AN 7/29/18: This chapter has been edited for new content to clear future plot points up. Re-read at your leisure so future chapters make sense!

She woke up to a screaming bell.

The noise was briefly paralyzing. It seized her chest with an iron grip before she unlocked her stiff joints and looked out at the approaching crowd. The dense smoke of the train engine was engulfing the sunlight filtering through the glass panels above them as they pulled into the station, and Marinne suddenly felt both indescribable terror and anticipation at the same time.

It was unexplainable, as she'd made this journey into le Gare du Nord many times before.

She could only attribute it to the content of her dreams halting so abruptly due to the sound of the train whistle. Her dream… A Korrigan dream… She'd felt the spray of the sea against her cheeks, felt the tumble of the waves as she reached out… to somebody… The blasted whistle prevented her from seeing who it was!

… Or perhaps it was because the brother she'd been leaning against had stood without gently nudging her awake like he ought to have. She found herself with palms splayed across his still warm seat next to her, blinking away sleep-tears and her heavy skin. Marinne gave him a confused and accusatory look.

"I suppose I should have woken you when I spotted Paris," Maurice said as he was pulling on his coat. "But you were snoring so joyfully that it would have been a shame to interrupt."

She rubbed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at once, already cracking her joints in dismay. "Ugh… When you have a tiny nose, Monsieur le Vicomte, let me know how easy it is for you to sleep without making noise!"

He grunted in disapproval at that moniker, but it was only natural that she should make fun of him in turn! He'd only been back in her presence three days and already the teasing was as bad as when they were children.

"You haven't had to share a bed with him, dear sister," another, lighter voice piped up from behind. Felix's fair, smooth hair appeared adjacent to his taller brother's dark locks, and his crisp, pressed day suit was such a stark contrast to the dishevelment of Maurice. "He's quite the talker if you ask me. Did you happen to have a little strumpet named 'Andrea'," he nudged the back of his brother's neck with bent fingers, causing him to twist in embarrassment, "hanging around you in Berlin, by cha-ance?"

And in return, Maurice rounded on him with a headlock. "Most inappropriate , Vicomte! What would brother say?"

Marinne pursed her lip with a roll of her eye, smoothing down the front of her dress. "If you're going to get us all in trouble let me know so I can prepare myself."

The brothers disengaged but continued to stare each other down as Marinne began to stand. "Where is Philippe, anyway?" she said with a shake of her still sleep-gripped head, wobbling slightly. Felix was there to steady her shoulders.

"Complaining to the conductor about what happened in the dining car, no doubt," he said with a smooth of his thin mustache. Then, to his brother, "Maurice! Let my valet handle those bags!"

Said brother had already brought down Marinne's hatbox, unlatched now and from which she removed her straw hat. "Oh no, you're not turning me into a simpering noble again just because I'm home." He tugged and tugged at the largest bag, but it only budged slightly. He grunted through his words as he pulled harder. "I will take... these bags... and I will carry them... all the way... to the chateau if I have to!"

He huffed and he puffed, and the bag took him down with it.

Both of his siblings began to snicker at their brother's expense. They leaned against each other as the laughter grew, and their brother's face darkened. Marinne had to cover her mouth with her hand lest she improperly snort into Felix's lapel.

"Oh yes, laugh all you want. Make me feel worse! You are wonderful siblings, really."

He wasn't quite as sarcastic as his words made out. Felix lent down to help him up, but he shrugged off his fairer sibling's hand and gripped the plush of the bench, cracking his back on the way up. For emphasis, he lifted the bag several times to prove he could carry it with no trouble.

Felix waved his hand in dismissal. "While you prove your worth as our newest servant \, I am going to see what is taking Philippe so long." He kissed Marinne's forehead just before she pinned her little straw hat to her fawn-colored hair. "Meet us at the luggage car, both of you." He clapped Maurice on the shoulder and leaned in, briefly glancing at Marinne to suggest she look away.

She did so as she pulled on her light gray gloves, as a lady properly should. But her ears were wide and keen .

"Listen to me, Maurice…" he whispered. "If he catches you slipping away to Montmartre, he will make you regret it. Do you understand?"

Marinne blinked and her cheeks inflamed, but she said nothing as Felix left the cabin.

She glanced at her brother. Maurice had grown still, facing away from her and breathing rather irregularly. His expression was mostly obscured by his dark hair falling in his face. He sighed.

Swallowing the tension in her chest, she glided over to him and touched his arm gently. "Shall I take one of the bags, Maurie? I think I could handle it."

He turned completely and smiled softly, the dimple in his chin creasing in that way she loved. "No, no. There's only two. But… perhaps you could take your hatbox, at the least?"

Grinning and dimpling her own cheeks, she bent and closed the hat box and took it up. She also gathered her reticule and book with little gilt edges and stood at attention. Maurice brought down the other bag.

"Ready to go home?" she said.

He took a breath and nodded. "Ready."

Marinne tucked her gloved hand in the crook of Maurice's arm as they stepped into the hall. They followed the traffic of the other travellers and finally found themselves on the Gare du Nord platform.

The steam from the engine had finally dispersed and she could see the sunlight as it showered over various travelers. Young and old, families and couples, rich and poor congregated on the platform. They did not necessarily speak to one another, but the same general emotions pervaded throughout the space: a welcoming home, a fond farewell, or a searching gaze for familiar faces.

She glanced up from the brim of her straw hat at the jawline of her brother. Maurice was a bit of a mess, actually. He wore no tie or cravat and his shirt was loose at the collar, and his waistcoat was dirty and in need of a good ironing. He wore his recent stubble with roguish flair, and his hair had been too unkempt for Felix's liking, so he'd lent him a bottle of pomade before they'd left Germany. This he'd used up almost completely to no effect, or so he chatted to her as they strolled down to the luggage car where their older brothers waited for them. His wavy, nearly curled locks were impossible to keep tamed, and she was glad to see a section hanging over his strong brow and cheeks. It felt like he was the Maurice of her childhood.

But it had still been many years since she'd last seen him, and he'd remarked almost too harshly when they'd reunited in Berlin on the change in her face, in the shape of her bodice. Though it was teasing, and out of his three siblings Marinne had his bleeding, bohemian heart, she still could not shake the distance with which they'd accustomed each other.

The hum of the crowd guided them down to their destination. Her heels clicked the stone of the pavement in a passionate rhythm. She laughed with her brother's gaiety, encouraging him to be comfortable with coming home.

"Really though, Marina… What have you been up to these three years?" Maurice stopped briefly to take her little hand very seriously.

She had to pause herself, lowering her head and staring at a missed buttonhole on his waistcoat intently. "Philippe has been showing me off after my debut. I suppose he wants to find me a good match, but I feel as if we are getting nowhere." Briefly glancing up at him, she took back her hand and closed up the hole, taking the edges of the waistcoat and tugging it down so it was smoothed out. "Dinner party after benefit after gala I'm told to put on a beautiful gown and be agreeable, but as much as our brother draws attention to me their interest always seems to fall elsewhere, almost immediately at that."

"That's patently ridiculous," he suggested, digging his hands into his pockets pulling out a silver cigarette case. He sent a rolled stick to his lips and lit it with a little match encased opposite the tobacco. "You're the most interesting person I know. What happened to your swim record?"

"I haven't been to the sea since we were children, Maurie." Marinne raised an eyebrow at her brother's smoking, and in front of her too! She was not going to say anything, however, lest he felt he could not trust his only confidant. She smiled sadly, her cheeks forming the smallest dimples. "I'm not as fun as I used to be, I'm afraid."

"If Philippe hasn't 'found you a match' yet," he said mockingly with an eye roll, "then I'm positive there is no one who could be good enough for my sister." He steeled her eyes and pointed his cigarette accusingly toward the luggage car. "It is not your fault. Trust me. Not many men can handle the strength of a woman such as yourself."

Marinne was struck by the sincerity of her brother's statement. And if she knew him at all, it would be the last of it for some time as he reached his quota for being humble, so she shook her despondency and her head, and laughed (though she knew in her heart that he must be wrong).

"You know, perhaps you're right…" She stepped backwards in the luggage car's direction and stretched her arms, hatbox swaying joyfully left and right. "I am as boundless as the ocean, and no man can contain me!"

And her back hit a wall.

Or rather, the hardness of another's flesh.

"Oh! Excuse-moi!"

"Jag… Jag är ledsen!"

She dropped her book with gilt edges, and felt a bag also clatter to her feet. She bent down instinctively, reaching for what she thought was the book but was instead the open valise of what was clearly a working class individual. It was brown and worn away in places, and the brass clasps were nearly black with age. Spilling out from the opening was a dark red mass of fabric that was so utterly familiar to her that it was jarring.

She touched the scarf with her gloved fingertips, raking them over the pattern forming a "C" at the end and fondling the tassels.

"Christophe…" she whispered.

"Ja?"

She lifted her head abruptly, her few sausage curls bouncing against her chest and the pounding heart beneath it.

The sunlight which came down upon him lit his unruly hair various shades of gold. A smooth, classical face that had grown into a masculine jaw and strong cheekbones. Still too large ears which he never grew into from his youth. Round, gold-rimmed glasses which rested on his straight nose, pushed down to the tip as he looked over them into her face. And eyes of blue, of ocean blue, of lapis lazuli, of forget-me-nots…

There was not a day that had passed in the years since they parted that she had not thought of those eyes.

"Min Gud! Rina!"

Only seconds had elapsed as they'd regarded each other, and he too had slowly recognized her. Marinne stood quickly now and covered her mouth. "Christophe? Christophe! It really is you!"

He nodded with his grin, hair bouncing and skin flushing. Tears stung her eyes as she felt his arms encircle her waist. The embrace was tight, but brief, as he stepped away with newly reddened cheeks and avoidant eyes. She held onto his sleeves, unwilling to relinquish the certainty that he was real and standing before her.

"You finally have glasses!" she exclaimed, touching the side of his frames lightly.

Christophe softly laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Yes…" he responded in French, though his accent was heavier than she remembered. "Though I'm afraid I can't see the Korrigans anymore. They don't appreciate being looked at too closely!"

Marinne — no, Christophe's Rina, a name for herself she'd forgotten she loved — simply radiated the happiness which he'd restored to her.

"Care to introduce this handsome devil, Marina?"

Rina palmed her own cheek, feeling her flush and embarrassment when she remembered they weren't alone. Maurice had discarded his cigarette and seemed to grow even taller. Taking a single step away from Christophe, she smoothed her skirt and cleared her throat. Looking back to her friend, he too had straightened his casual posture, but he held onto his polite smile.

"O-oh, Maurie… This is my dear friend, Christophe Daaé. We spent the first summer you were away at school together in Perros…" For the first time since they bumped into each other, her eyes broke away from his face to regard the rest of his person, and suddenly all she could see was the black arm band encircling his left bicep. Her thoughts trailed away, but she returned to his face when he cleared his throat. His eyes were sadder, and she regretted her perusal. "Euh… C-Christophe, this is the youngest of my older brothers, Maurice."

They linked hands customarily and nodded. "Charming," Maurice said, though for some reason unbeknownst to her Christophe puzzled his eyebrows at this. "Is this the boy you used to wander all over the beach with in nothing but your drawers, Marina?"

Rina swatted her brother's arm, which broke him into a sly grin. "That is not funny! I was a child, you twit!"

"Still, Aunt Elise paints a pretty picture of it at Christmas time!"

He gripped his belly in his laughter, and Rina bore into him with a hateful glare.

"Please, Christophe," she said to the other, more reserved man. "Don't mind him too much. He's always like this."

"I'll think nothing of it, if that's what you wish."

His amused expression eased some of her worries. She clasped her hands at her waist, fingering the handle of her hatbox most nervously. "I suppose… I mean… I should give you my condolences, shouldn't I?"

She cast her eyes downward, wishing not to see how his eyes changed color and his jaw clenched and shifted the muscles in his cheeks.

"Thank you, Rina… I-I mean… should I, I don't want to be… Mademoiselle de Chagny, that is-"

"No please, continue to call me Rina, I insist—"

"She insists, Monsieur Daaé!"

Rina managed to insert herself between the two men and step on her brother's foot at the same time (he gave a light yelp but said nothing further incriminating). Clearing her throat, she began again.

"Is it your father?"

When he nodded grimly she reached out to take his hands, but he merely replaced them with her gilt-edged book and bent down, clasping his valise and taking it back up. "He died abroad… I mean, at home, in Sweden. I was not able to attend the funeral, unfortunately."

"Christophe, I am so sorry."

A shuffling was heard behind her. When she looked back Maurice was stone-faced as well, and she thought perhaps his time in Berlin made his quota much larger than it was before. He muttered his own earnest condolences, too.

"It's alright," Christophe said, adjusting his glasses. "I'm sure he would have liked to know that we met each other again."

Her original tears changed in their texture, and now she held onto the memory of the kindly Lars Daaé, who told her stories and played the very violin now in Christophe's possession. The one who gave her fatherly advice and a treated her as a person in the seaside paradise where she could roam freely. But mostly she was crying for Christophe, who barely looked at her now and who she suddenly saw as missing a piece of himself she could not define.

Eyes glazed with tears caressed his form. She caught sight of his hand pressing the violin against his leg, and she reached forward to touch the case. "How he loved this instrument. And you."

Her smile was an offering of comfort. His own was small, imperceptible except to Rina, who'd been trained to sort out her friend's complex emotional landscape over an entire summer of rollicking joy. It was understandable, she thought now, that such a boy would grow to be such a sad-eyed man. His mother gone, no friend his own age, and living in a foreign country out of necessity rather than desire had always made themselves known in his strangely lyrical voice. A voice she remembered so clearly she could feel it hitting her skin, in fresh waves of longing.

"Can you play it?"

It was her brother who spoke, leaning in over her shoulder with interest. Bristling, it took a moment to realize he was talking about the violin. She raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"A-a little," Christophe admitted, a blush twinging his cheeks. "I'm afraid with it being in my father's possession until he died that I'm sorely out of practice."

"Though your voice is still wonderful, isn't it Christophe?" said an excited Rina. But his body tightened at this, the notch in his throat jiggering up and down. Perplexed, she continued, "My fondest memories of that summer by the sea where when you joined your father as he played. I'll never forget them."

Christophe switched the violin to his other hand, now carrying both valise and instrument in his left. He took his free hand and wiped the back of his neck, still unable to look at her but musing wistfully, "But you have forgotten that I sounded like a choir boy even at fifteen. I was really no good."

Unthinkable! How could he say such a thing about himself? She looked at Maurice with denial in her eyes. He's merely being humble, she wanted to say. But something in his posture and the way he'd recoiled, avoiding her gaze... What a change in him, she thought. Rina began to protest—

But "I must go," he continued, reaching behind her to shake her brother's hand once more. "I live with my father and I's benefactor, and she has been waiting for me to return."

With a nod of his head, he started to walk away.

How fast this was all occurring, without an ounce of her consent! Her breath seemed to be caught in a trap, and her tears would not leave her eyes, but began to sting. She was not prepared to let him leave that easily! Not again, when she'd barely been able to console him properly! Or console herself!

"Christophe!" she impulsively followed, gripping his arm again and glancing nervously between he and her brother.

He dipped his handsome blue eyes to her line of sight and suddenly she was overtaken, without a thing to say or a plan ahead. "I…" she started, feeling the scarlet rise within her.

"Yes?"

"Er… Please… You... must come to our home tonight!"

She could almost feel her brother metaphorically hit the ground behind her. Rina looked briefly at him shaking his head and picked up her skirt with her boot, wiggling her heel a little as if to say "just go with it!"

"Excuse me?" Christophe said, thankfully moving closer. "What for?"

This was working! Quick, Rina… think… of something!

"Y-yes! We are having a… dinner, yes a dinner! To celebrate... Maurice's…" She gripped her brother's arm and smacked herself against his side, threatening him to grin with a pinch in the crease of his elbow. He did smile, but it looked slovenly. "...return from Berlin!"

She swivelled her head from man to man. Maurice finally got the hint. "Ah… oh yes! Really, you should come and show off that 'wonderful voice' of yours. It will make my coming home party a hit!"

Oh, mercy… Party? That was not at all what she'd had in mind! But she hardly had time to muse over how best to kill her brother, as she had to close the deal. Before Christophe could protest, she exclaimed "Yes, please! Our sister-in-law can play piano modestly, and she'd be happy to accompany you."

Both young people were sincerely burgundy, all over their cheeks and necks. If anyone was amused by it it was probably Maurice, who she felt stifling laughter beside her.

"Really, I told you I am not—"

To silence Christophe she held out her little index finger as she opened her reticule and retrieved a small pencil, along with the only scrap of paper she possessed — her train ticket. On the back, she wrote her address and the time. At the end, she left a note to remind him of their childhood.

Your Little Lotte — R.

Before he could protest, she folded it into his hand. "I insist."

Christophe creased his lips but squeezed her hand in his all the same. After a moment, and a catch of his breath she almost missed, he whispered "I will be there." Then, as his fingers curled underneath hers, one by one setting all her cylinders ablaze, he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed them against her gloved knuckles. Oh… how she wished those fingers were bare.

Her cheeks burned. No doubt his did too as his lips parted.

"Goodbye for now, Mademoiselle de Chagny."

She gripped her book with gilt edges as she watched him disappear into the crowd. The dingy brown valise was the last glimpse she caught of him.

"You said his name in your sleep."

She was startled back from her stupor, slipping her free hand over her coiffeur and straightening her hat. "What?"

They began to walk again, this time at a pace to appease their dismayed siblings' faces. "I'm not the only one who talks in their sleep in the family. On the train, you said his name two or three times. I believe you summoned that young man, you little witch!"

He meant it in a joking manner, but Rina — little Marinne, the youngest of the de Chagny children who'd had the mischief teased out of her with a fine-toothed comb — could only grimace at the revelation.

"Please, Maurie… We don't have time! We must find Felix and Philippe and… convince them to throw you a party."

The Vicomtesse practically melted into a puddle of embarrassment at the thought, and Maurice's rakish laughter guided them the rest of the way to the luggage car.

She knew he was right to laugh at her, for she'd acted foolishly. An abrupt, unwarranted invitation to a party that didn't exist might just be her undoing.

But Marinne de Chagny steeled herself for that upheaval in her life. She fixed her stars on a distant memory, and let that be her own personal guide. It was her Korrigan dream rushing back to her, as the babbling brook returns to the dry bed of sticks and leaves.

She'd been reaching out to a golden face, and a red scarf bleeding into the bluest of oceans.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that seeing Raoul's new female name as "Marinne" wasn't too strange. As you can see I wanted to make her relationship to Christophe even stronger, and thus his nickname for her is what makes her even closer to our original Vicomte.

So, we've now been introduced to all of the major characters who have swapped genders: Christine, Raoul, and Raoul's sisters are now Christophe, Rina, Felix and Maurice. I'm a little nervous about all these original characters as I know the fandom isn't terribly fond of them, but I believe they will be essential to the plot of this fic, as it's not a straight retelling but more of an AU with retelling elements. If that makes sense.

Please review! I don't know if you guys are super into the fic if you just view it! even if it's to say "good job!" or "this could use a little work" that would be beneficial!

-Rose