Title: Muse
Author: kire evoli
Pairing: ErikChristine (because Raoul thinks hes soooo cool. )
Rating: PG-13 (just a guess here but nothing I write is ever really below that. Might go higher? We'll see.)
Disclaimer: Sadly, and how ever much my little heart may break everytime I say this, I do not own 'The Phantom of the Opera' or Erik or Christine or anyone else...-- sigh If only I did...
Warning: Raoul-bashing, abnormally cranky Raoul. I don't really fancy the Vicomte so it may look like he's going to get some love but bah.
Genre: Romance/Drama
Summary: Raoul goes mad when he finds out that Christine, his fiancé, still yearns for the love of her phantom. Takes place a few days after the happenings in the labyrinth.
Author's Notes: Wonderful reviewers! You're all so inspiring! I love you all! So I reward you with chapter three! And to all of you unhorsely people out there Hackneys are a breed of high stepping/pacing horses from Great Britain that are great for carriage/coach driving. Just a tidbit of my animal knowledge. Anyways, more hugs to my friendly reviewers! Keep reading!
Muse: Chapter Three
It had to be early enough, Christine thought as she felt the mattress ruffle under Raoul's adjustment. It was obviously still dark and she knew that he had been fast asleep for hours by now. Gently sliding out of the bed she was careful not to make any noise that would awaken him. Changing would surely wake him, the crinkling of her dress material would be enough to wake anyone. She cautiously picked up one of her dresses that was tossed over a chair behind the changing screen and hung it over her arm. She moved as silently as she could towards the door, putting her enforced ballet etiquette into everyday use. The door opened silently allowing her to slip out and close the door enough so that the small bit of light from the hallway didn't creep in. "Forgive me Raoul. I know how many times you tell me to forget about it…" She whispered hurrying down the stairs. "But now I can't. Not with this. I can't keep this and forget about it."
The early morning air was cold, especially in her nightdress and Christine hurried to their personal stable. Upon entering she found the man she was looking for, fast asleep on a stool, his head hung over on a stall door. She tapped his shoulder lightly as he sprung awake.
"Miss Daaé! What are you…?"
'Shh!" She verbally silenced him. "I need you to get the carriage and horses ready."
"But miss it's…"
"I know. Please, and the Vicomte will not be accompanying me. I must go alone."
The coachman stood up and began to gather the horses' harnesses. "Where to Miss Daaé?"
"The Opera Populaire." She answered while she entered an unused stall and slipped on her dress as quickly as she could. While waiting for the coachman to finish the preparations on the carriage she searched the barn for a spare cloak. It was awfully cold outside at this time of morning and in her rush to escape her room she had forgotten to pick up one.
"Miss, please." The coachman pleaded as he handed her his cloak. "Wear this. The Vicomte would have me murdered if he found out I didn't properly care for you."
"But the opera house is hours away! What will you wear!?" Christine asked trying to hand the cloak back to the man.
He tipped his hat. "Don't you worry about me Miss. Just as long as you're warm." He offered her a hand into the carriage and then hopped up into the front seat. With a click of his tongue and a crack of the reins the team of four hackneys was off, their hooves clacking against the cobblestone in a fast rhythm that matched their body movements.
Christine's mind wandered the entire ride. She stared at the mysterious ring that she found hidden in her suitcase, watched as it caressed her finger, so close to her engagement ring. This had to be a sin, she thought. She knew she shouldn't have put the ring on for it seemed to burn all the way up her arm and into her heart. "This ring is everything I didn't want. Everything I tried to run from." She whispered so silently that she almost didn't even hear it. This was his ring, his way of forcing her to stay with him and she regretted ever putting it on when she found it. Yet, the longer she stared the softer her heart grew for it. " It's a very pretty ring. I wonder where he got it." He had never told her where he got anything but she knew he had to go outside somewhere to buy a ring. "He wouldn't have… no. He had to have bought it somewhere." A small smile came to her lips the more she thought about him finding a ring for her. "Why didn't I ever see the value before?" The ring had the same meaning as Raoul's, the same amount of love was put into finding it. Why didn't she understand this before? "Because I was afraid." She sighed at the answer to her own question. She continued to stare at the ring in such depth that Raoul's ring seemed to vanish in her mind. It now shined even brighter than last night and she felt ashamed when she remembered how she once thought of it as hideous. "I thought his love was hideous." She brought a hand to her heart and shivered as it brushed up against the cool gold of the locket. "Father, no one's love is ever hideous...right?" She now felt as if she needed to go back for more than to return a ring, she felt guilty.
The sun began to rise and Christine wondered how much longer it would take before they reached the Populaire. She was still tired, she couldn't remember how much sleep she had that night. A sick feeling in her stomach kept her awake, a deep seeded worry about fleeing before Raoul woke up. She thought about sleeping but soon recognized buildings. "We're almost there?"
The coachman turned and nodded. "Yes Miss, just a bit further."
Christine knew well enough that she wouldn't be able to sleep even if she tried for now the worry that infested her stomach was that of confronting Erik again.
The carriage stopped and she was escorted out by the young coachman. "Miss, I will await your return."
"That isn't necessary." She put a hand up as if to get his attention quicker. "I will find another coach home, you need not wait for me, I haven't the slightest idea on when I shall be done." With that she turned and left the dazed man not wishing to pursue any further conversation, but made sure that he had left by listening for the sounds of departing hooves and wheels before she entered the grand opera house.
It was still early but she half expected the house to be busy with rehearsals and maids. "Perhaps there is no early morning rehearsal today." She said, wandering through the opera house to her familiar room. When the door was opened Christine felt slightly heartbroken. The room was empty, dull. She closed her eyes and remembered a time when the room was showered with flowers and gifts from adoring fans. Slowly she made it over to the mirror, the door between her world and his. Pushing it open she walked through trying to remember the exact way to get to his section of the labyrinth. She had only been through this way with him before, and even then she was in such a stupor that she was surprised she remembered this much. "The boat! How am I supposed to cross the water without a…" A boat came into view, similar to the boat she had taken before. Stepping into the boat she wondered why it would be here. Half of her wanted to believe that he left it there for her in case she decided to come back, the other half, simply coincidence. She picked up the rowing pole knowing that she would have to row herself this time and with all her strength, pushed the boat along. "I'm pretty sure it's straight along the canal from here." She assured herself as she soon came upon a section of the opera cellar that looked like the place she feared most a few days ago. The boat hit the edge but stopped rather gently and she stepped over the boat and onto flat ground. Her hear raced, like a guilty little child about to confront a parent. She had no idea what to say to him. The night before she had attempted to plan out a speech but what little of it she remembered in the morning dissipated when the boat hit the shore. "Erik?" She whispered, petrified to say anything more. She moved over to the organ, the spot where he usually resided, but no one. She hung her head and ran her fingers over its dusty, ivory keys. "Dust?" Quickly she drew her fingers to her chest and turned around to be face to neck with a man she thought she'd never miss. "I was beginning to think you had disappeared." She whispered wearily, looking down at the two rings that rested peacefully on her fingers.