Alrighty so here's another chapter...Sorry I haven't updated a lot, I was in Pittsburgh, but I'll try to update regularly this week. So read and review, my fellow phans!

Disclaimer: I own the Phantom of the Opera..AHHH! runs from lawyers with guns

Return to My Glory Days

Christine was not sure what woke her that night. Perhaps it was the anticipation, the pure anxiety of returning to the Opera House. She would leave that night, she decided. She could no longer endure the agony of her existence. She needed closure, something that could ease her guilty conscience.

Very quietly, almost ghost-like, Christine slipped out of the large, king-sized bed. She quickly changed into a modest black dress and cloak, not wanting to be seen by the servants. She glanced at her beloved Raoul, sleeping serenely under the sheets. She hated hurting him so, but there was simply no other option. Taking a pen in her quivering hand, she quickly scribbled down some words of explanation:

My dearest Raoul,

I apologize for my absence this morning, but I have decided to spend the day by myself. I need to collect my thoughts, and I would just feel better doing it alone. I promise you I will return by nightfall. I love you more than words can say, and I swear to you that things will get better.

Your wife,

Little Lotte

Christine smiled at these last words, for they brought back the fondest of memories. She'd never forget the day when Raoul, a young child of seven, had rescued her favorite red scarf from the sea. That was the beginning of an innocent, childhood relationship that Christine would always cherish.

Christine then slipped out the door, quickly ran down the marble staircase, and silently left the mansion. It was very early morning, around four o'clock, and she hoped that there would be a carriage available. Her question was answered when one emerged from the fog and stopped at the front gate.

"Where to, miss?" The carriage driver was very filthy and obviously of the lower class, but Christine had more important things to worry about than the hygiene of others.

"The Opera Populaire, please."

The carriage driver gave her a peculiar look, and then turned around and gave a whistle to the horses. Christine was thankful he didn't ask questions, for she was in no mood for explanations this morning.

It was a long journey, at least to Christine. She was shaking from nerves, and she had no clue what to expect. Would he welcome her? Would he shun her? Was he even alive?

Christine didn't want to even imagine the possibility of the last question. He has to be alive. He's the opera ghost, the phantom of the opera. He can never die...

The carriage suddenly jerked, breaking Christine's thoughts. She wordlessly dropped some coins into the man's awaiting hand, and stepped out to view the disgrace that once the Opera Populaire.

The outside walls were charred beyond recognition, and the outside doors were cracked and broken. The roof was almost caving in, and pigeons flew in and out of crevices in the building. The building was a truly pathetic sight.

Christine slowly climbed the steps that led to the two front doors. Praying silently that they would be open, she gave a slight tug. The doors opened with a horrible creak, revealing more of the damage. The once majestic and glorious foyer now appeared like something out of a horror story. Almost all of the steps have crumbled, leaving a giant mess. There were also many holes in the floor and cobwebs seemed to be everywhere.

Christine felt tears swell in her eyes. This can't be the Opera Populaire...this can't be the place I used to call home...

And yet it was. She remembered her few days as a diva, singing on that marvelous stage, the bright lights, the roar of the crowd...

And it had all been because of him.

Wiping her tears, Christine struggled through the rubble and debris and slowly made her way to her old dressing room. She quietly opened the door and prepared herself for the destruction that was bound to appear before her eyes.

Surprisingly, the room hadn't been damaged too badly. The walls were slightly burned, but the rest seemed untouched. Christine slowly turned her gaze to the mirror...

Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside...

But he wasn't. Not this time.

Christine soon found herself in front of the glass, prodding desperately for a way through it. With an exasperated cry, she pulled on it with all her strength, all her hurt, all her feelings she had in the past year...

Shockingly, it flew open. Christine was flown backwards and hit the ground hard. With determination, she got up and walked cautiously into the dark corridor behind the mirror. It was dark, so unforgivingly dark. She felt her way through the internal blackness, her chestnut eyes soon adjusting to the darkness. Absent-mindedly, Christine began singing a tune from long ago...

In sleep he sang to me

In dreams he came

That voice which calls to me

And speaks my name...

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Beyond the darkest night, in the most ultimate of solitudes, the Phantom of the Opera sat alone.

Not that this was any surprise, for he had been alone for one, solitary year. One year without her voice, without her touch, without her...

The notes he played on his organ soon became horribly dissonant, for that was what his existence was. Dissonant. The man once feared as the Opera Ghost was now bent over with his face in his hands, trying to rid his tortured mind of her memory. If only he could forget her, if only...

And speaks my name...

Her angelic voice flooded his ears, making him almost cry out in joy. All he wanted was to hear her one last time, to feel her beneath his fingertips, to feel love once more...

The happiness was short lived, however, as he remembered she was only a memory. Her voice would always be in his head, but it would be nothing more than a fragment of the imagination...

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The gargoyles on the wall almost seemed to be mocking her, laughing in a horrible cruelty. Christine continued her journey nonetheless, soon coming to the underground lake. The boat was gone, but she knew nothing would prevent her from crossing it. She quickly removed her shoes, cloak, and stockings, bearing only her dress. She slowly slid her foot into the bitter cold water, withdrawing quickly at the iciness. Closing her eyes tightly, Christine then stepped fully into the lake.

The coldness was mind-deadening. Christine's teeth began to chatter almost immediately, and she wrapped her arms around her body in a vain attempt to keep warm. As she continued to trudge through the arctic waves, Christine realized the water was gradually growing deeper. Before long, the water was at her collarbone. The chattering became more intense, and Christine's lips soon began to turn blue. It seemed like an eternity before she reached the closed gate, and she gripped onto it so tightly her knuckles turned white as bone. She was dangerously close to fainting, and before her world turned black, Christine saw a dark figure beyond the gate with his back turned.

Angel...

A/N: Ok I can just hear the groans, I know you guys want some Christine/Erik interaction, but this chapter was essential for the plot. More to come soon, I promise!

Review, and I'll have my imprisoned Erik sing for you! Unless it is the Macarena, for that tends to give him a rash.