Chapter One
This is Christine's POV
I busy myself, fingering the laces of my dress with nimble fingers. I am nervous. Extremely nervous. My body shakes, my limbs quivering with anticipation. What will happen? What if I mess up? What if I am not worthy?
I blink hard, and swallow to try to bring my solicitous level down. My hands find their way to my lap and fumble around. Why am I so anxious? I sigh and avert my eyes from Raoul's; he sits across from me, expression hard to read.
"You'll do fine.." He assures.
"Do I look alright? Is my dress fine?" I question, speaking of my casual sack-back gown. It's too simple; they will know.
"You look lovely, and there's nothing wrong with your gown."
I know his words are suppose to comfort, but instead I still fidget with worry. I give a small smile and bite my bottom lip.
Raoul reaches across the table to cover his hand on my own, "You've met my parents before at the wedding. I can assure you, Christine, there is nothing to-"
"But that was only once!" I protest. I blush slightly and turn away, knowing it was very unbecoming of me to rush out like that at a gentleman, "I'm sorry."
"No harm done."
I relax a bit, letting the tension that has gathered in my muscles out, but it travels to my stomach, and rests in the pit. I purse my lips and lay a hand on my stomach, prompting it to cease. No luck.
"Look- they're here."
At Raoul's voice, I look up.
A couple strides over, heads high and noses tilted. I swallow once more. When they enter the cafe area, it appears as if everyone is drawn to them
. Raoul's mother is wearing a day gown, but it is ornately decorated in silk, ribbons, and jewels , her soft, brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. His father wears a fine suit, obviously from material imported from another land.
I gaze downward at my common attire, which of course, isn't up to standards. As I turn my face upwards, I gap like a simpleton in absolute amazement at the fetching woman and man walking towards us, as if they are royalty.
In a way, they are.
This may be the second meeting, but everytime I see them I feel awestruck.
"Raoul." His mother addresses him fairly, chin tilted.
"Mother." He stands and kisses her hand, then lowers his body to take a seat. His father ignores his son and takes up his throne next to his perfect queen.
"How are you fairing?" I prod, attempting a conversation.
The "queen" replies for the "king",
"Horrible, if you should know. I've come down with a cold I can't possibly seem to shake, and my husband is suffering severe from arthritis in his digits and hands."
"I'm..terribly sorry to hear it. I hope your cold leaves soon." The spiteful woman sniffs and turns away, and I don't think it's because of her sickness. I'd very much like to show her how I really feel. Maybe a nice punch to the jaw.
We sit in awkward, unbearable silence for what seems like hours, but in reality are only a few mere minutes.
Raoul finally speaks, "Oh, look at the time. I'm terribly sorry, but we must be going." Raoul grabs my elbow and leads me away, steering us far from the cafe where his parents are positioned, dumbfounded.
I am near tears, "they hate me, Raoul!"
"Be quiet; they can still hear you!" He mutters, and leads the way to the waiting carriage. The horse stomps impatiently, nostrils flaring. It is nerved-racked, just like myself.
"I know how you feel.." I grumble as I'm assisted into the seats. I take up a spot near the right window, and stare out at the world beyond. If I wasn't the Vicomtess, there could be a possibility for me to live a..normal life.
I breathe in sharply through my mouth, and exhale slowly with my nose. We're heading through the slums now.
The carriage stops. There are children in the streets, harassing the horse. Raoul looks up, shouts at them. This will take awhile.
I divert myself from the ongoing scene and watch a small girl in a pinafore who's sitting in front of a decrepit house, her coppery hair pulled back in two loose braids. She plays in the dirt with a raggedy doll, tossing the worn thing around. A young boy, maybe of the age of ten, runs up behind her and snatches the plaything away, snickering.
The girl sobs, "Thomas! Bring it back!"
Thomas doesn't listen. Laughing hard, he stands over her and she stumbles towards him, her gait lopsided, her progression not the smoothest. I notice something about her then: her right leg appears to be twisted, at an odd angle.
My heart bends. She has a disfigurement. The poor thing..I think. Then it hits me.
Who else do I know has a..deformity? The Phantom. He's dead. The mob got a hold of him, surely.
I blink back approaching tears and swallow roughly, drawing my attention back to the girl and boy.
"Try to catch it, Madeline!" he teases, dangling it over her head. She jumps, arms outstretched. It's painful for her, I can see it. And it's painful for me to experience. Thomas rips the head from the torso, detaching it and flinging it away into some unknown place. Madeline weeps, crouched over the remainder of her former doll.
There's nothing I can do. I can't risk soiling my reputation, as Raoul always reminds me. Bitterness swells up inside my chest, taking hold and seizing my emotions, until I'm drowning in an endless wave of fear and disappointment; doubt and pain.
I turn away, feeling a single tear slide down my face.
I sit alone in my private room that night, running the recent, horrific events through my mind.
Chewing my lip, I keep myself from another crying spell. It's most ludicrous, and what would I say if Raoul walked in on me sobbing, I would prove to be extremely inappropriate, and he would be very discrepant. I flick my gaze to the dressing table, where a bunch of roses lay sprawled across. I smile and walk over, and pick up a note that lays aside the flowers.
"Christine, Thank you for putting up with my parents- for the most part.
I love you, and always will.
~Raoul"
I stick the manila paper in one of my drawers, and gaze at the roses. So lovely. So elegant. But..something itches at the back of my mind, urging me to recall as it struggles to surface.
Roses! Of course! Maestro used to give me roses! I close my eyes, clamping them tight as I visualize his tokens: scarlet red blooms, thick green stems, black, silken ribbons. Those meant more than a job well done.
Love.
It also meant..love.
Oh, God- Why? Why must I be tortured? I gasp and open them once again, teeth clenching. Can't remember..have to block it out. I put my hand to the dresser for support, and settle my racked nerves. I quickly move them to my temples, and slowly walk away, where I sit at the edge of my bed.
How much more am I going to experience in one day?
Sorry it's so short, guys. I haven't had much time to write, and need to get on to Erik's part.
Please review, it would make me the happiest person in the world! 3
**I'm shooting for at least 2 more**
