Chapter 3-Party
Christine's eyes flickered to the large dressing mirror to examine her reflection, hoping terribly she didn't look too gaudy in her engagement gown. The quiet servant girl Raoul had assigned to wait on her was adding the finishing touches to the gown, and then she meekly moved away from Christine to grab the slippers that matched the gown.
The gown was horrendous, a deep purple that clashed with her skin tone and it was too scratchy, especially around her arms. Christine never cared for the color purple, unless it was a lilac or lavender. She absolutely hated it, wanted to rip it off of her body and set it aflame, but no, it would disappoint Raoul.
Raoul, who had been mostly absent during the week leading up to their engagement ball, had specifically chosen the gown for her. He had no eye for beauty, the extravagant grandier environment he had been subject to all of his life was the cause no doubt. Everything was too much for Christine, she hated her new home, she hated the too prestinely kept grounds of the estate, and mostly she hated the people. All the people who thought so little of her and spoke disgraceful whispers in her presence, unknowingly speaking a little too loud of her time at the Opera Populaire.
Oh, how she longed to be back at the simple dormitories of the opera house, to be back in the company of true friends and attending rehearsals, stealing sweets from the kitchens and–she was so happy, so very content with her life until Raoul walked in announcing himself as a patron of the opera house. Perhaps, if Raoul hadn't–
No, don't think like that, Christine scolded herself. None of what happened was Raoul's fault, how was he to know of the events that were to follow his arrival?
Christine swallowed hard, lowering her eyes from the mirror and trying to push any thought of the Opera Populaire away from her mind. She could not dwell on the past, she needed to prepare herself for her future with Raoul.
"There, all done, m'lady," the servant murmured.
"Thank you, Eveline," Christine whispered, once again raising her gaze but this time to acknowledge the girl who stood behind her, then she stepped away from the mirror and towards the door of the room.
"Do you not like it, m'lady?" Eveline inquired, rushing to Christine's side and taking her hands. "We can get you fashioned into a different dress if you would like, it will take no time at all. I do not wish to disappoint you."
Christine shook her head, "No, that's not necessary, Raoul expects me to attend the ball wearing this gown. I would do him a disservice if I did not wear it tonight."
Eveline smiled at her, "You look beautiful. Would you like an escort to the ballroom?"
"No, thank you, I can find my way down. I will be there in a few minutes. I should not keep my guests waiting. Thank you for dressing me, I will call for you when I am in need of your assistance once again," Christine squeezed Eveline's hands then released her.
"I will await your call, m'lady," Eveline left then, and Christine was alone in the room.
She glanced around the room before her, pondering if she was making the right decision in marrying Raoul. She loved him, but she felt her heart's connection with him had suffered greatly ever since the night she arrived at the Chateau de Chagny. His attempts to force her into premarital sex at the recommendation of his ghastly brother had been enough for her to start questioning if he had her best interests in mind. Surely not, as he had been making every decision for her as if she were a child, choosing what she wore, what she ate, where she went in the manor that was supposed to be her home.
Raoul was treating her as if they were still at the Opera Populaire, posting guards when she slept and having the same men follow her wherever she went. It was rather frustrating never being alone unless she was in her room, even then she could feel the presence of heavily armed guards just outside of her bedroom door. It was highly unnecessary, but if it made Raoul happy then she would not argue, though it wasn't as if she had a choice in the matter.
If only her father were there to offer her guidance, or even Madame Giry. Christine wasn't sure if she could go on living being treated like a feeble child, she would have to change Raoul's mind on the matter, perhaps she would attempt to pull him aside during the ball and speak with him.
Christine's thoughts were interrupted by a loud rapping at her door, and she quickly smoothed out the skirts of her gown and wiped away any threats of tears before turning to open the door.
A familiar man of medium stature stood in front of Christine. His light brown hair flowed down past his neck much like Raoul's and his piercing hazel eyes made her stomach lurch.
Philippe. The name was venom in her veins. What reason would he have to be visiting her room alone?
Christine looked past him and noticed the guards that were usually posted across the hallway were gone and she felt uneasy. He must have sent them away, but for what reason? Had he come to mock her as he did in the past and couldn't bear to have any witnesses?
Though, surprisingly his face lit up when he saw Christine, "Greetings, Mademoiselle Daae. You may not remember me, but I am Philippe de Chagny." He gave a low bow and took her hand, placing a light kiss on her fingers. The contact stung, and she tried her best not to recoil from his touch. Those disgusting lips which spoke such vile words to her all those years ago, now speaking formalities, this had to be some form of trickery.
Christine returned his smile half-heartedly, not wanting to cause any unnecessary disputes, "Philippe, Raoul had informed me you would be attending the ball tonight."
Philippe chuckled, "Well, he did invite me and my wife. I have come to escort you to the ballroom. I hope you will allow me to do so. After all, we will be family soon and I want you to feel welcomed by everyone."
Christine bit back a scoff, she was hardly accepted by anyone but a few of the servants who cared little of the drama brewing about her. She plastered a false pleased expression on her face and accepted, "Yes, I would love an escort. Shall we be on our way?"
Philippe extended his arm and Christine tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, internally groaning at the contact, "This way, mademoiselle."
They walked in uncomfortable silence towards the ballroom. Christine stared blankly at the floor as they walked, not wanting to converse with the man whose arm she held. She had little to no interest in anything he would have to say.
After a minute or so of walking, Christine felt herself being roughly yanked by the wrist into a dark hallway, then a hand was clasped over her mouth. A rough calloused palm was over her lips, muffling any screams into a silent whimpering of terror. Her tear welled eyes looked up into the twisted face of Philippe, his gaze darkened and menacing.
Philippe raised his other hand and trailed it down Christine's neck and to her collarbone, pausing just above her breast, "You have grown into a beautiful woman, Christine, I would very much like to claim you as my own," his hand moved down to cover her breast fully.
She tugged and twisted her body, trying to free herself but he was too heavy on her and she was pinned to the wall. She took up her hands, scratching and clawing at any flesh she could sink her nails into, but they were forcefully shoved between their bodies and held in place by the pressure he was exerting onto her.
"Shh, don't worry, I will not harm you. God, you are perfect," he sucked in a breath through his yellowed teeth, then squeezed her breast, causing Christine to let out a whimper. A barrage of tears fell from her eyes, dripping along her cheeks until they met Philippe's hand.
"My love, there is no need for such sorrow, don't worry, we will be together soon. After I am rid of my brother and wife, we will be free to marry. I know how much you lust after me. I saw it the day I met you on the beach, the way your eyes followed me," he inhaled roughly, and shoved Christine harder against the wall, "God, how I tried with all my might to make you mine, but of course, my spoiled brother had to take you away!"
Christine tried again in vain to wiggle from his grasp, then her eyes widened when she felt his hand snaking its way down her thigh where he rucked up her skirts and reached under her dress. She screamed harder, kicked harder but nothing she did made him stop his advances, his slimy fingers were still on her, moving up her stocking and tearing her pantalettes down.
Christine tried to clench her thighs together to force him away, but he shoved his knee between her legs, granting himself access. Philippe's fingers made contact with her sex and she felt a sharp pain in her stomach, a deep nasea set in and she fought hard not vomit, she could only whimper, but the pleading noises only seemed to fuel his carnal desire for her.
Philippe's whispered obscenities while his unwanted fingers rubbed her sex burned into her soul, setting aflame any hope she had of reconciliation with him.
Christine wanted to scream, call for help, anything to attract attention to her but no one would hear her strangled cries muffled by his hand. She hated Philippe. She wanted him dead. She wanted him to suffer in Hell for thinking he had a right to her body.
"You are really so beautiful, my love. I should take you right here, bury my cock inside of you, but I'm afraid I might ruin your beautiful dress and we wouldn't want that now would we?" Philippe whispered in her ear, his words burned her skin and she recoiled from the hot breath that spread down her neck. "After all, we need to be discreet for the time being, just until I can be rid of Raoul."
Philippe pulled his hand from underneath her dress and eased the force he had laid on Christine to keep her pinned to the wall, then he released his hand, "Look at you, a blubbering mess. I did not know you held this much affection towards me, my dear."
Christine couldn't find her voice to scream, she was too frightened, too overcome with sobs wracking her body. Instead, she sharply lifted her knee, ramming it right into Philippe's groin, hoping it would make him double over in pain.
"You bitch!" Philippe yelled, grasping at her arm, but she moved away from him, narrowly avoiding his hand.
Christine left Philippe in the dark hallway and sprinted as fast as she could back towards her room, never once glancing behind her to see if she was being pursued. She flung the door to her bedroom open and rushed inside, setting the lock and backing up to the bed until she felt it hit the back of her legs. Then she allowed herself to fall to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling into a ball.
Philippe had assaulted her, touched her. Heaving breaths overtook Christine and she couldn't breath. There was a tight pressure in her chest and she couldn't bear the pain. God, why did Philippe have to commit such a heinous act of violence? What had willed him to believe she desired him? She certainly had no want for him, especially after what he had done.
A lump formed in Christine's throat and she swallowed hard. It became abundantly clear that Philippe could be running to Raoul to warp the story in his favor and paint her as the aggressor. Would Raoul believe his brother? Certainly not after the events from all those years ago, but how was she supposed to be around that monster when he would gladly take advantage of her again?
Christine didn't feel safe near Philippe, wouldn't be able to stand his presence during the evening to come, though she needed to attend her party, her absence would only fuel the rumors.
The party! How are you supposed to attend looking like a wild woman? Christine thought, quickly righting herself and rushing to her vanity. She sat and wiped away her smeared cosmetics and shakily reapplied the products to conceal her swollen eyes. Her trembling hands struggled to be still enough as to not smudge during the application, but it was in vain, she was unable to control the tremors that took her body.
"Calm yourself, don't be a fool," Christine shakily mumbled to herself, and after several deep breaths, she felt herself starting to finally relax.
A loud pounding at the door startled her and Philippe invaded her mind once again. He had come back for her, to finish what he had started, she was sure of it. Christine crept to the door, being as quiet as she could and pressed her ear to the flat surface, hoping to hear who was on the other side.
"Christine, are you in there?" it was Raoul's voice.
Relief washed over her and she breathed a sigh of relief before opening the door, "Raoul, thank Heavens you are here. Please, I have something to–" she stopped, Philippe was standing behind Raoul on the other side of the threshold. A smug look spread across his face and he shook his head at her, his darkened eyes burning into her soul.
Christine shuddered then turned back to Raoul, "I have something I need assistance with," her eyes flickered briefly to Philippe then back to her fiance, "alone."
Raoul didn't look away from Christine when he addressed his brother, "Leave us."
Christine looked back at Philippe whose eyes widened then narrowed once again, "Yes, my dear brother. I will see you both at the party."
His glare burned into Christine, then he turned and disappeared quickly down the hall. She watched after him, then once he was out of sight, she tugged Raoul into her room and shut the door.
"Christine, what is the matter with you? Is everything alright?" Raoul pressed, his arms crossed on his chest, "We are going to be late to our engagement party."
Christine fought to hold back tears and ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist, "Raoul, it was Philippe. He assaulted me!"
Raoul pushed her back by her shoulders, his eyes darting across her face, "What do you mean?"
"He arrived under the guise of escorting me to the ball, then he touched me. He told me he wanted to take me from you, to get rid of you so he could have me," she choked out, tears desperately escaping her eyes once again.
Raoul pushed her away and scoffed, "No, he wouldn't do such a thing. He is my brother! Are you sure–Christine, are you sure it wasn't just a misunderstanding?"
Christine's eyes widened and she gasped, "Are you calling me a liar? Do you not trust me to provide you with only the truth?"
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she felt nauseous. He didn't believe her, how could he not believe her? He so easily dismissed her words, disregarding how Philippe had been in the past. The gall this man had to tell her it was a misunderstanding while she still felt the ghosting of Philippe's fingers over her womanhood.
Raoul shook his head, "No, darling, I just–I don't believe Philippe would do that to me, or his wife for that matter. He is happily married and she is carrying his child."
Christine squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to stop crying, "You don't believe me?" she whispered while backing up to the wall to steady her trembling legs, "You really don't believe me?"
"Christine, you aren't thinking straight, not since that night. These past several months have been difficult for you, but don't let them affect us now," he walked forward and caressed her cheeks, wiping away her tears, "Get cleaned up and join me down at the party. I will send your servant and a guard to escort you down."
She nodded, nervously smiling, "Yes, of course. You have been very enlightening with your observations. Don't worry about an escort, and please spare the guards, there is no need for them." She reached up and ran her fingers along Raoul's arm, then released herself from him.
"Yes, my dear. I will see you in just a few minutes. Don't be too long," Raoul replied, giving her one last sorrowful glance before exiting the room.
Christine stared absently at the door for a few seconds before returning to her vanity, where she sat and reapplied her cosmetics once again.
The harsh reality of her situation hit her, Raoul didn't trust her, didn't care for her safety. Yes, he assigned guards to her, but what were they guarding her from? There were no threats other than Philippe and they surely didn't do their duty when he had assaulted her. No, they weren't for Philippe, Raoul could care less what his brother did to her.
This was about controlling every aspect of her life. Christine was tired of control, she wanted to be free, she wanted to be away from the lavish lifestyle of a Vicomte. She wanted to run away and never look back.
One thing was very clear, she would need to be stronger, smarter, assertive until she was able to decide if she would leave for good. There was no place for her in Raoul's life anymore, no place for her to call her home.
Christine sighed and took one last look at her broken face in the mirror, then she massaged her temples and breathed deeply to calm her nerves. After a moment, she felt ready for the party and so, she stood and headed towards the ballroom once again.
xXx
Christine was growing bored of the party, most everyone was disinterested in her apart from a few that didn't know of her time at the Opera Populaire. Everyone that did, knew her as the chorus girl that Raoul saved from the infamous Opera Ghost. No one bothered to ask her of her interests or hobbies and disregarded any questions she had asked them. She was met with forced congratulations and ingenuine welcomings to the family at every turn.
She was sure that to an outsider, she would look like the most miserable person in the world and she was. She was unhappy, and the party had only solidified her need to leave Raoul. She refused to keep lying to herself. She didn't belong with him, no matter how strong she made herself seem, nothing would change that fact.
Christine sighed, staring into her glass of champagne. It was her fifth one, though by her second, she was already feeling rather tipsy. Her thoughts were incoherent and she wasn't sure if she could even bear to hold another conversation while the entire room was swaying around her.
The only thing keeping her in place was her grip on Raoul's arm, though his attention was being given to a man from Nice, to whom he was bragging about his trip to London during the summer, which she was sure would leave her alone for months.
"Dear, are you alright?" a voice came from behind her.
Christine released Raoul's arm and turned to see a gray haired woman wearing an extravagant blue gown. Her face was gentle but fixed with a worried expression.
Christine nodded, plastering a smile on her face, "Of course, thank you," she held out her hand to the woman, "I'm Christine Daae."
"Oh, I know who you are, my dear. You are marrying my nephew," the woman took Christine's hand and squeezed it, "My name is Lillian. Welcome to the family," her eyes flickered to the glass in Christine's hand, "Perhaps you should pace yourself, my dear. You look like you are going to fall over. Though, I see nothing wrong with a woman indulging in a few drinks, I just would hate to see you faint on such a special night."
Christine blinked rapidly, then she set the glass on a small table near them, "You are right, I have had far too much."
"That's quite alright. We wouldn't want to give these blabbermouths more to talk about," she gave a small smile, then her eyebrows raised and she let out a heavy breath, "Now, I hear you were an opera singer, it must be quite the thrill to be up on the stage," Lillian questioned, seeming to be genuine.
"Why yes, it was. I am hoping to be able to perform again soon. It's always been my dream to travel the world and share my music," Christine said, though she knew it wasn't her music she would be sharing but that of her Angel's.
Lillian smiled widely, "Why don't you sing later tonight, once you sober up that is? I'm sure everyone would love to hear your–"
Raoul interjected, "Not necessary, a Vicomtess has no need to be performing. After all, we don't want to put unnecessary strain on her."
Christine looked at him with disbelief, "Why not? I love to sing. It doesn't put any strain on me at all."
Raoul scoffed, then looked at Lillian as if trying to get her support on the matter, though she was only nervously looking between them, "A woman of your status does not partake in such interests. We will find another hobby, my dear. Perhaps, painting?"
Christine nodded, knowing she needed to agree with him, "Yes, painting it is."
Raoul laughed, "See, I will have a room set up for your endeavors shortly after we are married."
Lillian gave an awkward smile, "Well, Christine, it was fabulous meeting you. I must return to my husband. I am afraid I have left him alone for too long. I do wish you will join me for tea at my home sometime." She took up Christine's hand again and gave it another gentle squeeze before departing.
Christine watched as the woman disappeared into the crowd of bodies, then her vision began to blur and she knew she was on the verge of tears. Oh, God, she couldn't cry now! Not in front of all of her guests. She needed to leave and fast.
Christine turned to Raoul, who had turned his attention back to the man from Nice and quickly said, "Darling, I am rather tired, I am going to turn in for the night. Please tell our guests to excuse my absence."
Raoul turned to face her, stooping his head down to hers, "Of course, my love. We have had a long night."
He pressed his lips to hers and she half-heartedly returned the kiss, before pulling away and staring into his eyes. Christine felt nothing in the moment, no love and no hatred. She stood before Raoul and her stomach no longer fluttered and her heart no longer leaped. Just as quickly as she had fallen for him, she had gotten back up.
Christine broke eye contact with Raoul and turned for the stairs, still holding back her tears. Raoul's words had ripped her soul from her body, her entire life was music and she would not be allowed to perform again until she found a way to leave. How was she to live without music? How was she to honor her fallen angel?
She rushed up the stairs as quickly as she could, trying her best not to stumble as her legs felt like jelly. Eveline was already waiting for her and once Christine was sure she was out of view of any guests, she sprinted down the hall and burst into her room, almost tripping on the skirts of her dress.
"Are you alright?" Eveline asked, quickly closing the door behind her.
Christine was gasping for breath, trying to combat the tears that were streaming down her face, "Yes, yes, please. I'm okay, I just need help out of my dress, I can't breathe."
Eveline nodded and quickly got to work undressing Christine until she was only in her chemise, "Is there anything else you need assistance with, m'lady?"
Christine shook her head, "No, Eveline. You are wonderful. I am eternally grateful for your kindness. I just need to be left alone."
Eveline nodded again and the poor girl swiftly left the room.
Christine ran her trembling hands through her hair and opened her wardrobe to find a sleeping gown. She pulled light pink lace from the drawer and slowly dressed herself with her shaky fingers. Her lack of coordination made fastening the buttons nearly impossible.
She had been a fool to agree to marry Raoul. How was she to know what kind of man he would grow to be? But what of her other choice...her angel? She couldn't condemn herself to live forever in the darkness below the Opera Populaire. Perhaps, she should have chosen neither and went on to live her own life, one full of music and traveling like she had with her father.
Either way, she refused to follow through with her marriage to Raoul. His blatant lack of respect and his denial to allow her to pursue her music only made her more furious with him.
Christine slowly made her way to her balcony and opened the door, the frigid air hit her face and a chill ran up her spine causing her to shudder violently. She crossed the balcony to the railing and looked out into the night, letting her tears dry on her face. She wished so badly to be able to see the lights of Paris again, even for a moment. To walk the busy streets and visit the bakeries and shops with Meg.
The tears won and flowed down her cheeks again, plopping onto the railing in front of her forming small dark spots in the gray stone.
Christine was suddenly aware of a presence behind her and she wiped away her tears quickly, not wanting to turn to reveal her swollen eyes. "Raoul, I thought you were still at the party. I am going to bed, so I won't keep you for long. Please, go back to our guests."
Raoul didn't answer her and she felt an overwhelming urge to cry again. Then she couldn't stop herself from speaking, "Raoul, I don't know what I'm doing wrong. No one likes me, and the rumors are getting out of hand. Not one person tried to know me tonight, they all assume I'm some–some whore only with you for your money. I'm calling off our engagement, but I fear I have nowhere to go, so I wish to stay until I am able to support a life of my own. I will be no trouble at all," she paused and sniffled, baffled at what she had just said and hoping he wouldn't be angry with her.
Christine dabbed her tears on her sleeve, "I miss Paris, I miss the opera. I want to perform again and you won't let me. You know music is everything to me and yet you allow me to paint, I don't even enjoy painting. I couldn't hold a paint brush if my life depended on it."
There was stark silence behind her but she could still feel his presence. He was letting her speak, actually listening to her perhaps, so she continued, "I know you think poorly of my past, and of–him, but you said so yourself, he is dead, so what are you afraid of?" Christine paused, remembering her prayer, "I prayed for him–so he could find passage to Heaven. He may have done horrible, sinful things, but everyone deserves a second chance. Even if he had gone on living, I'm sure eventually he would come back to me and we could have become friends. He didn't deserve how the world treated him, and, God, what it did to him, it was so unfair! He believed himself a monster, if only he had someone to show him kindness, maybe things could have ended differently. Maybe he could have seen himself as a man. I wish he had just revealed himself to me all those years ago instead of–" Christine felt her knees buckling, and she collapsed.
Arms were around her then, catching her before she hit the ground. She was pulled into an embrace and cried into Raoul's coat, "It hurts Raoul, my heart hurts and I don't know if it will heal. He did so much wrong, yet I still care for him. If only he had been able to move on and find a woman to love him as he loved me," the warmth from Raoul's body was soothing and made Christine relax slightly, "I feel terribly for leaving him in the state he was in. I should have stayed and helped him. I hate myself everyday for leaving him."
Christine was pulled tighter against Raoul's chest and he kissed the top of her head. Relief washed over her and she was glad he wasn't reacting with anger towards her confessions, after all, he and her angel hated each other.
She buried her face farther into his coat and breathed deeply. Suddenly an overwhelming scent encompassed her mind. Familiar notes of musk and roses filled her nostrils and she pulled from Raoul's arms, reeling backwards against the railing. She tightly squeezed her eyes shut and started singing quietly to calm herself.
That all too familiar scent, it wasn't possible to smell it, it had died with its owner!
Christine held out her hand to attempt to stop any unwanted advances from Raoul, "Stay back for a moment, I just need a few seconds. I don't feel well." She was going mad she knew it. After she took several deep breaths, she slowly opened her eyes.
Christine gasped at the sight before her, and her mouth fell agape and her eyes widened. Her angel was standing before her, half of his face masked in black the other half, perfect and so very stunning. The heavy cloak draped over his shoulders was billowing in the breeze, the faintest ruffling of fabric to be heard. He wore an expression of amazement as his icy blue eyes found hers. His dark form caused her legs to tremble and chest to tighten. Her back was pressed into the railing and she clutched her hand over her chest in an attempt to soothe the pain that was stabbing her heart.
He's not here, it's his ghost. He is dead, calm yourself, she told herself.
She tried to speak but couldn't produce any sounds other than small gasps. The ghost had made no movement towards her and stood completely still, its eyes boring into her soul with a look of longing.
Christine took more deep breaths and finally spoke, "Are you a ghost?" her voice trembled, then after he didn't answer, she chuckled nervously, "Look at me, I'm completely mad! I knew it would happen eventually!"
She placed her palm on her forehead and exhaled loudly, thinking of anything she could say to him, "I suppose–if you are a real ghost, I should ask you how you are doing?"
The ghost finally spoke, a smirk on his lips, "Doing well for a dead man."
The chilling whisper caused a shiver to run up her spine and she felt another sharp jolt in her heart. She hadn't expected him to answer. She studied his face for any anger, after all, she had abandoned him, but he looked more content than anything. The possibility that he had come to find closure crossed her mind, perhaps he was there to tell her he found happiness after all. Her eyes met his and she felt her cheeks warm, forcing her to turn away out of embarrassment.
"May I ask why you have come to me?" she questioned, "Are you a real ghost or am I hallucinating?" then something came to her mind, "Oh God, it was the champagne, I knew I shouldn't have had that fifth glass."
Christine tossed her hands in the air and walked over to the table on the balcony, steadying herself on one of the chairs when she felt dizziness overtake her. Her mind was spinning and she couldn't seem to stop her racing thoughts.
She glanced back up at her visitor, and whispered, "Forgive me, I am not feeling well."
The ghost furrowed its brows, then spoke again, "Did you really pray for me, Christine? Did you really mean all the words you said?"
She could have sworn she saw tears welling in his eyes and wondered what the ghostly droplets would look like racing down his unmasked cheek. An overwhelming urge to run to him and provide him comfort arose inside of her, but she stopped herself, knowing she wouldn't be able to hold him.
Instead, she nodded, "Yes, of course, after all, I cared for you very much. I still feel that I do, I just–" she looked down at her hands, "I wish things could have been different for us. I wish you would have come to me in the beginning. Been my friend. You hurt me terribly, though I forgive you. I don't wish to harbor ill feelings against you." Tears escaped down her cheeks again, plopping onto the chair. "I wish I could have done more for you, Angel. I should have gone with you that night, perhaps you would still be alive. It's all my fault! I killed you!"
Christine's stomach lurched and she started gagging. Her hand clasped over her mouth and she lunged for the railing, retching over the side. The rancid taste of champagne made her heave again and once she was sure the entire contents of her stomach had left her body, she turned and slumped against the railing, wiping the back of her sleeve across her mouth.
Then she started giggling, unable to help herself, "I hope there was nobody below us. That would be unfortunate." Her face turned up towards the ghost to see that he looked worried. "Don't worry about me, Angel. Please, I'll be fine—eventually."
He took a step forward and Christine scrambled to stand up, "Please, I–I know you can't touch me, but I'm frightened," he stopped his advance on her and she paused to squeeze her eyes shut, begging her tears to stop flowing, "Not of you though, I just have never seen a ghost before. I don't know what you want, and I don't know what to do to be of assistance."
He chuckled, "Christine," then he paused, brows furrowing and glancing at the space between them, "I'm not a ghost, Christine. Have you already forgotten that I held you in my arms just minutes ago?"
Christine glanced around aimlessly, then shut her eyes, thinking back to that moment. He had touched her, held her, and kissed her hair. All while she thought he had been Raoul. She gasped loudly and her eyes shot open, but when she tried to scream, she couldn't find her voice.
Her angel lunged forward and covered her mouth with his gloved hand, his other on the small of her back. Dizziness overtook Christine again and her body fell slack against his.
He was real, not a ghost, and certainly not dead as Raoul had told her. Real and standing before her, here for a purpose she did not know of. Her breathing increased against his hand, her whimpers going unheard by everyone but the man before her. She awaited her body's response, wondering if it was going to fight for her, but it never did. The last thing she saw before fainting was the face of her very much alive angel grinning down at her.