A/N: Nothing much to say! Just hello and I hope you enjoy this. This is a newbie. I've written a couple of chapters and will try and update as often as I can.

** I thought it would be best to say something, now that were are approaching a little more of the story, and I wasn't as lazy as I was when I first posted this.

This story is all set five years after the dramatic ending of ALW's musical. I know it doesn't deserve a sequel - but I'm stubborn. Anyway, there is a child - a child hater (that's Erik) - and Christine. Raoul is... well. You'll find out soon. No 'Beneath a Moonless Sky' dandy dandy here because come on...that was just ridiculous. The child is Raoul's. Anyway, the story is all about friendship and true love and how it battles the secrets & truths that will challenge it.

The pace is slow - so if you are expecting Christine & Erik smooching already. You will have to wait a bit, I'm sorry. There is no 'hot' Erik here - Erik is deformed and heavily so (because I want Christine to find beauty in it. You know? There's no point of him being deformed if he's hot anyway.) Christine looks like Jennifer Love Hewitt. I'm serious. I don't know why but when I had this idea, it was her that popped into my mind. Plus I can't imagine Emmy as a mother. There are no Giry's (not yet for a little while) - so yeah, SORRY GIRY FANS. There is a Nadir (because Erik has to have a friend, right?) - and a lot of extra OC's here and there.

Have fun reading. I will finish this story. If I don't - poke me, please?

Disclaimers: I own nothing you recognise. Blackbird is from the Beatles. This is ALW based mainly. AU, because of Love Never Dies.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly...

Misplaced

The day had been met with fresh, senseless rainfall.

It almost reflected the thoughtful, reflective expressions that scratched the faces of the huddle of people that surrounded the grave. No sound echoed through the place - only the bleak thud of the rain splatters hitting the umbrellas and the ground. There was the occasional demoralizing sob and hiccup of sadness – but overall, it was silent. In fact, parting from the words of the priest, the whole ceremony had been wordless. Perhaps it was the sadness – the grief that silenced everyone who attended. To Christine, it was not only the sorrow that forced her words to falter in her lips – but it was the fear.

For Raoul had always been her anchor; now, she was free to sink.

Hazel eyes stared desolately at the stone of which her husband's name was carved. She could feel her heart crumbling from the image. Her eyes were instantly shiny as tears began to form but she mutely held the teardrops inside. For she knew they were all watching her. All of them. And they did not watch out of feeling – or pity. Christine knew they observed with coldness and disgust. Just the very thought of it forced a small, transparent tear to trickle down her cheek.

"Mama, please don't cry." A voice told her as she glanced down at her daughter's soft, chocolate eyes. She nodded agreeably and even placed a small, loving smile on her lips. Her grasp on her daughter's small hand tightened sensitively as the priest uttered the final prayer and everyone was dismissed. There was a howl of pain from someone behind her as figures pivoted. Christine stayed behind as the various bodies began to saunter away – some deep in whispers while some sobbed. She strayed until it was only her and her daughter's breaths she could hear. Lifting her veil and dropping her daughter's hand momentarily, the woman pressed a kiss to her fingers and sent it to the bleak direction of the wind.

"Goodbye, Raoul." She whispered as she lowered her head and glanced at her daughter. Christine found her grip on the umbrella she held up for them weakening as she urged for the small girl to utter her own farewell, "Say…say goodbye to Papa, Rosa." Christine managed, ignoring the utterly confused face that the five year old plastered on her face, "Say goodbye…my love. Say…say goodbye to Papa." It took a few minutes of persistence before her daughter murmured a goodbye.

There was a hollow pain inside of her - so indescribable and so powerful that it made her stomach heavy and cavernous. Pinning her eyes from the grave, the woman glanced at her daughter lovingly, "Come, Rosa." She nodded as they made their way past the muddy pools of water towards the carriages. As they walked, Christine realized blindly that behind the veil, tears had begun to fall almost uncontrollably. She had to suppress the urge to sob as they continued knowing it would upset her daughter. Instead, Christine endured the ache in silence. She pressed her lips together as the weakness in her heart began to throb and the agony inside of her started to writhe.

As she approached the carriages and saw them watching her – Christine found strength and managed to hold the tears down again. For they should never see her pain. They should never see her cry. Letting her daughter take the seat first, Christine cast a backwards glance at the cemetery scene once more, hazel eyes pensive and grim.

Oh, Raoul, her mind wept, why must you do this to me?

Christine visited the cemetery everyday for a week. In that week, she could not remember very much. The emptiness in the house was almost too overwhelming and she spent seven days either in silent solitude or in tears. She should be used to being alone – used to being just her daughter and her. But this was different. Because back then, Christine knew that her husband would be home a few months later to greet her. Now she knew that this wasn't to be anymore. Christine was alone. Truly, alone. Something Raoul had always promised she would never be.

"Rosa." She sighed deeply as her daughter disappeared behind some trees. Another sigh escaped her. Our little flower, Raoul used to call their brown-eyed daughter as he would scoop her up in his arms and make her giggle. The memory made Christine smile softly as she stood across the grave. Her daughter's innocence – it did affect her. For Christine wished inside that their little flower would always stay innocent. Always stay pure and virtuous. Because Christine knew that from now on that she only had Rosa to love left. There was no-one else. Nothing else.

The De Chagnys were counting days. Christine knew they were waiting for her – waiting for her to say something. Oh Christine, we shall help you! For our Raoul, we must! They chanted. And yet she knew – always knew that without Raoul, she had no place. For five years, Christine knew that she had been surrounded by a fog of safety. Raoul's fog. And now, with his death, the fog had cleared and she realized that she only had one direction to pursue. Out. For it was insincere to say that Raoul's family had any interest in her. Everyone knew. Everyone in Paris knew. Christine Daaé was a chorus girl that hit gold as the media labelled it.

She recalled the hysteria that surrounded their marriage. It was a scandal! A Vicomte marrying someone like her? It almost made her smile, actually. For she had no title – and people were positively convinced that a De Chagny could not possibly be betrothed to someone of her lowly were lavish accusations of blackmail – crimes – witchcraft! Everything. And Raoul would simply shrug it off and press a soft kiss to her forehead. "They know nothing," He used to murmur as she would crawl into an insecure ball in their bed and question if marriage was something they should engage in after all the frenzy. He had scowled stating the media knew nothing.

But it had not only been the media.

Raoul's bloodline was as pure as they came. Christine was a stain – she was a blemish in the De Chagny line. They had been more reserved about their judgement about Christine being in the family (for Raoul) but she knew they looked down on her. For she was not on a hierarchy that fitted their standards. And after giving birth to Rosa, neither was she. Perhaps, if she had bore him a son – it would have been better and the derision would have subsided. But inside she knew it would have made no difference. Christine Daaé had no place there in the beginning. And without Raoul, she definitely had no place now. Raoul stayed ignorant to it - if he knew, he made no plea in her case. Inside, Christine knew that he was aware of it. Aware of the spurn and the plain antipathy his own flesh and blood showed her. He did nothing. And Christine understood why - for they were family. Ignorance was always bliss, in family.

"My love," Christine murmured, pulling down her black coloured sleeve as she gazed over his stone, "What must we do now?" There was an eerie, loud brush of the wind as Christine gazed up at the greying skyline. She glanced back down and felt her lips press thinly. Bidding the silent tomb another kiss goodbye, she turned around and glanced at the empty cemetery. She exhaled, a little aggravated as she had told Rosa to be respectful and not to wander. She was always almost too much of an explorer for her own safety.

Tightening her cloak as to warm herself against the winter breeze, Christine began to walk towards the gates, "Rosa…" She called out firmly yet still retaining a soft undertone, "Rosa…Rosa, my love we must go now…" The woman stopped and turned, a little concerned by the lack of reply but watched as a small shadow appeared right at the end of the cemetery. "Rosa," Christine repeated as the black shadow turned into her daughter skipping innocuously towards her.

"Did I not warn you about wandering?" Christine asked as the blonde appeared in front of her, smiling as always. Affectionately, she stroked the top of her small head. Realizing that it reminded her too much of what Raoul did, Christine stopped and turned. She was moving forwards to swing open the loud, metal gate when she heard a –

"Mama." Christine sighed and turned quite impatiently,

"Rosa, it is much too cold now we must –" But then her words were stopped as her eyes fell on what it was her daughter was gesturing to. For a few seconds, everything was still and all Christine could hear was the vociferous blow of the air. Her daughter had her head inclined, clearly bemused by the odd expression on her Mama's face. Christine said nothing and simply stepped towards her. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she crouched down and inspected the rose. Her eyes faltered almost instantly.

"He said to give it to you." Rosa said quite effortlessly as she dropped it into Christine's quaking palm.

"Who did…m-my love?" Christine managed, eyes snapping around at the mute, vacant backdrop. Rosa giggled a little and tucked tiny hands into her pocket,

"The man, Mama," She retorted – oblivious to her Mama's irregular breaths. The small girl turned around and pointed at a lone tree at the back of the cemetery, "There - mama. There was a man... a man in a mask."