I would walk down to the beach," I said with an impish smile pasted onto my face, praying that she would release my shoulder.

"No, Monsieur." My mouth fell open slightly as she released my shoulder and turned to walk back to the study from which she had come. "It is much too cold out for you to be playing by the water. Why not explore the gardens?"

"Oh Madame Moreau!" I turned to look back up the stairs- perched on the landing was Philippe still in his crimson dressing gown, a pipe in his hand. "We all know that there is not a living thing in that garden except for those blasted sparrows chirping away before the sun has even risen."

"Monsieur Count?" Mme. Moreau turned her questioning gaze up to my brother as he descended the stairs.

"Let the boy go to the beach." He reached the foot of the stairs and puffed his pipe for a moment before finishing, "He's been locked up in here for days; the boy needs to get out into the sunlight- he's too pale and thin!"

"Thank you brother!" I cheered as I turned to the door.

"Still, Monsieur…" I stopped with my hand on the golden door handle, silently cursing the Madame. "I do not feel comfortable sending the young master out to the beach alone. What if something were to happen to him?"

"Very well." Philippe turned to ascend the stairs once again. "You may accompany the boy to the coast. Now if you will excuse me."

Traitor, I thought as Philippe bowed slightly to Mme. Moreau and returned to the silence of his bedroom.

I sighed as Mme. Moreau appeared before me in a pair of worn out gloves and a gray wool cloak over her black dress. Before opening the door, she placed a humiliating cap atop my golden hair.

"It's still cold despite the sunshine."

I had dashed out the door the moment the sunshine hit my face and my legs did not stop until I could hear the crash of the ocean's waves and smell the salt of its water.

I had not been the only person in the town who had rejoiced upon seeing the sunshine, for there were others present along the beach's sandy shore. My pace slowed as the unstable sand crunched beneath my shoes, my wide eyes taking in the refreshing scene around me.

A young couple sat upon a patchwork quilt with a picnic basket at the foot of one of the rolling hills beside the shores, their tones hushed. Far in the distance, I could see several families flying colorful kites in the ocean breeze- children laughing as their fathers let out more string causing the kites to rise up higher into the sky, their mothers clapping in glee. My mind could not help but wander to my own parents, dead for years. I shook the thoughts from my mind and continued to examine my fellow townspeople on the beach. A boy, possibly my age, was chasing a girl with what appeared to be seaweed. The girl ran screaming from him, her skirts pulled up high above her knees, her garters showing. Quickly, I averted my eyes, embarrassed at what I had seen of the young girl's thighs. Halfway down the beach was an older woman with pure white hair and a thick winter coat bound tight around her shivering form. The woman had her eyes on the water, or rather, a young girl at the water's shore.

She appeared to be several years younger than myself by the looks of her pinafore. She had a light blue dress on that fell to just beyond her knees, covered by the traditional white pinafore found on young girls. She had a pale gray coat on- though I doubt it did her much good with it not being buttoned up- and a bright red scarf hanging around her shoulders. The wind tossed her golden hair around her in licks and whirls, a single white ribbon loosely tied in amongst the locks. In her hand was a dried twig and on her face was a determined look. She was immersed in her efforts to draw a picture in the sand.

She made me smile.

"Now remember, Master Raoul," Madame Moreau appeared beside me, out of breath, her cheeks redder than usual from the cold air. "Please take it slow. You are not in the very best of health-"

"Yes Madame, I know." I rolled my eyes, placed my hands deeply into my pockets and began to slowly walk along the beach. I paced up and down the shoreline for several minutes, my eyes always wandering back to the little blonde girl and her drawing in the sand.

I was approaching the kite flyers, my back to the wind when a cry broke through the ocean air and caused me to turn. Like one of the kites flying high above, the red scarf belonging to the young girl was caught up in a gust of wind, flying out into the dark awaiting waves of the ocean. The girl had abandoned her stick and quickly approached the water in hopes of rescuing her scarf. As I saw the tears on her cheeks, I threw my coat and cap off and sprinted towards the waves. The girl gasped as I ran past her and dove head first into the cold waves. I heard the cries of my governess as she ran down the beach scolding me. The water was colder than I had expected it to be. Madame Moreau had been correct when she said that it was still cold despite the illusion the sun had created. Thankfully, the scarf had landed not too far from the shore, the water rose to my shoulders. My breathing labored, I reached out and grasped my hand tightly around the red scarf, refusing to let the ocean have it. The evil and selfish ocean would not make her cry- I would not allow it. Exhaustion and hypothermia threatened to set in as I turned back to the beach. Deciding to float on my back and kick, I headed back to the arms of the awaiting girl. My foot landed on the ocean floor and I stood up slowly and began to push through the waves on unsteady legs. All feeling left me- the cold, frigid air, my wet clothes clinging tightly to me, my thumping heart- as my eyes fell on the girl on the shore, her feet in the ocean, her hands clasped together as if in prayer, her eyes wide with admiration.

"Mademoiselle," I breathed as I handed the scarf over to its rightful owner. Her small hands clasped tightly around it, making certain that the wind would not catch it again. She was a head shorter than me, her hair wild and knotted from the wind. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Prior to this moment in my life, I found the fairer sex to be trivial and somewhat bothersome. Philippe was always bringing women home with him- I tried to ignore them as best as I could. I never wanted to be like my brother and his Casanova ways… that is, until this moment.

She smiled at me in gratitude, her joy lighting up her entire face. She had eyes as blue as a robin's egg behind a veil of pale eye lashes- not dark lashes as every other woman's I had ever seen. She had a fair sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, pale and smooth skin- like milk. Everything about her was small and fair- her neck, her fingers, her waist- and everything was perfect.

I continued to ignore the scoldings of Madame Moreau while she ran down the beach towards me. I simply stared down at the young beauty. My usual well kept hair was hanging in my eyes, dripping wet with the cold water of the ocean. I lifted a hand to brush back my hair wanting to see the girl's face clearly.

"Merci, Monsieur," she said softly as she averted her eyes from my confident stare. I tilted my head to the side as I listened to her soft voice. While her French was practically perfect, there seemed to be a hint of an accent. Where was she from? She was so beautiful and fair I would not have been surprised if she had fallen from Heaven. "I would have been heart- broken had the sea taken this from me. Mamma Velarius knitted it for me last Christmas."

"Mamma Velarius?" I was still entranced by her voice.

"Yes," she pointed across the beach to the old woman I had seen with the snow white hair.

"Is that your mother?" She looked too old to be the girl's mother.

"No," she shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulders. "My mother is in Heaven."

I quickly took in a short breath. I had not meant to pry into the girl's painful memories. I felt as if I should console her, for I had lost both of my parents. She appeared to be so young and yet she had already known such heartache. "How old are you?"

"Eleven," she looked up at me. "But I will be twelve in two months."

She was only two years younger than me. I forced myself to look away from her enchanting face if only for a moment to collect my thoughts, choosing to look down at the sand beneath me. My eyes widened in horror. I was standing in the middle of the drawing the girl had been working so hard on.

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" I cried as I jumped off of the etching in the sand. "I am so sorry! Please forgive me!"

"Oh do not worry yourself, Monsieur!" She laughed, her voice sounding like bells emanating from a church on a Sunday morning. I gazed down at the drawing- or what was left of it after my carelessness. It was a man- or what I assumed to be a man, for I had stepped on his face- holding what appeared to be a violin. "It is my Papa."

I looked to the girl. She had a look on her face of such adoration for her father. I could understand why- losing a parent would make one love and appreciate the remaining one all the more.

"Does he play the violin?" I inquired.

"Oh yes!" She clapped her hands together in joy. "The best in all of Europe!"

"What is his name? Perhaps I have heard of him."

"Pieter. Pieter Daaé."

I closed my eyes, searching my mind for the name. I had been to countless concerts around Europe but as hard as I tried to remember the name- recall it from anywhere- I could not. Slowly, I opened my eyes.

"What is your name?" I asked, for that was what I truly wanted to know.

She simply shook her head in response.

"What?" I asked with a furrowed brow. Why was she suddenly being so secretive?

She laughed a sweet, impish giggle as she wrapped her soaking wet scarf around her neck. She reached out suddenly and took a hold of my cold, wet hands with her smooth, pale childlike hands.

"Let us play a game!" She cried out, her accent still present. It just added to her mystery and her beauty.

"A game?" I was not fond of the parlor games that young girls were known to play among themselves- telling one another's fortune on future husbands and wealth, playing "house" with imaginary husbands and babies.

"Yes." She nodded, her perfect smile still present on her pink, soft lips. "I shall tell you three names and you must guess which one is my true name. Are you ready?"

"I suppose so."

"Is my name Charlotte, Giselle, or Christine?"

I laughed. I knew this game. The ladies that Philippe brought home always liked to play this game. It was called "Little Lotte" and the purpose of the riddle was to find the truth among the three choices. The answer always was the one with double letters- sweets, dolls, books. This time I was not to guess what she was fond of but what she was called. I stopped to think of the three names and paused for a moment. Two of the names had double letters- which one was it?

I opened my mouth to question the girl's ability to count only to be cut off by Mme. Moreau finally reaching me on the beach. "Young master Raoul!" she breathed laboriously. "What do you think you are doing? I believe I specifically told you-"

"I should go," the girl backed away nervously as my governess continued to scold me for being so reckless and unconcerned for my help. "Thank you again for rescuing my scarf, Raoul."

I watched as she timidly waved goodbye and turned to run and meet with her Mamma Velarius. I continued to gaze after her as she climbed up the hill and disappeared from sight. How my heart skipped when she said my name. I wanted nothing more than to see her again. To talk to her. To play "Little Lotte" again- for I never had the opportunity to give her my answer. I would find her. I would see her again. I would learn her name. But for now, I had the perfect name for the little girl in the red scarf. The blonde girl that stole my heart.

"Little Lotte."