(Just a note: The Franco-Prussian war did come about in 1870, around April, halting the mail trains through the country through to India. Seeing as though Christine left Erik in 1870, around winter like February, and my story is 2 months…your intelligent, u can work it out ;) )

- --

The cart had brought Christine and Nasih to Lyon. The days had brightened, and sometimes Nasih had offered to drive the cart a while for the merchant. On arrival they thanked him graciously, and had spent a night in a small hotel for a rest. Nasih had paid for it from a large amount of cash he had stashed in his large waistcoat.

"Why didn't you pay the merchant?" Christine had asked angrily. She had found Nasih to be a man of habits that got on her nerves. He had bought a whole load of cigarettes for himself, and a large meal, which Christine had felt in no mood for.

"I'm not made of money!" He grinned. It certainly seemed to her that he was.

He had payed the next morning for a carriage to take them to Marseille. It took them another long day to travel down south, and Christine was starting to feel very weary. On the first days of traveling she had run through so many states of mind, she no had a constant headache. She had cried herself to sleep many times, mourning the loss of Raoul and trying desperately to force the image of his body slouched over the stairs out of her fragile mind. She wished she could pour her sorrow into a bottle and throw it away. Other times she had sat in fear, biting her nails to shreds on the thoughts of him. She imagined all the scenarios, his facial expression when she turned up, his reaction, would he be happy, would he turn her out? She wouldn't be surprised if he did. Funny enough, he was the one thing that made her want to live. Desperate thoughts had entered her head on occasion, yet the thought of him, at the opera, at one of their lessons, his adoring eyes, made her will power stronger. All this time, Nasih had watched from a distance curiously, asking no questions.

Arriving at Marseille was a relief for Christine. She wanted nothing more than to never ride in a carriage again. The confined space made her panicky and nervous. Marseille was a beautiful city, second largest in France. The magnificent buildings had an old medieval look to them, and the large port took Christine's breath away. The carriage had taken them right to the ports, where the train station lay not far from. Nasih began straight away, making Christine sigh. Her leg had got progressively worse in pain, yet the bleeding had stopped. She decided not to make a fuss over it, apart from when her legs gave way a little, causing Nasih to help her by holding her arm. They were getting rather queer looks from passers by, as they were coated in mud, hair in disarray, rotten from their days on the road.

"First things first, we have to get a good clean up." He took her to a dress makers, were she picked out a practical navy blue dress, with a matching ridding corset, with little cream flowers sewn on. He bought her a large riding cloak too, matching in colour. He bought himself just a new shirt and riding outfit, still keeping his large waistcoat with him. Next he took her to a physician, who took a good long look at her calf. He cleaned it up best he could and treated it with creams and such, then bandaging it up with fresh linen. He also gave her some painkillers, making the pain subside for a while, making her a little happier. They began to make their way towards the train station. Christine was feeling hot in her large cloak, so she removed it. The southern French sun was unforgiving, and even Nasih had slung his coat over his shoulder. The crowds were getting heavier the nearer they got to the station. Christine was beginning to feel very sick, people were pushing and shoving her, and her legs were shaking under the weight of her new dress and the pain of her leg. Her head throbbed violently, and the world began to spin. She tried to block out the loud noises of the crowds, and she seemed to succeed, as the world suddenly went dark and quiet. She felt peaceful for a few seconds, until her nightmare came flooding back to her. The retreating boat, the cold cellars and the man, whose heart was shown in his face. Broken, completely shattered. Her heart died with his disappearance. She felt herself being shaken, and her eyes slowly came back into focus. The sun was still blaring, yet shade was cooling her body temperature kindly. She focused a little more, seeing a blur of worried faces around her, the nearest being Nasih's, shaking her slightly. The shade was the covering over the train station.

"Christine, are you ok?" He asked feverishly. She groaned and tried to stand up, with loads of hands helping her. She was now fully awake again, and felt a little embarrassed. The crowd around her was fussing, offering water and help, yet she wanted nothing more than space.

"I'm fine now, thank you. I'm not accustomed to the heat, really." The crowd moved on, strangely drawn away by another thing to fuss about. Nasih looked at her worried.

"Was it the heat?"

She ignored him. "I'm OK, really." She demanded. She was not ok, but she wasn't going to admit that. She had come too far to delay now. Delaying would cause her trouble, her life even. Even though the fear of going forward made her heart falter, she knew she had no other real choice. She shook thoughts from her head as she followed Nasih's gaze toward the train station, were a rowdy crowd was gathering. Shouts, cheers, annoyed comments were being made, and she was intrigued to see what was going on. Nasih told her to wait were she was, but she followed him anyway. The crowd seemed to be gathered around the ticket booth, were a large poster was on display. There was no one in the booth, which worried Christine. When they had pushed their way to the front, the poster read a daunting message.

MAIL TRAIN TO INDIA VIA MIDDLE EAST

HAD REGREATABLLY BEEN HALTED DUE

TO RECENT PROGRESS IN THE

FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR.

WE APOLOGIES FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.

"Damn it." Nasih wrung his hands. Christine looked desperately at him.

"What are we going to do?" Her heart began to sink, maybe they would not get to Persia after all, and she wouldn't see…him. Why couldn't she think of his name, of his real form? Every time she had to think of him, she would get a flash image of his mask, and then she would banish it straight away, dismissing him to a nameless face. She felt ashamed.

Nasih sighed. "We can still get there. We just have to go by sea." Christine saw a flash of fear sweep across his weathered face, and it turned a nasty shade of green.

"Is that a problem?" She asked, unconsciously plucking his arm. He smiled wearily.

"It is when you've got a phobia of boats."

- --

"Fa…Father?"

Meg spluttered. Her mind raced with so many emotions. Confusion, denial, anger towards her mother, and hatred.

"That's a lie!" She spat. "My father is dead!"

"Almost dead, princess, thanks to your mother. She would have let me rot in that prison, so really I was as good as dead until now."

He paced towards Madame Giry again and dragged her by the arm. She made no fuss, as she feared for her daughter's safety. Co-operation would be her best bet for now. He looked at her directly and stroked her cheek.

"We could have lived like royalty, you and I, and Meg." He cooed. "Even little Christine. We could have raised her, let her in on the money that was meant for us." Madame Giry spat in his face. He calmly wiped it with a pocket handkerchief, and resumed his speech, much darker this time. "But now, Mon Cher, Christine's fate lies on your hands. Your decision all those years ago, to turn me in, lead to you loosing anyway. I will have the Daae inheritance, the inheritance which is rightfully mine. And you are going to help me."

"No!" This scream came from Meg. "We will never help you! Christine is…is…like a sister! We will never help you find her!"

He chuckled, which made Madame Giry shudder. "Maybe you won't, my sweet." He held her face tenderly. "But your mother will."

Meg gave Madame Giry pleading eyes. Madame Giry replied to the stare with loss. Meg gasped at the fear she saw embedded in her mother's eyes. She had only ever seen it before when Christine had been taken by the Phantom after the great chandelier falling. It struck fear into Meg's heart. If her mother was afraid, then there was little hope.

"George," She muttered hoarsely. "You won't get away with this. Please… please don't do this again."

He looked at her for a long time. Once, once the pair had been in love. He had witnessed her in a ballet performance at the Opera Populaire long ago, as a very popular gentleman. He had been captivated with her, and she was attracted to his dashing good looks and charming personality. It took 10 years of marriage to find out what kind of man he really was.

"It's too late for that, Maria." He muttered. "I want what I deserve." He pulled out a gun and pointed it into Meg's forehead, who whelped with pain and fear. Her blue eyes were streaked with terror. Madame Giry winced. "Tell me…tell me where she is."

Madame Giry shook her head slowly, mouth slightly open with shock. "You wouldn't dare. She…she is your daughter."

Monsieur Robard's eyes flashed dangerously. He cocked the gun, causing Meg to sob.

"TELL ME!"