A/N: Well, here it is, my first phic - Broken Hallelujah. This story takes place two years after the performance of Don Juan Triumphant. Christine is 19 years old. And for the purposes of my story, the Opera Populaire was repaired after the chandelier crash, and continues to put on performances. Erik in this story is mostly ALW-based.

Anyway, I hope you like it:)

Christine Daaé ran softly down the steps of the enormous Chateau de Chagny. She did not slow down as she hit the cobblestone walkway, her bare feet uncomfortably twisting over the uneven rocks. Her desperate run contrasted oddly with the lazy glow of the streetlamps.

She did not stop until she had run a few blocks down the street, safely out of sight of anyone who might be watching from the windows of the place she had so quickly fled. Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she took some shoes out of one of the bags she carried with her, and put them on. She had not dared to wear them when leaving the house for fear that she might be heard. The de Chagnys had not treated her badly, yet it was crucial that her escape remain secret.

Moving out of the light, she set her bags down and sat down for a moment. How had she gone from the top of the world to the bottom in such a short amout of time?

She had had everything going for her. She had a man who loved her. She was staying in a beautiful home. She had her own maid. She was being taken care of by people who would give her anything she wished. But still, something was not right.

She could hardly believe that just a few short hours ago, she'd been carefree as the wind, going into Raoul's room just to spend some time with him. Where had it all gone wrong?

Was it when they had kissed?

No, not then.

Was it when he told her that he loved her?

Not then either.

Was it when he told her he was leaving for England? That he couldn't share her heart with another man? That he was releasing her from their engagement?

Well, that's where it started.

She felt that she should be sobbing, that she should be torn up over this. And yet, she felt strangely emotionless. Raoul had said it was for the best. And she could not deny that fact. Nor could she deny that had they married, she never would have been completely his.

Married.

Her heart suddenly began to ache. She ached for Raoul. She did love him. She was sorry she could never give him everything he wanted - or everything she wanted, for that matter. They had been engaged for over two years now, their wedding date getting pushed back again and again because of weak excuses conjured up at the last minute. Rumors were rampant...Raoul was having an affair...Christine was having an affair...it was a loveless relationship...she had heard them all, time and time again.

To her knowledge, the first rumor was false. She had never seen Raoul turn from her, nor give her any reason to suspect that he had. He was a good, upright man. And the third rumor - well, that was definitely false. Raoul doted on Christine, and Christine loved him in return. But sometime, somewhere along the line...that love had softened into a different kind of love - more like a deep caring for her childhood friend and lover. The fact that she didn't love him as he loved her scared her immensely - not scared enough to break off the engagement for fear of what others would say - but scared enough to know that marriage would be a mistake. But Christine never had the heart to tell Raoul of her concerns. Apparently, though, he had sensed them. Oh, how she loved and pitied him! Her heart died a little thinking of how she had hurt him.

But the second rumor...Christine's heart fluttered back to life.

No, she had not been secretly seeing another man. Not in the flesh, at least.

How many times had she remembered that fateful kiss...a kiss full of longing and sadness and desire? How many times had she made love to him in her dreams? How many times had she seen his face, unmasked...his anger when she had seen his deepest shame - his face - exposed for the first time...and the utter betrayal and despair that haunted his eyes on that final night in the depths of the opera house...

Christine shut her eyes tightly. Those images would stay with her forever...they had burned themselves into her mind.

She straightened and grasped her bags firmly, suddenly remembering her desire to leave that house and never come back. It was not when she had learned of Raoul's departure that she had decided to leave. No, upon hearing his words, her brain became clouded with so many thoughts and questions that she couldn't possibly think clearly. She moved around for the rest of the day lost in that fog...a fog that only cleared when she overheard Raoul's mother discussing her future with one of her various high-society friends.

"I just don't know what you should do about her," the friend was saying. "I would hate for you to throw her out, but what will people say if you keep her here? There's been enough gossip already, and now that he's broken the engagement...well, I know that will only add to it, but if you keep her...it would be much worse."

"Well, she always has the opera house to return to. They adored her so much two years ago, I'm sure they would be thrilled to have her back."

"Are you crazy? She hasn't sung at all since that final opera and the kidnapping. She hasn't even visited the opera house in almost a year. If she goes back, who knows if she'll be able to sing like she once could, and would they take her back? And what if that masked madman is still there, just waiting for her?" He voice lowered conspiratorially. "I've heard rumors of what he did to her down there."

She could hear no more. The words cut Christine like a knife and snapped her out of her fog. She was fuming. She would not be cast out like a doll a child has grown bored with. And she could not bear to hear the things they were going to say about Erik. She had heard those too. She did not care to think of them ever again.

Christine had gone through the rest of the day as normally as possible, but quietly packing her bags at every opportunity. She left all of the gifts she had received while under their care - she did not need them, and they would only serve as painful reminders.

And now, she found herself walking determinedly down the Paris streets at midnight, carrying a few small bags containing the clothes she owned before coming to live with the de Chagnys, some music, a photo of her father, and a few other small possessions.

She walked with sudden determination. Her destination was in sight.

She was headed straight for the Opera Populaire.