A/N: The words in Italics represent a dream.
"Papa?" Christine said. She was sitting in the grass of a meadow beside her father. Her face was framed by daisies. They were in the country- side outside of Paris. It was their next destination. He was playing his violin beside her, something that resembled a Mozart piece, but with his own flair.
"Yes, my dear?" He said while picking out notes to his next piece on the violin.
"You once said that I resembled Maman," She said softly. Her father turned his wise eyes her way. She noticed that smile lines were beginning to grace his face around his mouth, and that his dark brown hair was slightly grayed in spots, especially on his beard.
"I did at that my little one," He smiled gently. "Why do you bring up this now?"
"Because...well, I've just been trying to remember what she was like. All I can remember is her perfume. It smelled like summer roses,"
"She died while giving birth to you," Her papa said seriously. "I don't know how you would know this," His voice caught. She watched him study the trees and flowers around them.
"I smelled it everywhere in our little cottage as a girl, Papa. Somehow I just knew I smelled her, like she had left a part of herself behind for us to remember,," Christine said earnestly.
"I gave her that perfume two months before we married," He whispered. "When she would run out I would save up secretly to buy her a new bottle. They were so expensive that I had to work even harder to put food on the table for her, all the while saving up for that little bottle of perfume that smelled of summer roses,"
"I'm glad I remember that," Christine smiled softly. A breeze toyed with her curls.
"You have her eyes," He said slowly. "Those eyes," He sounded distant to her. "That's what I first saw when I met her. All I could think of was "Daae! You better not mess this meeting up or you'll spend the rest of your life alone!" That prompted me to be really gentlemen-like about everything. I opened the door for her, and I kissed her hand when I introduced myself,"
"Oh Papa," Christine laughed. His eyes sparkled with the memory.
"Yes little one, you have her eyes, and you possess her grace and love," He placed his hand in hers. "I will always love both of you,"
"Papa!" Christine whispered jerking awake. She blinked several times. Where was she? Oh yes. She was still in her dressing-room on the small silken couch. She must have fallen asleep. It had been a dream! She felt so cheated! Her papa had been there! She almost felt his warm hand on hers. He seemed so real. She shook her head slightly. It would do no good to grieve over what had been lost, it would never return no matter how hard she wept. She noticed that her book had slipped from her hands and had fallen to the floor while she slept. The pages were slightly bent. She shook the book slightly to put the pages back to rights. Meg would probably be worried sick about where she was. How late was it? She turned and turned down the kerosene lamp until the flame flickered out. In the dim shadows of the dressing room could make out something foreign on the carpet by the door. She bent down to pick it up. It was the blood-red rose that Raoul had given her. It must have some how fallen from the vanity table she had so lovingly placed it on. Its petals were mussed and it looked as if someone had purposely tried to tamper with its beauty. She shivered and gazed around her dressing-room. How had the rose fallen so far from her vanity table?
A/N: R&R...