I dearly hope that this one is better than its precursor. It's certainly more Raoul-friendly. Hoping this will compensate for the terrible things that I wrote last time, here goes nothing…

Ella O'Hara

The Light Behind

Ch.1: The Elder Giry's Sacrifice

Giry's POV

As I watched them vanish into the mist of the morning, loud voices rang about the chamber behind me. A reflective surface revealed that all blood had drained out of my face. " Oh, God." Snatching my lantern, I tried desperately to find a way out of that awful room that would be imminent to my aid the young lovers.

A torch poked around the corner, as though trying to detect danger. Behind it followed a mob of burly men with one cause in common: Kill the masked man.

" Hey! There she is! Don't let her get away!" In a split second, I was bound with cords and plopped roughly onto a stone step. The cords were bound so tightly; I could not even spare the room to flip the crowd an obscene hand gesture. Firmin swept out of the group, his moustache bristling like a porcupine. Andre followed closed behind, his beet-red complexion clashing horribly with his snow-white hair. Firmin jammed his cane under the pulse in my neck. I tried to keep my indifferent airs, giving the throng a bored look.

" Mme Giry, you are under arrest," A stout fellow in a uniform said as he waddled from the crowd, " for acting as an accessory to attempted murder an escape of two wanted people, one already a killer." I flicked my curls, the ropes cutting painfully into my shoulders. " Do what you like. They will escape anyhow. That masked murderer knows more than your foolish passel of policemen ever will."

The stout man rolled his eyes. " Very well." And then a hard blow struck me on the back of the head. I heard a high-pitched cry. It was Meg.

" Mama!" She yelped, rushing to my side. A few other people in the crowd stirred restlessly, muttering about how it was monstrous to go about striking old women, but remained motionless. The room swam oddly before my aging eyes, until I succumbed to the blackness of unconsciousness.

Christine's POV

" Christine, hurry!" he called to me for the hundredth time. My black horse was already foaming at the mouth from exhaustion, his ebony coat shining with sweat. The man on the horse in front of me led us out into the sporadic sunshine of a Parisian morning, the fog thick enough to cut with a knife. He roared in frustration at the earthbound clouds, swiping at them uselessly.

We suddenly heard a loud shriek. " Oh, my God, that was Meg!" I cried, pulling my horse to a stop. The beast seemed happy to find a moment's rest in that shadow beneath that stone statue. He, however, snatched my wrist and pulled me onto his horse. " Leave her! If we are to live, we must flee this city at once!" I looked back in the direction of the opera house, relishing its beauty one last time. Then, without another word, Erik jammed his heels into the horse's sides, sending us bolting off into the waking city, leaving everything behind.