"You came and found where I hid. Don't you deny that you did, that long ago night." —The Phantom, Love Never Dies
1
Christine picked her way carefully through the catacombs of the opera house. Through a major force of will she did not scream at the rats that had made their homes in this place. They were not the most dangerous things down here.
She had left her fiancée sleeping in their hotel room. This was wrong and she knew it. How depraved was she to lust after a man who was not her betrothed, who had also stolen her music and her thoughts? Not her heart though. That would forever and always belong to Raoul.
When the Opera Populaire had burned down a month ago, she and Raoul didn't have their own manor yet. Since that was where they wanted to be wed, they were staying at a hotel until it was finished being constructed. Their only other option had been to stay at his parent's established home, and that had been completely out of the question.
People talked, as they were bound to do. Old news for the rumor mill was that she and Raoul weren't as innocent as they seemed to be. She had not known whether to laugh or scowl at Meg when she had told her this. Of course it was not Meg's fault, but was she to feel proud that nearly everyone thought her an experienced woman when in fact she was not?
Raoul had cured her of this the first night they were together. She was still burning from the songs the Phantom had ensnared her with; otherwise she would have protested for reasons of tradition and propriety. Raoul had been very courteous, asking her constantly what she was feeling, whether pain or pleasure. He even thanked her when it was over. Her need had been slaked, but only by a fraction. No matter how many times they coupled in the past month, it still wasn't enough. She needed passion, heat. She was going to settle this tonight once and for all. It would be over before it had begun and she would return to Raoul as a dutiful wife, the past forgotten.
This was the only place she knew of to search for him. What if he wasn't there? Oh God, she should just turn back now and bear the pain. Keep silent for the rest of her life. But then the music started. It was haunting, drifting up from deep below. She knew the song; it was Music of the Night. The sweet notes twirled around her, pulling her with them to their master. There were no words with the accompaniment, but she could hear them being played out in her mind. She was getting closer, the music was becoming clearer.
Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender.
The aching was back inside of her. It was insistent and throbbing, never letting her forget its presence. She could imagine a pale, tremulous thing in her hands. It would be as soft as candlelight, yet firm enough to…
Dear God above, no! She never had thoughts like this about Raoul, and she was supposed to marry him! She prayed for forgiveness, she prayed for His help to clean her mind and purify her soul. She could not do this. It was too…wrong. Yes, not right enough. Not good enough.
She fully intended to turn back and think no more of the Phantom, but then the song changed. It turned dark and seductive, Past the Point of No Return. The notes turned to fingers to knead at her body. They sensitized every area until she was aflame with sensation. She was dying, there was no question about it. And there was only one person to give her breath, give her life.
She turned the corner and there it was, just as she had left it. Or…no. Not as she had left it. It was vaguely similar but more disheveled. Candelabras lay tipped, mirrors smashed, broken pieces on the floor. Statues toppled, music sheets strewn. It looked like an ungodly refuse pile, except for the organ. On its seat was its master. He had his back to her and the music was still playing; he hadn't noticed her yet. What would he do when he saw her? Her heart leapt in her throat to think of it.
The other thing that posed a problem was the lake. The gondola that had first carried her over was nowhere in sight. She could wade through the water; it went only up to her waist in the deepest part. If she crossed in her dress then it would still be wet when she came home, and it would give her a chill. She removed her dress and underpinnings, setting them in a dry spot for when she returned. She wanted to carry her cloak with her in order to provide some measure of covering, and to help keep her warm. It was impossibly cold in the cavern, the water was even worse. She held her breath as she waded through it, clutching her belonging to her chest. She moved silently, imagining herself to be a fabled mer-woman.
The music intensified. Its loud decibels covered the noise of water dripping from her legs as she rose from the lake and swirled the cape back onto herself.
Abandon thought and let the dream descend.
Her movements were thick and buttery, almost as if they were not her own. It was like she had locked some part of her rational mind away and let the one controlled by instincts emerge. She moved behind the Phantom and placed her hands on his shoulders, willing whatever happened next to fate.
The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn.