I'm REALLY glad I wrote this story. I've seen all the hate (yes, I admit that even myself has found loathing for the character) for Raoul, and, even though he IS just a character, I'm not sure Leroux intended for him to be the bad guy. but I haven't read the book yet, so who am I to judge? I just wanted to write a fanfic that sympathized with Raoul instead of bashing him. I hope you guys understand where I am coming from and enjoy! Please write a review! They mean so much! :)
Raoul de Chagny trembled in his wheel-chair, his old bones growing weak and tired. But that was just as well, because then he would be able to see his Christine in heaven.
The droning sound of the nasal-voiced auctioneer was only one of the sounds Raoul heard as Emilie, his nurse, wheeled him into the crumbling ruins of the opera house.
Children stared as he went by, wondering who he was and what he was doing here; this was where they played.
Cobwebs hung on cobwebs as he crossed the threshold to his memories... everything flooded him at once, surely not good for his tired body.
There was nothing but memories for him here, sore, painful ones that brought back the sight of Christine's unloving eyes, unable to truly nurture their children. Being kindhearted she had certainly tried, but he had seen the suffering cloud her eyes as she stared out the front window, as if waiting for something. But that something never happened or came, because soon she was lost in her own world, and nothing else mattered to her. Memories flashed through Christine's eyes even at a mere word that had been sung or said to her in her days at the opera house. It tortured Raoul more than Christine's pain when he saw his wife like this, not able to do anything but stare and hold her hand.
Raoul knew that she was happier in heaven; he was almost positive. Maybe she could forget it all... or even better: finally find the man who had haunted her dreams and get a chance to be with him.
Familiar eyes greeted his as he was wheeled up to the auctioneer, still rambling off prices and artifacts without a care in the world. Madame Giry's understanding eyes met his with surprise. She too, had grown unexpectedly quiet after the situation at the opera house, but it was her home. There was the explanation for that.
He shook off her gaze, not wanting to be reminded of anything in the past. But as the auctioneer's partner held up an old, dusty cymbal monkey, its red coat barely visible under the grime, gold cymbals no longer sparkling. He took in a breath. Memories flooded back to him, memories that could not be helped.
He finally admitted it to himself. After years of marriage, he had never confronted her or even admitted it to himself, and yet he had always known. He blamed himself for torturing Christine in that way, but he had been young and foolish. He wanted Christine to be his wife, and nothing was going to stop him, he had told himself.
Christine had never loved him. Yes, both of them had fantasized about marrying as children, and then proceeded with their fairytale marriage. But they hadn't planned on... complications drawing them apart. Christine had known how much their marriage meant to Raoul; her father and his father had often talked about it when they were little.
When Christine had laid her soft, pink lips upon that of that man- the one Raoul had hated with fire at the time- Raoul suddenly had understood. The kiss was not only to save his life, but to tell that man that she loved him. Christine loved this man.
He had seen the horror in Christine's eyes when he had recanted on his word, telling both of them to leave him. That wasn't what she had wanted. She had ben truthful with her kiss. He had seen her go back, wanting to tell him the truth, confusion struggling through her pretty face as she held the engagement ring that man had given her. He had seen her look back at him, Raoul de Chagny, eyes pleading at first and then uncertain as she eyed him wet clothes and hair; he had done this for her. He had seen how regretful she was as she handed him the ring, tears running down her cheeks as she realized that yes, she had to part with this man forever. She hadn't wanted to, but she did. For Raoul.
The monkey was in his hands now, his mind oblivious as to how it got it. He must have bet and won. He was pulled out of his thoughts when the flourish of a blanket caught his attention. All other memories disappeared except for one: the story of Christine Daae and the infamous Phantom of the Opera.
There was one more stop for the day. Everyday he stopped there, visiting her grave.
His wheelchair creaked uncomfortably over rocks and leaves. Autumn colors mixed with a winter breeze, signaling the start of yet another season without his Christine.
He painted a picture in his head, the day she died, and it rung as clear as day as he tried to push it away. It was impossible.
Her face invaded the privacy of his thoughts, old and wrinkled but still the same Christine. She looked so peaceful; the most peaceful she had ever been ever since they were married.
Henri and Madeleine had stood near her bedside, their eyes transfixed on heir dying mother. "Raoul, I'm sorry", she had whispered to him, his hand clasped in hers.
She had drew in her last shuddered breath right after he said that. Her last words stung him, his eyes pricked with tears. He knew exactly what she had meant.
He stared at her grave, her picture on the carved tombstone bright and cheery. Storm clouds gathered overhead, hiding the sun. Before it was completely hidden, it glinted off a shining piece of something halfway behind the stone.
Looking closer, he saw that it was a rose, tied with a red ribbon. A familiar engagement ring glimmered as if it had just been put there.
He leaned down and placed the cymbal monkey on her grave, the only gift he would ever give her that actually meant something to her.
The headlines of the paper shook the town, taking them all by surprise.
"Count Raoul de Chagny Passes Unexpectedly", it read.
