I've had this written for quite some time- why not post it? I may write the next chapters. Just know that Cats is yet to come.
Never in Christine Daae's wildest dreams would she expect to see a cat standing up on two feet, dancing like it was almost… human! Nor did she expect to see her future self, traveling with a son. Or a woman who, like her, sang high soprano, but lived in a modern world much different from Paris. These things, Christine would soon conclude, were only pieces of a dream. Or were they?
The affair of Christine's strange encounters began a month after the chandelier fell at the Opera Populaire. Christine and Raoul were going on a stroll through the city, around seven in the evening. Street lamps dimly lit their path, but both were used to darkness and weren't bothered. Raoul had told Christine that he was going to take her to a late dinner at Christine's favorite bakery and cafe, which was much unlike the young Vicomte who preferred a proper dinner from usually somewhere posh and expensive. But Christine, who hadn't had a significant amount of money since her father was alive, was well accustomed with cheaper meals. They walked sedately, having conversations along the way about many, many things. Christine was mainly worried about the Opera- when the new chandelier might be installed and when it might reopen, while Raoul was more interested in Christine and what her life had been like in the years she had been absent from his life. The cafe quickly came into sight, the couple picking up their pace as they approached it. Once they'd sat down, Christine couldn't get her eye off of a woman, probably about thirty, sitting with a son and husband. The woman had dark, curly hair, almost reminiscent of her own. She'd occasionally glance over at her, causing Raoul to worry a bit. Raoul knew that Christine had nerve issues, and he just wanted to have an ordinary meal with her. Christine looked down at her menu, and it didn't take her long to choose what she was going to order. Raoul took a bit longer, contemplating on what the quality of the entree would be based on the quality of the bakery.
"May I please have jambon sur un croissant?" (A/N: I used Google Translate and it means, or it is supposed to mean, ham on a croissant) Christine orderly, politely. She looked down, and while Raoul ordered glanced over at the table that fascinated her. The woman's back was still turned to her, but the young boy was looking her way, with a confused look on his face. The woman began to turn, and Christine's head swiveled around, not wanting to come across as anything but an ordinary girl having dinner with her boyfriend. She peeked up, looking right next to the woman's head. They were easily looking at her and Raoul, all whispering things to one another. Once Raoul was done ordering, the waiter walked away. As the waiter left, the woman got out of her seat and approached the table. Christine quickly looked at Raoul, trying not to be caught looking at the woman. But once she came towards the table, Christine had a chance to look at the woman. She looked an awful lot like Christine, almost identical except for the age difference.
"Excuse me, I hate to barge in on your meal, but do you, madamosselle, happen to be a singer at the Opera?" the woman seemed cautious, and truly seemed sorry to be interrupting their conversation.
"Yes,," Christine answered, "I'm just a chorus girl, normally, but I often understudy for La Carlotta." Christine's gaze moved to Raoul, as she was a bit uncomfortable talking to this woman who looked so similar to her. But she looked back at the woman when she began to speak.
"I was at Hannibal, and Il Muto when the chandelier crashed, and both times I saw you," a smile appeared on the woman's face, "you were absolutely amazing." Christine couldn't help but smile, glad to be recognized for her work.
"That's so kind of you," Christine smiled, "do you go to the Opera regularly?"
"You could say so…" The woman looked down, "although I've stopped going to performances now."
"Well, the chandelier crashing has closed the Opera," Christine shrugged her shoulders, "do you go to plays, or anything?" The woman shook her head.
"I… well the reason I don't go to performances, is because I perform myself," the woman said.
"Would I recognize your name?" Christine innocently smiled, "because I'm sure my friend Madame Giry would know who you are." There was a brief look of remembrance on the woman's face, before she shook her head.
"I'd rather not share," the woman sighed, with a glance over at the man who she was sitting with.
"I insist," Christine offered the woman a smile, "I promise I'll do nothing with your name, of course." The woman walked away from Christine and Raoul, and over to the table, before sharing a word with the man. She'd occasionally glance over at Christine, who was confused. The man simply shrugged, before the two spoke with their son, who turned and made eye contact with Christine before speaking to his parents. The woman nodded, before heading over to Christine.
"My name is Christine Daae," the woman held out a hand for Christine to shake, but Christine was speechless.
"Christine!" Raoul put a hand on Christine's shoulder. "Christine."
A voice, one that both Christines knew well, echoed, "Christine…"
"I'm only going to be gone for a week," Rosalie had just finished packing her bags for her trip to Paris, France. She was going to go see Phantom of the Opera, a musical which mixed two of her favorite things- classical opera, and rock music. Dewey raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to be in Paris, alone," Dewey leaned against Rosalie's dresser, "how do I know that, fancy French Rhett Butler-style bachelors won't be lining up to get your number?"
"I barely speak French, Dewey," Rosalie looked up at Dewey, before brushing back her long, red hair. "You can always come with-"
"No, no, no," Dewey looked mortified, "I am staying as far away from Phantom of the Opera as possible." Rosalie rolled her eyes, before shutting her suitcase.
"You should still come to Paris," Rosalie shrugged, "I could always buy you a plane ticket."
"No, no, NO! This is my treat for you, to go see… that musical, in Paris," Dewey awkwardly gazed down, "I really hate Phantom…"
"Well, have you ever listened to anything besides Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again?" She sat the suitcase up on the bed.
"What other crap has that Andrew Lloyd Webber guy written anyway?"
"Dewey, Andrew Lloyd Webber's music is genius!" Rosalie could hardly believe what Dewey was saying! Andrew Lloyd Webber's music is crap… oh, that'd be the day!
"Rosalie, have you ever heard of Love Never Dies?"
Rosalie pursed her lips, before going back to packing, too tired of the argument already.