I know that it's a little confusing…the Mimi/Christine thing. I wanted to ease into calling Mimi "Christine." The last chapter wasthe beginning of amajor transition for her, and we'll be recognizing her more and more as Christine as the story develops.
One of my favorite characters to write is Raoul…now wait…I didn't say I was a FAN of him, but he's loads of fun to write. He has a tough lot in life. Crazy phantom man tries to steal your one true love…and then Nico keeps making terrible things happen to you…
He's a great catalyst…that's why he's a recurring theme in my stories. In my last stories, I almost felt bad for him…almost. Just keep in mind that I'm an avid E/C supporter…
-Nico
Suddenly, the Paris Opera House lookedcompletely different to Christine.
She wandered the winding hallways, the intricate stairwells…each nook and cranny she had memorized when she was a child.
But it had changed…the gas lighting had been replaced with brilliant bulbs that were much brighter than any fire could ever be. The golden statues that had once adorned the theater and stage were gone, replaced with more modern abstract sculptures. The chandelier, of course, had been replaced as well, with a new electric version, complete with hanging crystals that accented the glittering illumination.
Christine smiled as she slowly walked out onto the empty stage.
Amid all the changes the Opera had been subjected to, it still smelled faintly of the past…
Of him, she realized.
She had left Erik in the cemetery, pleading for time…time to sort out her thoughts…to escape the stresses of her…rebirth.
He had conceded, promising to return for her in three days' time.
It was now the night before the third day, and Christine remained just as befuddled as she had been when Erik kissed her.
The kiss. The mere thought of it sent a chill down Christine's back, speckling her body with Goosebumps. It had been all at once pleasing and painful. It was like slipping into a dark cavern of pain and sorrow, yet as familiar and comfortable as a warm blanket.
It had been immediately confusing and frightening.
Christine found herself partly wishing it had never happened.
She padded slowly back to her dressing room, making certain to close the door quietly as not to disturb several dancers who had elected to occupy the room beside hers for the night, a common practice on nights of particularly bad weather.
The wind howled outside as if to emphasize Christine's thoughts.
She sat at her vanity as she had for hours in the days before, staring at the face that she no longer recognized as Mimi…but none other than Christine Daae.
Christine had noticed subtle transformations within herself within the past few days. Her hair had seemingly grown and thickened, morphing from a stylish layered cut into long tendrils of perfectly formed curls. Her skin had softened; the fine lines beneath her eyes had diminished. She felt lighter, more refined. It was apparent in the way she carried herself; the way she walked…the way she spoke.
Her acceptance of who she truly was seemed not to frighten her as much as it had immediately upon discovery…but something was happening that was much more terrifying.
She was losing Mimi's memories.
Earlier in the day, she had forgotten nearly all of the lyrics to an aria she had learned from her father as a child. She could not remember her middle name as she signed another piece of paperwork for the opera. Worst of all, she had forgotten her parent's names, instead referring to her father as "Charles" in an earlier conversation with Bernard.
Sighing, she rose, walking over to the large gilded mirror.
She allowed herself to remember him, to remember the first time she had seen him; his reflection behind the enormous glass.
Christine had been fascinated.
It was only a matter of time before she had realized that Erik was not, in fact, her father…or an angel…but a man…a most unique man…
Who apparently could not die.
But upon seeing him for the first time, the same night Raoul had first reconnected with her, nothing mattered except for the tall man singing to her from somewhere behind the mirror.
She could practically see him now, standing there…his long cape…a wide brimmed hat tilted slightly over half of his face…the thin tailored lines of his impeccable clothing…the white mask that defined him.
Christine remembered walking towards that image…towards the beauty of her angel of music. She had lifted her hand, reaching to him…and to her surprise, he had reached back.
She remembered the touch of his hand, warm through the thick black gloves he wore. She could feel the dank air of the passageways he led her through caress her body, frightening and enticing her.
She felt the sway of the boat he maneuvered through the icy lake within the depths of the Opera House…the sensation of his hands on hers as he helped her from that same boat.
Most of all, she remembered the magnificence of Erik's home…the sparkling illumination of hundreds of candles dancing across gold, silver, mahogany and velvet…all at once overwhelming her and bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.
Christine's fingers once again found the slight separation between the large mirror and frame. Gently, she pushed in the glass.
To her surprise, the entire mirror slowly gave way, revealing the same dark passageway from the depths of her memory.
Stagnant air slapped her in the face.
Yet it was not enough to stop her.
Darkness enveloped her; Christine gave her eyes a moment to adjust. Slowly, she followed the winding stone canals, losing herself in memories and melody.
She walked for what seemed like days, turning and twisting…moving down stairs and through steep inclines using only her instincts to guide her.
She picked up her pace, eagerly anticipating arriving at the lake…hoping that at least some physical remains of Erik's life underneath the impressive Opera House still existed.
Christine didn't know what was driving back down to the lake, she only knew that she must continue…that she must return to where it all began.
Suddenly, a rumbling could be felt beneath her feet.
She paused, listening to the strange sound.
The ground began to shake.
All at once, the floor gave way, plunging Christine into an icy pool.
She broke the surface of the water, gasping for breath. Before she could gather her wits, another sound echoed within the cavern.
Chains.
A pulley system.
Christine looked up.
A large iron grid was slowly moving down towards her.
Realizing what was about to happen…that she was about to be trapped underneath the freezing water, Christine cried out.
It seemed that her resurrection was to be short lived after all.
