Raoul's POV

Oh, Christine, why are you so cold? Why are you so mysterious? And who was that in your room, who so suddenly disappeared? It is almost as if your lover was a ghost, for he was there with you in your dressing room, and now he is not there! I know I am not hallucinating; I heard him—I swear by Jove I did!—through the door. He also refuses to come out from where he is hiding, the coward, or respond to my addresses.

I still am quite shocked and hurt that you can hardly remember me, the little boy who went into the sea to retrieve your scarf at Trestrau. We spent days together--we were inseparable! Don't you recall how I was quite jittery with love for you then? Don't you understand that I still am? How can you hardly even remember those days? It is difficult and impossible to believe that you don't even care about them anymore. Oh, Christine... Christine...

I hardly know you anymore. Your actions are like a knife to my heart. It was a very sneaky, devilish trick to chase away every person from your dressing room so that you could entertain a secret lover alone! Hm! I do not know who this nameless rival is, but I assure you, whatever he has done to change your purity, I will not stand for. This action is so unlike you, Christine. Why would this be a secret affair, except for the reason that it is impure? How could you hide this from us all, from me, fooling us, fooling me, your friend?

I remember that you were once a sweet, charming, honest little girl. What happened? This little secret of yours drives me to hatred of him, your lover. I would not so much oppose him if I believed that he wasn't compromising your innocence, your beauty and purity. As long as these incriminating facts stand, I think you owe me an explanation, and I think he owes you one. You are deliberately deceiving me, and he is deceiving you. I can forgive you if you would just stop and explain everything, but I cannot forgive him; he is pulling you away from me. If I ever find out who this is, I swear, I might—kill him. I just might. I'm already driven into a fit of madness with love for you; who knows what I in my insanity might attempt.

Christine...Christine... your name scars my heart. I heard it being engraved violently and erratically when I heard you sing as Marguerite. My heart is still freshly pounding from your triumph. What an angelic tone you sang with which I did not know you owned! I can't recall a moment you sang so heavenly, so divine, even before your father's passing. Never had I known that you had so much passion, so much love in your voice.

But now bitterly and painfully I recall: you sang for him, your lover, as I overheard you tell him so rapturously. The thought of it brings another piercing blow. Why, Christine, didn't you say a word to any of your closest friends, if not to me? Why do you shield your greatest and happiest—or darkest—secrets from us who love you? Who are you?

Don't think you are going to be able to keep casting me aside, Christine. I'm going to get to the bottom of this affair, if not for your sake, then for the sake of my crazed heart and poor, demented mind, even if it means that I will have to kill this rival of mine, as much as I fear to contemplate it. As a good Catholic, I know I should forgive, and I should love my enemies... but what about you, Christine? He is drawing you away from your family and friends, away from me, away from yourself. Doesn't that constitute as murdering you? I love you beyond pride, honor, title, beyond life itself, and nothing will pain me more to see you being murdered by this false lover and his cruel deceptions. I won't let him destroy or stain you any more than he already has.

Perhaps, then, it is time we got reacquainted, Miss Daae.