The room was meant to be a peaceful oasis. It was not too large or cramped. The ceiling had a great height and the tall windows brought in a lot of light. There was a door that led to the back of the property where the children often played outside. Snow blanketed the naked, aging trees and even the darkest nights were still bright. The snow lit up the property and the smiles on her children's faces always bought them a few more minutes playing outside. There was never a smile that bright on her face during her own childhood. And if playing in the snow made it happen, how can she deny it?

Christine watched her children from the room they planned to enjoy most of their free time. There were many hopes early on in the marriage. The fireplace warmed the room, and Christine could remember when it was just the two of them. Raoul always took a while to get a fire going. Shadows those wispy little flames made were no longer playful and celebratory. He builds bigger fires now and is more careless about it. He drinks with his friends, gambling away money, as the children play outside. Christine sees the flames as ominous now. Fire crackles as the men begin a disagreement, and Christine stares at a piano in a shadowy corner. The soundboard of the instrument was cracked and there were splits in various parts of the frame. Raoul gave it to Christine on their first anniversary since she complained of her loneliness and had difficulty settling in the countryside. He moved her farther than she thought they'd be after their marriage. Nearly a decade later, she had only visited her parents' graves twice and only when Raoul was with her the whole time. He didn't allow her to revisit her old home, the Opera Populaire, which was closed indefinitely because of the fire.

The corpse of a piano was pushed against the wall, out of the way. It had its own space once, and Christine often played for her children as Raoul would watch silently. She always felt a little awkward at first, but when that music played, it brought back memories. She would close her eyes and see him playing. The children would sing or ask to play and bring her back to reality. But when she was alone...she could pretend.

For years, Christine would sneak out of bed; a single candle in hand as she made her way around the dark house. It was too large for her but at night it reminded her of the labyrinth she was lost in years ago. She would pretend she was being guided by that masked man once again and make way to the piano. She welcomed every little creak here and there. There wasn't much noise around. The property was huge and beautiful with vast amount of land surrounding it. It was in the middle of nowhere and the nearest neighbors were miles away. It was strange to her at first, the silence. She grew up in an opera house filled with hundreds of workers and shared a room with ten other girls. Christine had gotten used to it. She found a way to muffle the noise and go about her thoughts. She never found how to push away the silence, who knew that would be more deafening?

The piano was overlooking the room but still had a view to the back of the property. It was fall then and there was a light rain. It would be muddy in the morning. Christine lit a few lamps, the soft glow made it light enough to see but dark enough to imagine. Her fingers would grace the keys, becoming familiar with them, taking her time to allow the memories to return. A few soft strokes of the keys, they were the higher notes and the sound always made Christine stop and listen. Made sure no one woke. The rooms were upstairs and in the opposite direction of the living space, they wouldn't hear either way. And Raoul was often too passed out drunk to notice.

She would play soft little lullabies at first, and some songs her father played to her. She meant to learn the violin but it would be difficult at times. Her father was too big a loss to touch upon the memories. He wouldn't have been proud of the life she made for herself; knowing it didn't even make her happy. Her other option would've also disappointed him. A masked man in the dark keeping his daughter in the limelight during performances and then hidden away with him the rest of the time. Keeping her away from the public for his own sake. No, Christine's father would have disliked either man.

Christine often played, relived the memories between herself and that masked man who lived in the labyrinth. The man who composed music too beautiful to keep hidden. The man who showered her with attention and showed her the true strength of her own voice. That voice she would run to in the dark, in the months leading up to their meeting face to face, who understood her problems. He provided her the support Meg could not match. And words of wisdom Madame Giry rarely gave her. The opera ghost understood what was to have loss in his life and the ugly reality it was to keep living without them. She loved that man before she even really met him face to face. In her darkest hours he was there, how was she to know he would only bring more? It was beautiful until he became desperate. He was wonderful until he realized she had other choices in life. Then he became ugly and dangerous. He became the man who intimidated her, followed her, and threatened the man she was beginning to love again. Those single roses, with black ribbon tied to a bow were once sweet surprises of his devotion to her. And later, she realized they were mostly reminders he was watching her. And he would always be watching her. But those were the bad thoughts…the wrong memories. In the very end, Christine knew he was just desperate and didn't want to be left. The opera house burning down, the people who died…it was just a horrible accident. It was never meant to happen.

Christine knew his true nature. After she made her choice, and he let them go unharmed, she knew it was never going to be easy. She loved two men who offered her very different lives, and a little dark thought popped into her head. Christine had an inkling that no matter who she chose, she was never going to be completely happy. But she pushed that thought away, and there was a relief she felt with Raoul. He was safe, kind, and loved her immensely. Because she had not seen his ugly side then, she didn't believe it to exist. Funny the things you believe in your youth.

She often played the piano in the middle of night, and sometimes the music would triumph over her reasoning and she would continue to play longer and faster. Play the wrong songs, forget about the peaceful ones and the children would start waking up. One by one, and they find Raoul when they're expecting their mother. Raoul made his way downstairs that night, wakened from a drunken stupor, and furious. He knew what her playing was about. Christine heard him coming, stopped playing and grabbed her candle to make her way back up. And he'd find her, take hold of her free wrist and question her about the playing in the night.

"How often do you really need to think about that man…that insane criminal? That killer who destroyed countless lives in the fire…how often, Christine? How often?!"

The violence that spewed from his lips scared Christine and she dropped the candle. A small fire on the rug and she quickly put it out. Raoul, in his fury, pushed the piano into a dark corner. Christine could hear the soundboard crack.

"This will no longer be played. I'll get rid of it soon." His voice was low but stern. Christine remained in that room until dawn that night. Her little oasis, the glow that it had before was gone. But that was months ago, and he never moved it out. It just sits sadly in a corner, this crippled little thing she once loved, now defeated.