Disclaimer: I don't POTO…sadly.
Hey, just a quick update for y'all. Thanks for the encouragement and support!
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THE RETURN OF RAOUL
Raoul smelled the invitation before he even laid his bright brown eyes on it. From within his little pile of mail wafted the faint scent of brandy and good cigars. Sure enough, underneath a letter from his aunt, there sat a light pink envelope bearing the seal of the Opera House managers.
The Vicomte heaved a sigh of exasperation and reluctantly picked up the envelope. He pushed his silver-bladed envelope-opener beneath the seal and sliced the paper open. Inside was a note that went something like this:
Dearest Vicomte,
We trust all is well with you and your kin, good sir. As mentioned in our last note, the staff of the Opera Populaire is in a flurry over our production of "Romeo and Juliette." Everything is running smoothly, of course. However, we are hoping that you will reconsider our offer for a preview of the show. As one of our most valued patrons, we are anxious for your opinions. We are extending the invitation once more, in the hope that we shall see you soon.
Your humble servants,
Andre and Firmin
"Blah, blah, blah," Raoul growled. He was honestly surprised they hadn't resorted to sending flowers and chocolates. Tossing the note back onto the mail pile, the young man returned to his breakfast, though the savory eggs and sausages had lost some of their good taste. Raoul pouted. Nothing spoiled his breakfast like a groveling note on pink stationary. And Raoul loved breakfast.
Speaking of pink stationary…there was another envelope of the same hue peeking out from beneath the business letters. Almost fearfully, Raoul plucked it out from the pile. The penmanship was decidedly feminine. The scent of the paper was decidedly feminine, too…like sickly sweet cake frosting.
It was this distinctive odor of Christine's favorite perfume that killed any weak hope of the letter being from Brooke Leroux. Begrudgingly, Raoul opened the envelope.
My darling Raoul,
I hope you are well, my love. Your absence and lack of correspondence has me worried, for I know you would not willfully neglect me, and so I fear that you are unwell, or perhaps it is Phillipe who is unwell. My dearest, please come to see me. I have missed you so since our last meeting. Please come soon.
Your dearly devoted,
Lotte
Raoul's youthful shoulders sagged. He felt terrible, but he was spared the trouble of drowning in his private thoughts when Phillipe came sauntering into the breakfast room. Raoul glanced up from the letter to shrewdly observe the other man. Phillipe looked smugly rumpled as he bustled about the coffee things.
"Have a good night with Sorelli?" Raoul said.
"And how! That woman is amazing," Phillipe replied, giving his brother a rakish grin.
"Spare me the details."
Phillipe rang to the kitchen and a maid came scurrying into the room with a tray of fresh eggs and sausages. The Comte made a big show of settling down to eat. Upon swallowing several large mouthfuls, he turned to Raoul.
"What's that you've got?" the Comte asked, jabbing his fork at the pink paper in Raoul's hand.
"A letter from Christine Daaé," the Vicomte muttered.
"You don't seem too thrilled about it."
"I'm not."
"Why? I thought you two were inseparable."
"I haven't seen her since the day we returned from Perros and that was over a fortnight ago." Raoul paused, musing his chocolate curls with his free hand. "I don't know what has happened to me, Phillipe. Christine just does not bear any significance to me."
Phillipe noisily slurped his coffee. "Well, Raoul, that does occur, you know. Women become tiring once you find out too much about them."
"But I'm not like you…and I mean that in the best sense, but I'm not one for simply finding a new companion every time the old one gets on my nerves."
The Comte de Chagny shrugged it off. "No one said you have to follow my example. But regardless, Raoul, it can still happen to you. You knew Christine as a child in Brittany. I remember you were both fond of each other. Now you've found her again and perhaps you thought that old puppy love might have bloomed into something else. But you've changed, she's changed. I'd say you are the one who has grown up and acquired finer tastes."
Raoul nodded silently. Phillipe was right. Christine was something from his past and definitely not what he had in mind for his future. As he stared at the two pink letters, the thought crossed his mind to give up being patron at the Opera House. There was nothing to draw him there if Christine did not.
Phillipe's voice jarred the Vicomte out of his thoughts once more.
"Speaking of Christine, Sorelli told me that the Phantom and his companions seemed to have returned at the same time the little soprano did. Odd, I think, though I suppose even ghosts have their preferences. There has already been a scandal over a stagehand who was found drinking on the job…or he died, or something. Then some kid was nearly crushed by falling sandbags. She said it wasn't the Phantom though. What were the names of his companions?"
"The Raven and the Spirit," Raoul answered. The Spirit! The memory of that strange apparition jolted Raoul's heart. She had brought Brooke to him that awful night of the fireworks. Perhaps she would help him again.
"Pardon me, Phillipe," the younger man said, shoving his chair away from the table and getting up to leave the room.
"Where are you going?"
"To the Opera House."
To be continued…
