Welcome to my first story published here on ff-dot-net. This story came from listening to the soundtrack from Cold Mountain over and over again, so if you haven't heard its music, I recommend that you do. After reading this first chapter, I know you may think "What the heck is this?!", but please give it a chance. Not everything is as it seems, and we have a long journey ahead of us, as do all the characters. We'll even go back in time after this chapter.

I appreciate every review, comment and constructive criticism. I do not have a beta reader, so your feedback is the only way I can know what others think, and I'm also open to suggestions on how I can constantly improve my writing as well as the story. So please make my month and tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Phantom of the Opera. If I did, I would not have student loans!

IN A BETTER PLACE

PROLOGUE

"It looks nice, Raoul. Real nice."

Raoul De Chagny didn't reply. His face was grim as stone and eyes filled with unshed tears as he sat hunched down in front of the gravestone. Not even a brother's love, concern or any attempt to comfort could take his eyes off the words that were carved there.

Christine Daae
October 1st 1986 – October 14 2007

Called Back.

He had taken complete control of her funeral. No one, not even Christine's mother, had been allowed to arrange anything, for he was sure no one could have possibly loved her more than him. Every song, every flower and every word were in honor of Christine, a tribute to her life that only he, her fiancé, really knew. Certainly not her excuse of a mother could know such things… her favorite flower, favorite song, favorite words.

"We should go, Raoul. It's getting cold."

Raoul looked up at his older brother, Philippe, who looked uncomfortable as always whenever he was at a cemetery. He'd explained once that he'd rather be with the living while he could, since he was sure to be with the dead for an eternity later. An eternity…

Instead of answering him, Raoul asked, "Do you believe that there's something more than this?"

"More than what?"

"This. This life. If there isn't… what was the point? She was so young. Christine was so young, you know?"

Philippe adopted a more sympathized look, and gave a sigh as in realizing the impact his answer would have on his little brother. "I don't know… I hope so. If there is, I know Christine will have… more than this, yes. You know what she was like," he continued, his voice more light, "she could never stay in one place too long. So she certainly won't be lying here for long." He smiled a little, remembering that Christine had indeed been like that. Always going somewhere, always doing what she loved best: music. She could never sit around doing nothing, and if you tried to make her to, at least you could never stop her from humming.

She'd had the loveliest voice he had ever heard, Philippe thought, and he guessed that was why he had never minded babysitting for her all those years ago. And when he'd finally introduced her to his little brother as "the girl with the voice of an angel", Raoul had not only loved her too: he had fallen in love with her.

"I'll go wait in the car. Come when you're ready."

Raoul wiped his eyes and nodded. "Oh, Christine," he murmured after Philippe had walked away. "I miss you."

The yellow leaves flew by in a gust of wind, and he noticed then that it really had become colder. It was November now, and tomorrow was Thanksgiving, though he now felt he had nothing to be thankful for. Last year, he'd had everything, and all of the sudden he had lost it as easily as it had been given to him. How fragile life was. How fragile love was.

They had been happy, hadn't they?

He remembered how she'd laughed when he cut the turkey last year… Apparently, not only could he not cook to save his life, he couldn't even cut it properly. The memory was still so vivid in his mind, he swore he could still hear Christine laughing and saying he should let Philippe do it. He'd never been able to deny her anything, so of course he had swallowed his pride and handed over the knives. She had also refused to let him have his servants make the dinner, insisting that she would be the one to do it. She'd told him that unless she actually had to go out and shoot the turkey herself, she was more than capable of cooking one.

"Don't be silly, Raoul. They deserve to be with their family too, don't you think? And it'll be so much nicer with only the three of us there. You, me and Philippe."

"Just the three of us? What about your mother?"

"She's going away," she said quickly. A little too quickly, he thought. "She hasn't celebrated it in a long time, you know. She said something about going up to the mountains."

He knew not to ask any further. Instead, he embraced her, gently kissing her forehead. "Okay. Just the three of us." He held her a little tighter when she kissed him back softly on the lips.

"Thank you…"

"I'm still not sure if you should take all the responsibility for all the cooking, though. I mean, have you ever done it before? It is a big ordeal! And I think you actually have to make the stuffing, it doesn't come with the bird. And then there's the apple pie and-"

She playfully smacked him on the back his head, "Do you question a woman's skills in the kitchen?" She couldn't hold back the grin.

"No! No, it's not that, it's…" He panicked at his wrong choice of words until he pulled back from their embrace to see her grinning at him, teasing him. "I just think it would be stressful for you. Let the servants-"

"If the servants were there, serving us on Thanksgiving" she said, cutting him off, "do you really think they'd be thankful for it?"


For a few moments, time stood still. He wasn't sure why, but suddenly he loved her even more. She was so beautiful, inside out as well as on the outside. She had pale and delicate features, framed by a glossy mane of mahogany curls. Her large, expressive brown eyes were like the window to her soul and she had pink, full lips that he never got tired of kissing.

He knew at that moment he would have to go look for a ring as soon as the stores opened again. She had to be his wife!

He smiled widely. "Will you let me cut the turkey then?"

She laughed. "You'll have to wrestle Philippe for it."

"I love you."

He had said it many times before, but she still seemed a little reluctant to believe it every time he did. She hesitated a little before she put her hand on his cheek and whispered that she loved him too.

"I do love you, Christine. Please believe that," he said, gently laying another rose on her grave. It was like a small garden there, and he knew she would like that. She had always loved flowers, especially roses. "I have to go now. But I'll be back soon." He kissed his fingers and touched her carved name on the stone, and then stood up. He was about to walk away when he found he couldn't… not without offering at least some kind of apology to her. Breathing was suddenly difficult. "You see, I have to believe that you are… here, physically here, even when you're really not. Otherwise there would be no point talking to you, would there? I wouldn't know where to look, I don't know anything, and I really couldn't function if I can't talk to you. I… you're my everything. Goodbye for now, Little Lotte."

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Tears had spilled down his cheeks, and he wiped them away before he walked back to the car to find Philippe waiting for him.

"You okay?" Philippe asked as his brother slipped in at the backseat next to him.

Raoul looked out the window of the limousine, glancing over the cemetery once more. "No," was all he said.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

I know the prologue is insanely short, but please leave a review and tell me what you think so far, and then the next update will be the length of what a whole chapter should be.

Love,

Adora