Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Phantom of the Opera, be it the book, stage production or film, unfortunately! Only the characters featured in this story that are not from the original work belong to me.

Note: This is my first phan fiction . . . so please R&R – all comments are welcome! This is based on the stage production and the film (but mostly the film).

Have You Forgotten Your Angel?

1 . In Sleep He Sang To Me…

Christine stood in the centre of the room, staring dazedly at the dozens of her own reflection staring back at her as they spun wildly in all directions. She ran to touch one, but it vanished as soon as she reached out her hand. Where was she? She continued to search desperately for any clue of an escape or a hint of something familiar . . . but all she could see was herself in the mirrors.

"Raoul! Raoul, where are you?" She cried, pleading to her husband.

But all she heard was her voice echoed over and over again off the spinning glass. She fell to the ground in despair, digging the heel of her hands into her eyes, trying to block out the mocking world around her.

"Christine . . . Christine . . ."

Her head snapped up in relief . . . Raoul was with her . . . she was safe . . . but it wasn't Raoul . . . she couldn't see who it was at first.

"Angel of Music . . . do not shun me . . . "

She knelt forward and a muffled sob caught in her throat.

Out of the shadows emerged the Red Death . . .

The night was silent when Christine sat up in bed, her hair damp against her forehead as her heart beat viciously in her breast. She lay back down, feeling the hot pillow beneath her head and noting the empty bed beside her. She couldn't have been asleep for long if Raoul had not yet come to bed – she must have started dreaming as soon as she'd closed her eyes.

She had dreamt of the Phantom often since she and Raoul had left Paris for London, but the dreams had never been as vivid as the one from which she had just woken up from. Why couldn't she just forget him? She had remembered the way he looked as if she had only seen him the day before - the glint in his eye, the texture of the deep red fabric, the way he stood, the skeletal mask – they had all been so real. But what had caused her skin to chill and her heart to race above all was the voice she had heard in her dream. She had never heard it so true to the real sound…it had caused her heart to leap up into her throat in a mixture of fear . . . and longing. She was ashamed to admit it to herself, but as much as she wanted to continue her life as the Viscountess de Chagny in peace . . . her heart also longed for the thrill of music filling her soul once again. It was a feeling that she had only felt twice in her life and she knew that she would never feel it again for she would never see that man again. She didn't know how to react to this thought. She didn't know what she wanted.

She slowly swung her legs gently out of the bed, so her bare feet felt the warmth of the rug beneath them. Not even thinking of putting on her robe, she stepped out into the hallway. Her movement made no sound as she entered the small room next to hers and stood just inside the doorway.

In the corner of the room, surrounded by shadows, stood a small crib covered in an assortment of ribbons and bows. Her young daughter had not been in the world three months but already she had learnt to sleep practically the whole night through without a sound. Raoul had worried about it at first, but Christine knew that there was nothing wrong. The child would grow up strong and healthy for she had drained her mother of almost every drop of energy she had had during the pregnancy and birth. It had taken her and her husband over three years to have a child and the experience had almost killed her.

Christine turned and stepped back onto the dimly lit landing to be greeted by her reflection in a mirror. She studied herself carefully, noting the dullness of her eyes and the dark circles beneath them. Even her hair had lost its life – the once bright and gleaming curls now simply hung about her head, a mere mockery of the colour they had once been. Oh, how she loved her newborn child, but the girl had had no mercy on her mother when she had come into being. The babe had torn her mother apart and would have taken the dying woman's heart along with her had not Christine held onto life with every fibre she possessed. Christine wondered if she would ever live as she had used to or whether she would always have the shadow and weakness in her heart.

She looked for any sign of the young woman she had once been in her reflection but all she found staring back was a near empty shell, plagued by nightmares and torments that she had thought that she had left behind in the Opera House. Where was Christine Daae? She was but a memory of a child who had long since vanished. Christine would never be her again.

"Christine?"

She turned quickly to the bearer of the voice, the shock resounding through her body, making her stumble and fall against the table beneath the mirror. Raoul immediately was at her side, his arms beneath her legs, lifting her into his arms.

"Christine, it's past midnight . . . what are you doing up? You know you need your rest if you're going to get well," he whispered to her gently, his youthful face etched with concern.

She looked up into his face and for a brief moment found herself surprised that she was not looking into different eyes . . . eyes that burned . . . one partially concealed by a white mask…

"I-I . . . I didn't realise it was so late . . . I woke up and you weren't here . . . I went to see you . . . I-"

"Hush, it's alright, I'm here now," he replied, his voice soothing to her troubled thoughts. "I fell asleep in my chair in my study . . . I'd been reading too late. I'm sorry if I scared you."

Christine let herself be gently lowered into her bed and the blankets pulled up over her cold body. She didn't manage to stay awake while Raoul washed and undressed, instead to quickly drifted off into what she thankfully noted in the morning was a deep, dreamless sleep.

Christine slept late the next morning and when she awoke, to find the sun shining palely through the window, she knew that she didn't have the strength to get up. She would have to spend another day in bed, leaving the world to continue without her. She had missed so much over the last few months – Raoul had to attend functions and parties alone, her new friends went to the theatre or to dinner without her . . . but what pained her most of all was the fact that she was not capable to care for or nurse her own child. She felt as if she barely knew her.

She lay in bed for what seemed like hours, listening to the noises of the house around her, before anyone looked in on her.

Lucy, the young maid, stepped in and smiled brightly at the woman in the bed, but Christine registered the brief look of concern flicker across her face. She must have been looking as bad as she felt.

"Good morning, madame." She smiled again, and Christine smiled back, always amused at the young London girl's attempt at a French accent.

"Is it still morning?" Christine asked, turning to see the sun high in the sky out of her window.

"Indeed it is, ma'am, but not for much longer I might add," she replied, tending to the flowers by Christine's bedside. She cast her gaze briefly in her mistress's direction. "Do you wish for me to help you out of bed, ma'am?"

Christine sighed and sat up slightly, but then immediately lay back down, thinking better of it. "Not this morning, Lucy, thank you."

Lucy, biting her lower lip slightly, stared at Christine and felt the deepest sympathy for the frail, shadow of a woman who lay before her. She was disturbed by how old such a young woman could seem sometimes . . . Lucy, herself, was barely three years younger than Christine but she didn't feel it. Of course, Christine didn't always seem old, sometimes if she was laughing or with her child, she looked and acted like the twenty year old that she was. But those moments had become gradually much fewer since she had left Paris . . . Christine seemed to be simply . . . fading away.

"As you wish, ma'am," Lucy sighed, turning to leave.

"Wait-" Christine spoke, stopping Lucy from leaving, " can you ask my husband to come up please?"

"Of course, ma'am – I'll tell him immediately," the girl replied, shutting the door as she left.

Christine lay back down and closed her eyes. The images from her dream the night before filled her mind, and she heard his voice whispering in her ear . . .

"Anywhere you go, let me go too . . . Christine, that's all I ask of-"

"Christine?"

Christine opened her eyes and stared around wildly, expecting to see the dark figure himself beside her, gently singing in her ear.

Raoul sat down on the edge of the bed and gently pushed Christine's hair off her face. He looked tired and worried, as if something was on his mind. She smiled up at him and took his hand.

"How are you feeling this morning?" He asked, obviously concerned by her pale face and tired eyes.

She smiled again and sat up slightly, despite the exhaustion it caused her.

"I feel better, thank you," she lied. "How is Matilde this morning?"

"She's fine. Lucy is just about to take her out for a short walk through the park – she was growing a bit restless cooped up inside all morning. I'll get Lucy to bring her up to you as soon as they return."

Christine nodded slightly and turned her head towards the window. She wished she could take her child out, but she rarely went out any more. She could hear the noise of London from the streets below her window - the noise of a city full of life. Yet she still found it an entirely alien place. She did not feel at home there, it was as if she had left a part of herself behind in Paris, yet she hadn't returned to France at all in the three years since she had fled from it.

It was not that she did not enjoy living in London – it was an incredible, bustling city and she certainly found their little townhouse near Primrose Hill comfortable enough to live in…but there was an entirely different atmosphere in the streets of London compared to the Parisian streets that she had loved so dearly. She could not imagine spending the rest of her life in London . . . but she saw no other path to follow.

"Christine?" Raoul whispered softly, stroking her cheek and lightly squeezing her small hand that lay in his own. Christine heard the sorrow and regret in his voice as soon as he said her name.

"What is it?" She replied, imaging the worst.

Raoul stood up slowly, so that he was facing away from his wife. His shoulders rose in a deep sigh and he began to speak softly.

"I have received many letters from my mother recently and I have hidden what they had all said from you . . . but know you must know."

He turned and walked around the bed to stand by the window. She had fully sat up now and was clinging to the bed sheets as she waited for her husband to continue.

"I knew that the news would do you no good until you had fully recovered, but now . . . " He sighed once more and began to distractedly play with the net curtain beside the window.

"My father is dying, Christine. He has been for a long time now and mother wishes me to go to him immediately." Christine could see that he was distressed but she did not know what to say or do in reaction to his words. "If he is to die, I need to be there to deal with his affairs and see to the estate outside Paris. I cannot leave it all to my mother . . . I don't think she would be able to cope alone, she-"

"Of course we shall go to him, Raoul! He has not yet seen Tillie and he would certainly wish to, so we could all take to boat and-" Raoul's look of confusion stopped Christine's words.

"You couldn't possibly go, Christine! You are not even fit to get out of bed, yet alone travel to Paris! No . . . I shall go alone, there is no other way about it."

Christine let out a sigh of frustration and despair. He couldn't possibly go without her . . . the thought of him back in Paris and her alone in London filled her with such a longing that it made her heart ache. And God only knew how long he'd be away in Paris . . . but she understood his point, she knew that she could not take such a journey.

"I hate this . . . you will be gone for so long and I can't go with you," she whispered, trying not to let her voice break into a sob.

He was immediately by her side, rocking her gently in his arms, her head against his chest.

"Hush," he whispered against her hair, "I shall have to travel out there a lot over the next few months but I will return here all the time, I doubt I'll be gone longer than a fortnight on this trip! And I'll write everyday and send you news of our friends in Paris"

She leant back from his embrace and looked into his eyes. She knew that he loved her and that she loved him, but she was still filled with a deep confusion whenever she looked into his eyes.

"Christine, it pains me beyond belief to think of leaving you here, but there is nothing I can do . . . all I can say is that you won't be alone for long."

She smiled weakly as he stood and walked towards the open door. He turned to her and smiled back before he left but Christine was already faced away from him.

If only he knew that she'd been utterly alone for three years.

Please R&R and I'll update soon! : )