Ch. 3: Home Once More

As Raoul sat awake that night, he could not shake the sensation of jealously in the pit of his stomach. His eyes itched with fatigue, but he reminded himself that he could not allow himself to drift off to sleep. He wanted to make sure Christine got home safely.

It was impossible to forget, to ignore, as much as he would have liked to. She had been thinking about him, which drove Raoul up the wall.

It was perfectly ludicrous. It made no sense whatsoever. Every day, Raoul would do his best to be a good husband, to avoid conflict and be as romantic as possible. He thought he was doing everything right, but still, Christine only returned his actions halfheartedly. The troubled young man buried his face in a cushion, falling into a fitful state of sleep, as if the frippery would somehow give him the answers he was searching for.

When she returned the next morning, Christine seemed to be faraway and dreamy. Meg had walked her home, giving a small jump at the astonishing sight of the abject Vicomte snoring on the parlor loveseat. She timidly shook him to consciousness. He awoke with a start, persisting his nonsensical ravings. When he finally managed to form a sentence, he said breathlessly, " Where is Christine? Is she all right?" Meg suddenly giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth, astonished by her own brashness. " Sh-she's quite fine," she managed to choke out, " She's better than ever. I suppose she just has her head in the clouds. Last night was probably very…enlightening for her." She spoke until her entire dialogue was consumed by fits of laughter. Raoul stared at her as if the girl had just sprouted antlers. Enlightening? What the hell did that mean?

" Meg, you are clearly overtired. I suggest you return home and find some rest." She stopped laughing at this and stood as straight as limits would allow her. " I only speak the truth Raoul, " she said her most sober voice, " I will leave now. Go to her. She's in the ballroom." At this Meg stalked airily out the door and down the deserted street. Following the girl's suggestion, he rose and walked trancelike to the ballroom.

Alas, Christine was there, waltzing to the beat of some inaudible tune. She had a big ridiculous smile on her face, humming softly as she danced. When she caught sight of the confused Vicomte, she snatched his hands and began leading him to her tango. This was unusual, for she had been moody and withdrawn lately. She stopped humming and gave Raoul a hug. It was truly a mind-boggling thing to be married to her.

" It's nice to be home. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take a short nap. Can't have me looking exhausted for that dinner of yours tonight." With the finish of her statement, she trotted off to her chamber, leaving Raoul scratching his head in her wake.

Before she left, he noticed she picked up a black bundle from an accent table. She draped it around her shoulders, and the bundle unfurled to an elegant black cape. Before she left his sight, a rush of pink came to her cheeks. Raoul's eyes fell to the marble floor. Suddenly being passed out on the sofa didn't seem like such a bad idea. Anything to get his mind off this eating jealousy and lovesickness, he would do.

" No, Delli, it's a slur from c natural to b flat in the first measure, then a crescendo to mezzo forte in the second." The child stared at the music blankly, cradling her beloved violin in her tiny arms. Erik knew he was doing a horrible job of explaining the piece he'd written just for her learning, but there was little to complain about with his patience. Delight plucked the music from the makeshift stand and studied it closely. " Does the crescendo begin with a set of sixteenth notes and end with an eighth?" She said slowly, as though comprehending while she formed the words. Erik smiled inwardly. She was catching on quickly.

" Precisely. Now, give it another try." It was getting late and he could tell both of them were fading fast. As his daughter picked out the notes of the simple tune, her face lit up with triumph. With this new expression, she looked like a whole new person. In fact, she looked just like…Christine. Erik cocked his head and squinted while he looked and the intoning girl. It wasn't hard to believe. The uncanny resemblance had been there since the day she was born.

When she finished the piece, she looked at her father expectantly, waving a small hand before his unfocused eyes. He came back to earth with a start. " Yes, then, you did splendidly, child. Now go to bed. I have work to do." Delight hopped onto his lap and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scuttling off to her cot.

As said, the masked man sat down at his organ and took out a quill and some parchment. Strange thing was, he didn't write a note all night. He just sat there, staring at things unseen by anybody who was not sick with love and grief at the same time. This was how most of his designated working nights were spent. Now, the music somehow refused to come. All inspiration was nearly lost.