To say the least, escaping from the clutches of the Phantom did not have the effect I expected to see on Christine. Immediately after climbing into the coach with myself, Christine ( the ungrateful whore ) opened her mouth, seemingly not closing it as a torrent of words forming strict rules rolled off of her tongue. I could not take it anymore, I was fed up and slammed my hand on the side of the coach "Stop it," I snapped at the diva. She sobbed. I smacked her "You're the one who kissed the one I actually love!" I yelled. Her hand rose to her face, as a scream escaped her. The coach halted and I went from it tossing a bit to the driver. I trekked back to the opera house, alone.
As I walked the only thoughts filling my head were those of the Phantom, the one I truly loved. His voice, his smile, the music he wrote, his body. All so masculine, all so alluring. Why I wasted my time with the woman who was a controlling stubborn diva, not even I know the answer as to why I did.
Upon my arrival, rain fell. There wasn't much evidence of any fire from the outside of the opera house. As I entered through the doors, there was an eerie silence. I mentally decided that those who were after him deserted, only after containing the fire in the theatre. As I went, I saw the only room in need of restoration was the main theatre, which isn't that bad for such as Opéra Populaire as large and beautiful as it was. I went to the room where I had first seen Christine face to face, asking her to dinner. An idiot I was then, thinking she hadn't changed since childhood.
In the room I saw the mirror, ignoring all else for they would surely bring back more irritating memories of her. As my hand slid across the glass, it slowly opened and slid to into the mirror's frame, as I expected. I entered, slowly creeping down. I wasn't afraid, if He rejected me, it would be the same as death, if he cut me off before I spoke it was death, all in the same to me.
"Monsieur Phantom?" I called, The boat was there, I couldn't . . . wouldn't go into the water again. "They're gone, Sir," I called across "I hate to come empty handed Sir." I saw the phantom slip from the darkness, his voice gruff as he addressed me "Why aren't you with christine?" I shook my head "A lot happened over the last while, I need to get over to you, I'll explain all. Honest," I said, my heart racing.
There he stood, Monsieur Vicomte. A lovely sight he was, a bit of a fool but, nothing I couldn't fix. A few golden strands of his melted gold escaped his ribbon that lie behind him, perfectly framing his fragile pale face. As I stood there, my stubbornness melted, but I desired more of a revealing view of him. "Certainly you can swim Monsieur Vicomte?"
