A/N:
My goodness it's been awhile. I could give the usual excuse and apologies but, in all honesty, life just takes a higher precedence. I had college to contend with and got an internship over the summer and that left my free time in the small-scale. As for the matter of my Harry Potter story, it is on temporary hold until the one helping me edit it gets her own free time. This story is my way of giving you something to read while waiting as I have another one I intend to start very soon. It's a Labyrinth/Stardust cross-over, so let me know if anyone would like to be my beta. Otherwise I'll self-edit, which may or may not end well. I self-edited this one with the help of a buddy whose good at grammar, so let me know if I made a mistake. As a Grammar Nazi I will correct it post-haste.
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, be it movie, play, or book. Also, this story bears no love for ChristinexEric...ye be warned.
The Point of No Return
The house was once a home of music.
The servants of the Chateau de Chagny, if asked, could recall the sounds of sweeping arias down the immaculate halls, quietly accompanied by soft piano. They also recalled hearing the laughter of their masters quickly following as someone missed a note, and the lovely tune would start all over. But such a thing was a rare occurrence now.
The chateau was home to Christine de Chagny, opera star and newly wedded Vicomtess; But it felt more like a prison these past few days. And in this prison, kneeling before the cross in the chapel of the chateau, the Prima Donna of the Opera Royale could only stare at the martyr on the wall. She watched the crucifix with such deep intensity that she failed to hear the door opening behind her, or the approaching steps of her husband. He put a warm hand on her shoulder, and Christine gave a start. Raoul's face was cold as stone, eyes straining between hurt and anger.
"...Be safe," Christine whispered. Raoul's mouth formed a thin line, but he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. With nary a word he left his wife kneeling on the chapel floor.
Christine turned back to the cross, and winced when the door to the chapel slammed shut. She heard Raoul order the driver to head for his usual favorite, and the clatter of wheels as the driver obediently took off. It was the same routine that they'd gone through two nights prior, like clockwork, and usually ended with the home-coming of an abusive lout. But tonight would not see Christine bathing, grooming, and heading for bed alone. In fact, she had absolutely no idea what would be in store for her now.
With a heavy heart the Vicomtess rose from the floor and tried to hold her head-up-high, at least until prying eyes were off her back. She wandered back to her bedchambers, bypassed the tin tub, and moved to her silver and ivory dressing table. It was laden with a variety of things, all small trinkets that Raoul had bought her the past three years. But her hand drifted specifically to a letter that had arrived two nights ago, right by her pillow. It was an etching of her father's grave in charcoal followed by a single sentence written in black ink.
Return to me, Angel of music.
Christine shuddered and quickly put down the letter, knocking over some of those small knickknacks. Her hands fumbled on the table for the message's companion. She plucked up a deep red rose with a black ribbon tied neatly to the thorny stem. The flower's aroma was bittersweet, and Christine felt tears threaten to fall down her cheeks.
She forced them back. He will understand. Someday…
Christine made a move to grab her cloak, but suddenly stopped. With a sudden vigor she tore out of her room and quickly went into her husband's dressing room. He'd taken his coat for the night but had left his best cape by his dressing screen. She eagerly grabbed the black fabric and wrapped it tightly around her body. It wasn't the same as having him here, but it was all she dared ask for now.
Resolved, Christine quietly left the room. She sneaked out the back, entered the stables, and slid past the sleeping groom. Christine glanced over her shoulder one last time as the horse made a quick pace towards the cemetery. She barely felt the cold wind cutting against her cheeks.
The same bitter wind was assaulting Raoul. It bit at his nose and chin with a fierce rage as the carriage sped down the road. Raoul could have closed the windows, as it was a harsh autumn night, but he needed the chilling wind on him now more than ever. This kind of chill left little to the imagination, and little room for thought beyond survival and warmth. With all of his thoughts cutting him like steeled daggers, he welcomed any distraction from his house, his wife, and...him.
Damn you, he thought. Damn it all…
As the carriage continued into the city Raoul felt his mood sour. While cold was doing its best to distract him, it could not stop him from beholding couple after couple on the Parisian streets. They were all practically glowing from their young love, and the Vicomte couldn't stop himself from picturing Christine and himself in their place. He frowned deeper and sank into the expensive upholstery. The port wine and warm fire could not come soon enough.
But alcohol-induced bliss would have to wait. He finally reached out to close the window, but paused. He saw a woman standing at the steps of the Opera Royale, a woman who was the right height, right size, and bearing the same dark brown curls. She was sobbing loudly, at least Raoul guessed she was by the shaking of her shoulders, and ready to collapse on her knees.
"Stop," he called. "Wait, stop here!"
The driver blinked and pulled the carriage to a complete stop. Raoul opened the door and bolted towards the sobbing girl. She gasped as he turned her around by her shoulder, and the Vicomte's face soon fell. She was so perfect, and yet she was not his Christine.
"I...I'm sorry, Mademoiselle," he said. "I believed you were someone else."
The girl sniffed, and walked back down the street. What strength he may have had began to dissipate then, disappointment weighing heavy. Defeated, he walked back to his carriage.
"Wait, Monsieur!"
A small voice called in his direction. The weary Vicomte sighed, and turned to face a mall boy.
"Yes?" he asked.
The boy, now realizing just who he was speaking to, froze in wide-eyed fear. The lad was holding a lilac silk scarf in his grubby hands, and tried to speak up in a trembling voice.
"Y-you d-dropped this, Monsieur le V-Vicomte. It fell from your jacket." The boy held the scarf out for inspection.
Raoul carefully took the fabric and identified his family's crest on the end. Yes, now he remembered. Christine had worn this the last time they had gone out together; it had been a gift. But how had it gotten into his coat?
He looked up again. The boy was shaking like a leaf, and Raoul felt a twinge of sympathy. The Vicomte reached for his coin purse and pulled out two francs.
"Here," he said, putting the money in the boy's hand. "For your trouble. Thank you."
The boy's eyes widened again. He smiled, nodded, and took off back down the road. Raoul straightened his back and stared down at the light fabric in his hands. He remembered when he gave it to Christine on her birthday, celebrating her first year in freedom. Her whole face had lit up and she'd immediately wrapped it around her elegant neck. She was so happy… he missed that happy face now. On a sudden impulse he brought the silken fabric to his nose.
The smell blotted out all his surroundings in that instant. It brought Raoul out of the crowded city of men and women and back to the roof of the Opera Royale with his childhood companion. He had her in his arms, fingers tangled in her hair, and made the promise of a lifetime in her ear.
"No more talk of darkness," he whispered. "Forget these… these…"
Raoul's eyes snapped open."...Wide-eyed fears."
The driver, who was tending the horses up till now, saw his master go unnaturally still. Worried, the driver slowly approached.
"Monsieur le Vicomte?" he gingerly asked.
Raoul's head jerked up. The driver jumped backwards in surprise as Raoul hurried back into the carriage.
"M-Monsieur..?"
"To the cemetery." Raoul's voice held no room for argument. "Now."
Christine quickly realized that this cemetery was far less calming during the night. Despite the soft light of the moon above, the contrasting shadows held far too much power here. She clutched her cape as she moved between the grave markers, heart rate going erratic. While she was sure that he'd be by her father's tomb, just like last time, the knowledge that there'd be no going back left her at the mercy of each passing shadow. Even the slight skitter of animals made her jump.
The point of no return, she thought bitterly. The ultimate choice.
Against her will Christine began to remember that horrid night below the Opera Royale. She remembered it vividly, water lapping at her ankles, and that frightening ultimatum thundering in her ears. The Phantom, mentor and angel, had turned to a nightmare, putting the life of her fiance in the balance. The fear and agony came rushing back at once, and Christine couldn't bear to take another step.
"Raoul!" she croaked out, the tears finally falling down her cheeks. She sank to the ground with her head buried in her hands. "Oh Raoul...I...I'm sorry…"
Christine...Christine…
Christine swallowed hard. The music continued to float around the graveyard, and she knew that it was too late for second thoughts. She rose to her feet and turned her wet eyes towards the tomb. Holding her head high, she took the next few steps.
Christine...Christine…
"CHRISTINE!"
The Vicomtess turned around. A figure rushed towards her in the darkness, dodging between gravestones. Christine knew only one man who would rush headlong into darkness for her, and felt her breath hitch in her throat.
"R...Raoul?"
He finally stopped a few feet away, panting. The two stood in tense silence before Raoul caught her eyes. He drew himself together, and gently smiled.
"Christine, I'm so sorry."
More tears fell down Christine's cheeks as Raoul finally closed the distance between them. He crushed her to his chest and began whispering words of fervent affection in her ear. Christine brought her lips up to his in a much-needed kiss, forgetting the shadows and the man who was expecting her this night. With Raoul's heart beating against her breast and his arms locked tight around her waist, she felt invincible.
Finally, after the longest several minutes of her life, Christine slowly pulled away. "Raoul, I can't believe you're here…"
Raoul smiled sadly and tangled his hand in her dark curls. "I made a promise to stand beside you, for better or worse. Forgive me for breaking it."
"Don't." Christine shook her head. "You have the right to be angry. I shouldn't be here, I don't want to be here. But, oh god, I couldn't stay away!"
She buried her face in Raoul's cravat, and Raoul gently rubbed her back. As much as she wanted to stay like this, if only a little longer, Christine felt a pair of eyes on her back. Her heart went back to beating erratically and she quickly looked over her shoulder. Raoul's grip tightened, and he glared at the darkness.
"He's there, isn't he?" Raoul said.
Christine didn't answer. Instead, she pushed Raoul to stand behind a tree.
"I love you with all my heart," she said. "So I beg you, leave."
Raoul's face fell, and his grip on her shoulders tightened. "What?"
"Leave, before he sees you. I have to do this-"
"Why?!" he snapped. "Christine, what in God's name continues to make you loyal to that murderer? Do my feelings mean nothing anymore?"
"They mean everything!" she shouted back. "I won't risk you a second time, don't you see?! I won't let you stand there and die because of him, because of me!"
"Than don't go." His words were weaker, him now doing the begging. "Christine, it doesn't matter if I'm taken or you leave, I die all the same. What is my world if my rhyme and reason gets snatched away?"
Christine pulled away and shook her head. She turned her back to him only to feel Raoul's arms wrap around her from behind. There was a long pause before he finally spoke into her ear.
"Do you remember that night on the roof of the opera?"
She mutely nodded.
"I told you I'd protect you," he said. "I failed that when you came here alone, and there's no fixing it if you're gone. All I ask is for a second chance."
Christine stood still for several moments. Raoul brought his lips to her temple, and gently turned her to face him. "Come home," he begged. "And I promise to do everything I can to fix this...to fix us."
Raoul's voice was self-assured, and he refused to tear away from her gaze. Christine bit her lip and looked behind her, knowing full well who was watching her from those shadows. Perhaps she could borrow some of Raoul's resolve for the night and put an end to this cycle.
Christine took another deep breath and looked back at her husband. "Do me one favor: Please wait by the entrance."
Raoul stiffened. "Christine-"
"For my sake, please." It was the most even her voice had been all day. Raoul looked unsure, looking between her and the large, wrought iron-fence. He slowly nodded and kissed the palm of her hand. His looked pained, but Christine only urged him on. Mouth a thin line, he completed her request and walked to the arching gate. He looked over his shoulder perhaps to make one last plea, but decided against it. He left and Christine turned to face her fate for the last time.
Her former angel was standing by the tomb of Gustave Daae. Christine's memory was flawless when it came to The Phantom, and she saw that the only change time had done was the lack of a mask. Yet Christine did not shy away from his unfortunate face. In fact, she kept her face soft as she slowly drew closer. The shadow drew near but stopped when she held out a hand. With deliberate slowness she knelt and placed the black-ribboned rose on the ground. He did not move, and Christine smiled softly in his direction.
"I release you," she said. "Goodbye."
She drew in a breath before turning to leave.
Christine…
She shook her head. "Be free. Goodbye."
The shadow growled, and went to reach for her anyhow. But she turned her head as he drew near, and he found he could not complete the task. While he saw the girl he held in his power enter this graveyard, she stood before him no longer. There was a new star in those eyes, and no room for his music anymore. With a hurt sigh of his own he dropped his hand and backed away. Simmering quietly he turned away from her and vanished back behind the tomb.
The voice slowly faded out, and Christine found herself in her own mind at last. With an elated grin, she broke into a run for the cemetery gate and didn't look back. Freedom...how long has it been?
Raoul, who'd been watching with tortured impatience, gave a joyful cry and embraced her for the second time, spinning her around. As he placed her back down on the ground he finally noticed the fabric she had chosen to put around her body. He laughed and held up a corner.
"This is my cape," he teased. Christine laughed, and her fingers curled around something soft in his pocket. With her own grin, she pulled the lilac fabric out into the open.
"That's my scarf," she said. The two broke into another fit of giggles.
Raoul took the silk fabric one more time and wrapped it like a shawl around her shoulders. He pulled it to draw her closer and to give her one more kiss. Christine kissed him back, resting her forehead against his when they finished.
"Christine, I love you."
"And I you," she said softly. "Take me home."