This fic is rather dark and dreary now, I know. There will be some light in this otherwise black story, I promise.
We're just getting started.
-Nico
"You can't be serious, Raoul"
Christine sat at her dressing table, looking at the man who was once her fiancé with a mixture of fear and rage.
"Christine" Raoul began, his voice soft. "Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre are confident that the performance of this particular opera will bring a large crowd...especially after what happened...the last time."
Raoul was stammering, having been dreading the moment when he was to break the news to Christine that the Managers of the Opera Populaire had decided to resurrect Don Juan Triumphant in an effort draw an attraction and save the now impoverished theater.
It was no secret that the Opera Populaire had fallen onto harder times in the past three years. Following the last performance of Don Juan Triumphant, the gilded opera house had nearly burned to the ground. It had taken a little over a year before it had been restored to its original splendor.
Unfortunately, this had caused the depletion of all of the money the Opera Populaire had amassed during its impressive, extensive existence.
And while the opera house looked normal, there was a sadness, a desperation that clung to its very walls. Christine was convinced that was the reason the audiences had dwindled; the sorrowful feelings remaining within the hallowed theater were too much for even a complete stranger to the events three years ago to bear.
It was the same terrible sadness that had pulled Christine from Raoul. She had drifted from him almost immediately following the last time they had crossed the icy waters deep within the bowels of the Opera Populaire.
Just a few weeks after that fateful night, Christine had called off the engagement. Raoul had been hurt, especially since the woman he loved seemed to have made the decision far before she informed him…
And one night, she left the opera; Raoul didn't see her for almost another year.
She had returned to the Opera Populaire as suddenly as she left, a mere shadow of the woman she once was.
"Raoul, I will take no part in this," Christine said firmly, wiping her lipstick from her face, having just finished a rehearsal for a new opera, which was not going well. She turned to the mirror and began to pull the pins from her hair roughly.
"Christine…" Raoul began.
"No, Raoul. I cannot," she said, turning to him sharply. Raoul sighed, standing behind her and looking at her in the mirror.
She was so beautiful it nearly made him weep.
"Christine," he started again. "I know you adore the Opera Populaire…"
"I am bound to it," she interrupted, her dark eyes raising to his.
"You've told me that you cannot live if you do not live within these walls," he continued, referencing a conversation he and Christine had when she first returned. "So I ask you now…will you not do all you can to save your precious opera?"
Christine looked down, several fat tears falling into her lap with the movement of her eyelids. "Raoul," she whispered.
He knelt at her side.
She raised her wet eyes to his as he took her hands in his. "If I perform Don Juan, I fear it will be my undoing…"
"Christine," Raoul started. Christine raised a hand to stop him.
"It's alright, Raoul," she said, smiling strangely. "Perhaps it is within bitter irony that I will find my punishment."
"Punishment," Raoul said, wiping a tear from her cheek. "For what do you deserve punishing?"
Christine looked down at the man kneeling before her.
How he loved her.
The pain of guilt once again gripped her stomach, wishing that she was capable of truly returning his feelings.
She pulled her hands from his and turned to her reflection again.
"I will perform," she said, her voice sounding stronger, although once again detached.
Raoul shuddered at the sound of Christine's words. They were icy; the lilting bell-like whisper that once defined the beautiful woman before him was gone, replaced with the voice of one with no life left within them.
Yet when she sang it was as if she was channeling the angel she once was; the young, happy girl that Raoul had fallen in love with.
She looked up at him in the mirror again.
"Goodnight, Raoul," Christine said, effectively dismissing him.
He bowed slightly at her, unable to help feeling slightly hurt at her curt tone. He moved to the door and looked back at her once before exiting quietly.
Christine sat still for a moment before allowing silent sobs to shake her shoulders. She cried for several moments before a name escaped her lips in a silent, desperate plea…
"Erik…"