Raoul

I waited outside for nearly ten minutes, and Christine never showed up. I went to her room, but it was locked. I could have sworn I heard a man's voice in there with her, but knew that it must be impossible. I decided to sit outside in the fresh night air for a while.

I hadn't meant to sit out there for so long, but it was nearly midnight when I looked at my pocket watch. Madame Giry, Meg, and a man approached the Opera, evidently returning from dinner.

"Bon soire Madame Giry, Meg," I said, tipping my hat.

"Bon soire Monsieur le Vicomte," they replied, letting themselves into the dark building. The man remained outside, and sat himself down on the steps.

"Are you alright?" I asked. He looked almost as though her were going to cry.

"Yes," he said, glancing up at me for a second. He looked very familiar to me, but I couldn't think from where.

"Have we met before?" I asked, sitting next to him.

"I-I don't believe so," he replied.

"You look so familiar. I wonder, have you been to the Moulin Rouge?" I hated to admit that I, myself had been to that unholy establishment, but I had to know.

He tensed up and let out a heavy sigh. "Yes I have."

Suddenly, it clicked why he was so familiar. "You wrote that spectacular show didn't you! Yes, you did. And there was that whole escapade with the gun and the duke. It was jolly good entertainment. Yes, I remember, you and Satine sang that final song as if you were truly in love. That was an amazing performance! It's a shame what happened to that poor girl though."

"IT WAS NO PERFORMANCE!" He suddenly stood up and was facing me, tears streaming down his face. "WE WERE IN LOVE, AND NOW SHE'S GONE!" He shot me a really nasty, and totally uncalled for look, and then ran up and disappeared into the darkened Opera Populaire.

I stared after the angry young man, and then walked away from the dark building to go home for some tea.

Christian

That idiot Vicomte! Why must all noblemen ruin my life? Is it part of their training? I hate that blasted Raoul. I am starting to strongly regret coming to this place. Meg is always talking, and never stops! Madame Giry is alright, but she's so busy all the time. I really need a friend here; someone that I can really talk to. In the morning I decided to go for a walk through the building.

I wandered the halls, sticking to the shadows mostly; I didn't really want to have to talk to the ballet girls. Many of them were rude and obnoxious like Zidler's dancing girls, and I had no desire to be reminded of them. Eventually, I found a small, secluded chapel. I decided to go there and try to write some poetry.

I tiptoed in, listening to make sure I would be alone, and then took a seat next to the stained glass window. I hadn't been there long, when I heard someone coming. Quickly, I gathered my papers and stood up. In walked Christine, the singer I saw the other day.

"Oh, pardon me," she said, blushing when she saw me. "I did not know that someone else was here."

"I-I was just leaving actually," I said, lying horribly.

"No, it's alright, I'll leave. You were here first. I'm Christine Daae, by the way." She extended her hand to me, which I hesitated to take.

"I'm Christian, a friend of the Giry's."

"Oh yes! Meg told me that you would be coming, she was very excited," she said enthusiastically. Then, her smile faded, and she blushed.

"What's wrong?" I asked, praying that she would not mention my Satine.

"I just- well, Meg told me about your circumstances. I'm very sorry-I know what it is like to lose a loved one; my father died when I was younger."

"Thank you, but I don't need your pity. Losing a father is very different than losing the woman you were destined to be with forever." I hated her pity. Madame Giry was careful not to show any, and that is why I liked her. But Christine and Meg? Well, I could do without them.

I shook my head at her, and then walked out of the room, shutting the door behind me.

"That is no way to treat a lady, monsieur," said a dark voice from no where.

"Who are you?" I asked in no general direction.

"The Phantom of the Opera," replied the voice. The Phantom of the Opera? Rubbish! "The look upon your face suggests that you do not believe me."

"That is correct."

Suddenly, I turned around and was face to face with a tall masked man. "Oh," was all I could say.

"You are that friend of Giry's are you not?" he asked me, staring at me with his creepy, glowing eyes.

"I am."

"Come with me," he said, beckoning me to follow him down a dark tunnel that was not there earlier.