Disclaimer: POTO is obviously not mine. If it were, I would be in it.

Alas.

Fading Light

Chapter One - Into the Night

She looked up at the sky. It was grey. It was cloudy. It was depressing.

It was as if the weather had been taken from Christine's state of mind.

Cold, biting air swirled around her as she sat on an off-white, wooden rocking chair on the balcony attached to the master bedroom. Her bedroom. His bedroom. She sighed.

The grey color of the cement of the balcony floor mirrored that of the clouds in the sky, and when she looked straight up at them she felt light-headed. Christine resisted the urge to look back down, thinking it was perhaps a good thing if her dizziness caused her to faint. At least then she wouldn't be able to think about anything. Everything. Her life.

Christine realized it was more of the lack of a life she had. Always kept in the house, out of sight, away from prying eyes… lest someone see her. She was a prisoner inside her own home, what could have been her dream home, and life. And husband. But he wasn't always around.

A sudden, sharp wind gushed by and stung Christine's uncovered face, and she winced at the cold. Her cheeks, nose, and ears were almost numb from the late fall weather. The November temperature brought a splash of pink to her pale face, but her skin wasn't exactly one solid color anymore. Naturally, Christine had a porcelain complexion, her creamy skin was pale, yet flawless and smooth. It was a large component of her majestic beauty, her skin, and she was proud of it.

But her daily bathing and skin care wasn't enough to keep it clear anymore, for there are other things than blemishes that can be found on a face. The cold finally forced Christine back through the sliding glass door and into her room when her fingers and toes joined the list of freezing body parts. She slowly closed the door behind her and pulled the ivory cotton drapes across, though there was no real need to. The closest neighbor was a little less than half a mile down the road that ran through the countryside where she lived.

It really was quite beautiful, the scenery was especially spectacular in the spring with all the rich foliage and flowering gardens. The deep colors of early and mid-autumn were impressive as well, turning all to gold and bronze. In the winter, a huge blanket of glimmering white snow would cover the ground as far as she could see, resembling a blanket made of some fabric unknown to any man. Christine had worn a dress once, long ago, that could compare to the stunning color of the freshly-fallen snow. In fact, she remembered, it was almost exactly three years ago that she had.

Three years she had lived in this house. A small mansion, you could call it. Ivory with a creamy, light yellow on the shutters to match the double doors at the front entrance, it stood near the top of a hill surrounded by a classic white picket fence.

It disgusted her. The house and setting were almost exactly what Christine had envisioned as a fairy-tale dream home, but the magnitude to which the dream of hers had been corrupted and spoiled ruined the purity and beauty of the house for her. It was all so… fake. It wasn't because of preference that they lived so far into the countryside, it was for isolation. So she would not be able to leave on her own, which had never happened. Christine had, of course, tried. But never once had she succeeded. After a while, she simply gave up. Her soul was too weary from false hope and destroyed dreams that she just couldn't do it anymore.

Her freedom was forfeit, and she was totally miserable. Christine had almost completely lost her will to fight. Never could she have imagined such a future.

Releasing the drapes, which she had been holding up until now, she walked over to the full-length mirror attached to the inside of the left door to her large closet, which was open. She was wearing a simple, pale coral dress. It had fitting sleeves, and a boat neck that was trimmed with a darker coral ribbon that tied into a small bow at the front. The thin ribbon reached all the way down to the bottom of the v-neck collar, which went just past the bottom of Christine's collarbone. A simple, matching wool shawl laid loosely about her shoulders, and she removed it and hung it on a hook next to the mirror.

Her dark hair was half up, and the part that was down framed her face. Christine had made it that way yesterday, styling it so that some stray locks would fall in front of the far-right side of her face. In that position, it shaded and disguised the discoloration covering the edge of the corner of her jaw.

Christine sighed lightly, and turned away from her reflection. It was taunting her, reminding her of the cruelest aspects of her life.

All was well for about the first year, or well enough, Christine never wished to be there in the first place. As soon as they had arrived, Christine had gone mad with rage and released all her anger on Raoul. She demanded that he take her back, but it never happened. They fought constantly, and he always came up with excuses for why they couldn't leave. As time passed, she protested less.

Christine took matters soon after into her own hands and finally decided she would just leave. Yet she was never able to find a method of transportation. It was as if the world was against her. Christine couldn't simply walk, oh no. It was too far and she didn't know her way around. So she stayed put, restless at times and yearning for Paris.

Besides that, there were no other problems. Around the end of that year, everything had been settled in and she began to write to Meg. Christine had hoped to have a casual correspondence with her best friend, just to keep in touch, and later try to explain her situation in hopes of getting out of it when she deemed it safe to do so.

But Meg never wrote back. Perhaps, Christine thought, she was angry with her for leaving without saying goodbye. So instead, she tried to contact Meg's mother for an explanation. Surely there was some excuse for her unanswered letters. Yet Madame Giry failed to respond. This discouraged her greatly, and she was hurt that her best friend and former teacher would ignore her completely. Did they not care that she practically disappeared? What did Raoul tell them?? There had to be some reason she wasn't receiving and mail! Had Raoul told them that… she hated them? She didn't ever want to speak with them again? Threatened them? Told them she was dead??

Christine didn't know what to think. That is, until her first birthday at the new house. On her birthday, she received two letters! One letter from Meg, and even one from the managers at the Opera House! She had been so delighted! The letters were similar, both wishing her a happy birthday and telling her how she was missed. But there was something odd about Meg's letter. There was one specific passage that intrigued her. It read:

"…now don't you be a stranger to me! I'd love to hear from you, and do tell me all about your pretty house! I bet it's absolutely gorgeous! I will expect a letter from you soon, Christine, And I look forward to it! Now let me tell you about the latest in gossip. Well, it seems that…"

And it continued on about little pranks that the girls had been pulling on each other. But how strange, she thought… Meg seemed to think that Christine had not attempted to contact her. How curious, she had thought. She dismissed it as a simple mistake from the postman and that her letters had gotten lost in the mail. So she tried again, thanking them for thinking of her on her birthday. But there was no response. So Christine wrote again. And again. And again. But nothing ever came in the mail. She kept checking, for weeks, months even!

And she eventually gave up. She had no explanation, but there was nothing she could do. Occasionally, every few months or so, she would send a letter, but never got one back.

By the middle of the second year, everything changed. Raoul was at home less, and the servants seemed to be constantly watching her when she was about the house. When Raoul was home, he was usually working. On what, she had no idea.

But when he wasn't working, that was the time she disliked the most. He was rude, rash, and hastily jumped to conclusions. Christine remembered that once she was so tired that she skipped dinner and rested in bed. Later that evening, Raoul had stormed into the bedroom, shouting, and they had a heated argument that frightened Christine so much that afterwards she was shaking.

His bad attitude seemed to come and go for sometime, but around the start of the third year it dramatically went downhill. They constantly fought. He was stubborn and would never listen to her. Christine became less and less able to stand up to him. Raoul put her down, made degrading comments, and developed a violent temperament. More often he would slam doors, and was much more easily irritated and angered. Christine recalled him once throwing his wine glass against the wall when one of the maids told him she was quitting.

He drank wine casually at home, but sometimes Christine noticed him return late at night completely intoxicated. What Raoul had been drinking before he came home, she didn't know. Only that it was a lot.

It was during one of these days that he came home in a drunken rage. Christine remembered Raoul that day well. His face was flushed, and he couldn't seem to focus on what he was doing. Against her instincts, she had gone to him. How she later wished she hadn't. Christine could not fight the worry in her heart, however small it was. Upon reaching him, she inquired about his health, if he needed help, what had happened.

But he had lashed out at her! Accusing her of calling him weak and pathetic, shouting that she was out of place to ask him about his outside life. She was shocked, and stepped back at his outburst.

"I was only concerned for you, Raoul, I didn't mean…" she had said, her voice trailing off as she attempted not to cry. But he had only snapped back at her, calling her weak and stupid. Insulted, she challenged him back and defended herself, chiding his ludicrous behavior.

And then he hit her. Too fast for Christine to react, Raoul raised his hand to her and struck her across the face. Raoul, who had told her over and over again of his love and dedication, his loyalty, how she was everything to him, had hurt her. Christine never forgot the sharp, stinging pain on her cheek. Nor did she forget his forced and fake apologies. It never mattered later, he would always do it again. And he would say how sorry he was, and how he loved her so, and how it would never happen again. She believed him, the first time.

But it continued. Rarely, at first, but Raoul became more violent with time. His late nights coming home heavily under the influence of various types of alcohol were much more frequent, and then he was violent to her. His anger that seemed to have come from nowhere was unleashed on her, and it showed it multi-colored splashes across her body. Her bones had always remained intact, but there were always marks from his rage. There was no one to help her. When night came, he would never speak to her. He simply walked in, changed, and went to bed. It was the same every morning. For that, she was glad.

Christine was occasionally allowed to go out with Raoul or an escort to the market, or town square, or for a walk. She had tried to run a few times, but she was always caught quickly and faced the wrath of her husband. How he managed to get her to marry him she couldn't even remember. But the consequences of attempted escape were to harsh, and she ceased to try. Christine avoided Raoul to the best of her ability, for the fear that he stirred within her was overwhelming. She dreaded confrontation, and was only (close as she could be) at peace when she was alone in her room or on the balcony.

Christine often sat on the balcony all day, reading, or gazing into the distance. She would occasionally hum a random tune to herself, trying to pass the time.

But she never sang. Oh, no. Someone would hear her, and tell him. He did not let her sing. It was like a sin in that house, and she would not commit that crime. The punishment was too much for her to bear.

A sudden slam snapped her out of her thoughts and back to the reality she hated so very much. Christine knew that only Raoul slammed doors in this house, and she could tell he was mad.

Raoul was also home quite early, she hadn't expected his unpleasant presence until hours later. So, naturally, she did what any woman in her situation would do.

She panicked.

Christine would be trapped if she remained in the room, and couldn't just hide on the balcony. The closet wouldn't do, either. And she was running out of time. Soon he would storm up to the bedroom, and unleash his anger on her.

Christine flew out the door and down the winding marble staircase. Hearing his cursing in the study, she ran to the kitchen. Unfortunately, she also ran into Rosa, a maid and cook that was practically her only friend. In the house, at least. The short and plump Irish woman would always see to her after an episode with Raoul. Christine secretly confided in her, and had a shoulder to cry on during her saddest days. But this was the one time Christine was not happy to see Rosa.

Upon collision, Rosa dropped the plates she had been carrying and they hit the floor with a large crash. They looked at each other in wide-eyed terror, realizing that the incident would set Raoul off like a bomb. And now his attention was drawn to the kitchen. He would not hurt Rosa, no, for there were few people who would stay to work in that house. But Christine was in for it this time.

Before either woman could do something to avoid the rapidly approaching confrontation, Raoul was in the kitchen, and he was angry.

"Monsieur, oh please do forgive me. I am so clumsy! But don't worry, I'll pay for the dishes out of my salary and everything will be fine. The Mistress was just about to help me clean up this mess, too, and-"

"I don't think so," Raoul said, cutting Rosa's hasty explanation and defense of Christine off. He was a very intelligent man, however rash. "Christine, I know you did this! You cannot lie to me! What possessed you to lack such simple balance and competence that you couldn't even hold a stack of dishes?!"

"Raoul, I'm sorry! It… it was a s-simple mistake, I swear! I'll clean it all up right now and it'll be like nothing ever happened!" Christine quickly took all the blame and bent down, hastily using her bare hands to pick up the shattered plates. But Raoul was clearly very intoxicated, and in an especially foul mood. He wasn't satisfied.

"Get up, Christine!" His yell and the tone with which he spoke he name made her wince, which was only worsened when she cut her left thumb on a tiny shard. Cradling her now bleeding finger, which was bleeding much indeed for a cut of its size, she remained kneeling on the marble tile floor.

Raoul wasn't in a mood to be disobeyed. Out of all the times he had been furious with her, this was most definitely the worst. Something must have happened before he came home, for his face was now as red as ever and his eyes bloodshot. Raoul was at her side suddenly that before she knew what was happening he grabbed her upper right arm and yanked her to her feet.

Christine let out a small cry as she could feel the bruises that would form under his firm grip and the heavy pressure. Oh, God, please not this! she thought. But Raoul pulled her to him, then used his other arm to grab the her left shoulder, and with a sudden violent shove he threw her against the wall. Her body connected with it with a sickening and a cry out pain thud that made Rosa loudly gasp and beg to Raoul.

"Please Monsieur! Oh please stop this!"

"Get out!!!" Raoul yelled back, though she didn't. He turned his gaze back to his fallen wife, who now lay crumpled on the ground, full-out sobbing while facing the wall. "Stop that horrible noise!"

But she couldn't. His frustration overcoming his desire to harm her, Raoul left the kitchen with an "argh!" and the women were left alone.

Rosa immediately rushed over to Christine, placing her hands gently on the terrified, trembling woman.

"Oh Madame… my dear Christine! I-I'm so sorry! I just don't know what to do anymore!" Rosa's pained expression expressed her extreme concern for the poor girl. "Oh come here, my child, it will all be alright now. I promise." Rosa thought hard. This was too horrible! She shouldn't have to fear her husband! No, she wouldn't get hurt anymore. It was just too much.

Christine had calmed somewhat from Rosa's words of comfort, and allowed her to help her sit up with her back against the wall. Rosa thought some more, seeing the misery in Christine's eyes… and her heart.

"Madame," she whispered quickly, and Christine wearily looked up at her. "You have to leave this place. You can't stay like this any longer! Oh…" She glanced around, and found no one to be near. They all distanced themselves when a scene like this occurred. "Christine… go. Just go! He's upstairs now, locked up in your bedroom no doubt. Please, this may be the only time no one can stop you! You can escape now!"

Christine considered only for a moment Rosa's plea, then nodded her head. Rosa gestured for Christine to stay put, and left for a moment. She returned with an old brown bag, and simply slung it over the now standing Christine's shoulder and across her torso.

The weight caused her to droop a bit, but she stood up again and looked at Rosa, who was doing something to her feet. Rosa had removed her own shoes, the signaled to Christine to lift her foot. The maid put her servant's shoes on Christine's feet, replacing her uncomfortable heels.

It was all so rushed, and after being beaten so, barely comprehendible to Christine. But somehow within a few minutes Rosa had given her comfortable shoes, two heavy shawls, dumped a few small coins into the bag she wore, and was pushing her out the servant's door in the back of the house.

"Just follow the main road straight, that way. It's nearly a full moon, so you'll have enough light during the night. It should only take a few days, three at most, to get to the marketplace. Travel at night, the won't catch you. Stay off the road! One you get into town, you can get a ride to wherever you need to go. You've got money, food, and enough to keep you warm. Now hurry! Go!" And she pushed Christine out the door. "Don't look back, and don't stop! Be careful!"

Christine gave her a quick hug, and quietly thanked her. They smiled at each other, and then Christine turned and ran as best she could into the night.

Whee! Grr Raoul. Sorry, he just annoys me. Had to make him evil.

Review Responses:

Kaya DC Pandora: Yay my first reviewer! I try not to sound too cliché, glad you like it!

Sarab: Glad you liked it, and I am, of course, adding another chapter soon! Within the nezt three days probably.

anonymous: I'm happy I could finally give youa story you liked! Chapter three should be a long one.

Countess Alana: You'll have to see! (but if you want to know, all phics I read are E/C :)) I do plan on bringning Erik in in either the next chapter or the one after that. I'll see how this story goes with the readers first.

Cerebralgoddess18: I am with you all the freakin way! I heart him. The Phantom is the best ever! The movie was really good, though I can't remember if she ever called him Erik. I think they cut it out, grr. pout It would SO rock if Raoul was poof gone! Alternative ending? That would rock more. :)

Sue Raven: Anxious is good! Hope you liked chapter two, from here on it should pick up. Might discuss earlier events a bit in chapter three, though. Keep reading!

Ceez: Thanks for the enocouragement! But eep! I hope you don't like Raoulmuch (couldn't tell if you did, I am slightly challenged sometimes...), or I may have lost you as a reader! I hope not though, luv.

michelle: That's exactly why I started this. :) There were just SO many better endings, I had to make one! And yea, off the planet with him!

Wow I reread this and found so many freakin errors it scared me. I love spellcheck.