Part 1

"Ten minutes, Mademoiselle."

She sighed and placed down her handheld mirror. It had been nearly three months since her former angel had kidnapped her. Three months since she had last heard of him.

Three months of endless courting from Raoul. And today they were finally getting married.

Of course, to be a Vicomtesse, she had to give up her career, her very life.

But she didn't care. She was going to marry the man of her dreams. The knight of shining armor from her childhood. Her savior from that deranged man.

Raoul. She sighed. Today, they would become one. The very thought felt exhilarating to her.

But why couldn't she get him out of her mind?

It was as if he was an oppressive, thick layer of fog in her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about him, the murderer, the angel…

No Christine, he is not an angel. He killed, he kidnapped you, heck, he even tried to force you to stay with him! She mentally scolded herself.

He's probably watching my every move right now! He is, after all, the Phantom…

Christine frowned. She could not recall one moment since that deadly accident of any odd mishaps occurring throughout the opera. True, she felt eyes following her wherever she went, even outside of the opera house. That was impossible—she found comfort in knowing that the phantom was not actually following her outside these closed walls.

But still, there were no odd occurrences in the opera. No more notes. No more demands. No more strange mishaps. The only rumors spreading about were coming from the untrustworthy ballet rats.

So why do I still feel that way?

She reached for her brush, trying to tame her curly blond hair.

He still has some spell on me, that's why.

But does he really? Or is it just you?

Ever since that night, she had not sung as well as before. It was if, with the forced kisses she gave the phantom, her very voice was given to him. For him.

That man! He has taken even my voice! She thought angrily, pulling the brush forcefully. After all he did, pruning her voice, he had the nerve to take it back!

But it was his care to begin with that began your life. If it weren't for him, you would still be one among the ballet rats. Dear sweet Raoul would probably not even notice you.

That's not true, I know it's not. Raoul would've known me from a mile away!

Then why did he not notice you when he first entered the opera house? He did not dare approach you until you starred in Hannibal. Did he truly recognize you then?

Growling in frustration with the battle going on in her mind, she threw her brush down on the dresser.

The phantom, on the other hand, lied to me, deceived me, attempted to force himself on me…

That was not true! He just demanded for you to stay with him! To be his shining light in his dungeon of despair!

Christine shook her head. No, I cannot think about the phantom. I must think of today…

Raoul specifically wanted to hold their wedding here at the opera house, so, as he quoted to the managers, "she can do her final dance, and then spend the rest of her life dancing only for me."

Except Christine was not a dancer. Meg was. Christine was shocked by Raoul's statement, and confronted to him about so.

"Did you really think of me as nothing more of a dancer, Raoul?"

"What are you talking about, Little Lotte? You have done nothing these past three months except dance mutely on the stage. For good riddance too, as long as you don't sing, that monster won't hold any influence over you."

Hurt as she was, Christine just ate up Raoul's reasoning. She had promised herself so when she went to her father's grave, not wanting to pursue a path of music much longer.

In fact, up until now, she had been anxiously anticipating her leave from the opera house. Why though?

Was it because of him alone?

She wasn't so sure know. A Vicomtesse must not associate with the theatre, especially not with the performers. Back then, it was so, so easy to believe, to think that she wouldn't miss crowds? Nah. Carlotta? Definitely not. Piangi? He's already dead, thanks to your former angel. The stagehands? Never really liked them. The ballet rats? Never had a deep friendship with them. The phantom? Definitely didn't want to be around him anymore.

And now…

She couldn't help but think again. Meg, Madame Giry were just two of many people she realized that she'll miss talking to. True, the ballet rats weren't exactly her friends, but at least they were free and bubbly. The aristocrats, on the other hand, behaved so stiffly and formally, and held an air of arrogance that clearly told Christine, "You're not one of us."

I can live with this. I think. Never being able to see the Girys again. I'll have to consider them dead, just like my papa.

And how exactly did you deal with your papa's death? You cried your heart out until the phantom reached out for you.

Deep down, she knew she couldn't do it. She had not, and still has not, come to terms with her own papa's death. So how was she supposed to pretend that the Girys were dead if they were still instructing and dancing in the very heart of Paris?

And him…

No, stop, stop! Stop thinking about that old madman! He has me under a spell!

No he has not! He was the one who kept you from losing your mind when your papa died all those years ago!

Christine rose from her seat in front of the dresser, discarding the robe she had been wearing and putting on her costume. The final dance…

It was that man's so-called masterpiece, the one that sweet Raoul took from his lair three months ago, and basically gave to the managers.

It was now published under the publisher's name. He never got his credit.

Even with all her resentment towards her old tutor, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him, to have his work taken from him and claimed by someone else.

No point moping around it. Might as well get ready for my last. She zipped the frilly dress on, hoping that he would not kidnap her off the stage like three months ago in the middle of Faust.

Turn around…

She abruptly turned to the large vanity mirror that formerly led to his lair. Is my mind playing tricks on me? Is he calling out to me now? Do I dare?

Her fingers began to, on their own accord, push the tiny lever hidden amongst the intricate designs of the frame that opened the mirror and revealed the dark passageway.

Immediately, she sensed something was wrong. It was far too dark, far too cold, unlike those past times she willingly went down. It seemed almost dead, empty, as if…

Turn around…

There it is again. But it's not coming from the passageway. And it is not his voice that calls out.

She paused, hovering at the border between reality and fantasy.

Do I dare enter? I should settle this once and for all.

No, you mustn't. They will be expecting you very soon.

Why not just deal the finishing blow to him already? I know I want to.

No, he has already suffered enough without you. Don't make it worse.

She, as if in a trance, reached her hand towards the darkness, stepping slowly down the dark corridor, the mirror silently shutting behind her. The dressing room door sounded knocks as it closed.

"Mademoiselle? It's time."

But she was already long gone.