Today Christine Daee, nameless opera singer died.

Christine de Chagny, Viscountess; replaced her and no one mourned the loss, not even Christine.

Amidst a garden of white calla lilies and some one hundred or so guests who made up some of the richest families in France, Christine had spoken the words that now bound her for life to her childhood sweetheart. I do. Two simple words. I do. Barely even words at that, syllables, sounds. It's astounding how the simplest of words can have the direst of consequences. Yes. No. The weight of lives and nations rested on mere linguistics. It was laughable, really.

Yes…Maybe. The delicious pause before the sword fell, before the decision was final. Bought and sold.

It was her wedding night and Raoul had come to claim his hard-won prize.

Breathlessly breaking their kiss, Christine gazed at the face whose expression held that of pure contentment and love. Love for her. It broke her heart to think she had caused him pain time and time again and yet still he had never wavered in his devotion. She knew he never would waver so long as breath held fast in his body and it was a discomforting thought that she might never measure up to it herself.

Stubbornly she fought her mind that at every moment threatened to destroy the equilibrium she had so harrowingly carved out for herself in the weeks past. She could feel the headache now becoming increasingly familiar, threaten somewhere behind her eyes and still she fought against the black torrent that raged somewhere inside from making it's way to the surface.

A man's body hung in the air before her, his legs flailing, disturbingly comical and macabre.

Raoul's face filled with helplessness and despair.

Deceit upon deceit.

Lies upon lies.

Yes Christine. Remember, remember.

She felt the torrent subside back to the darkness that bred it. The headache remained. She threw herself into his arms again, willing an end to her self-made torture.

There will be no blood on the sheets Christine.

She hung onto Raoul with all the might her canary bones allowed. He stepped back from her, surprise and wonder on his face. "Christine…" He whispered her name reverently, like a prayer.

You pray to a false idol my love.

His hands trembled as they undid the stays of her corset. Layer after layer, she shed her clothes off like a snake sheds it's skin. Even vipers left innocent white layers of silk in their path. His eyes never left hers and she threw all her awareness into that gaze, fierce and loyal, until she felt nothing else, saw nothing else. Reality blurred around the edges of those eyes.

But those other eyes? They had burned, yes… burned through her, leaving no trace of life behind. Those other hands had torn at her clothes, at her flesh. They had torn right through her.

You are still screaming at the same mirror Christine. You always will.

No. Please God no…

It was a futile last attempt.

Her body awash at Raoul's caresses sought the memory of another's touch. It awakened in her what she had thought buried. She was both horrified and fascinated by her body's betrayal.

Raoul stepped back from her, staring at her nakedness, shedding his own clothes. He cupped her face in his hands, trembling still.

"My love, I've waited so long to touch you like this. Are you scared Christine?" He whispered it gently.

"No…Yes. I'm not sure."

Maybe.

Small words indeed. But enough to tear asunder entire nations. Enough to tear apart her heart and mind.

"I love you Raoul, I love you so much."

He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to their marriage-bed. She too trembled now.

Maybe...

His shirt had been torn apart by her own wretched hands, pants unbuckled. She had reveled gloriously in her own wanton lust, free at last from its narrow confines. Her body had arched into his, needing more, wanting some unattainable thing she had no words for. Her breasts strained above a half-undone corset and his mouth and tongue, and oh God his teeth, worked their way towards her nipples. He had grasped her desperately, his hands plunging between her legs, instinctively seeking her pulsing wetness. She gasped as his calloused fingers roughly found their target, breaking her delicate barrier, that place none but her had ever touched before. Any remaining reserve had shattered as she squirmed against him, desperate and wild.

Raoul pressed his mouth to her skin, trailing gentle kisses along her body's length, barely touching her. His tongue darted out between his lips tasting her skin, hot and wet against her cold flesh. He made his way lower, parting her nether-lips.

He had thrown her violently against his bed, shedding the last of their garments that lay tangled and strewn on the ground. Propping himself up on his hands above her he had stared savagely into her eyes, a mixture of hatred and love imprinted on his features. It both excited and repulsed her and she met his ferocious stare with the same intensity, both refusing to break in the unspoken challenge.

Raoul's tongue continued to probe her innermost parts, urging her body towards release. She tangled her hands in his hair, willing it, needing it.

His hand had knotted itself in her hair, wrenching her head backwards against the pillow as his lips had ravaged hers. His hand still achingly probed her embarrassing wetness and she arched her back, her body instinctively seeking his sex. She moaned into his mouth when she felt the tip, hot and hard against her thigh. He took her bottom lip between his teeth, pressing his body harder against hers, pressing his phallus against her skin. She wanted to die from the exquisite torture and for the first time in her life she knew how pleasure and pain could be one and the same. Her hands were like claws on his shoulders, wanting to hurt him, to mark him.

Raoul entered her slowly, murmuring unintelligible words of comfort in her ear. He moved above her, clasping his hands with hers and she tightened her legs around his back, pressing him closer. It still hurt she thought with wonder, a delicious prick of pain, as her body stretched to accommodate his.

He had sheathed himself inside her in one hard plunge, tearing her apart; the pain had blossomed in her body like a storm. She screamed and clutched his damp body closer as he had rocked mercilessly into her without pause or rest, punishing her for her innocence. Punishing himself for loving her. He had wrenched her head back against the pillow again.

"Your boy? Does he touch you like this?"

"Erik…" How could she respond to his furious questions when her mind had turned to liquid.

"Answer me goddamn you Christine! Does he? Do you behave so wantonly with him inside you? Do you moan like a whore with his hands on your flesh? Do you!"

Her mouth longed to shape the words, they were on the tip of her tongue but she could only shut her eyes against the hot tears that trailed down her face. She screamed his name instead and he slammed into her one last time before he released himself inside her, spilling his hot seed.

Raoul clutched her tightly, shuddering violently as he came.

Enveloping her in his embrace he caressed her hair.

"Are you alright my love? Did I hurt you?" He peered anxiously at her face.

When had her tears begun to flow?

"No, no." She smiled reassuringly at him, tucking her head on his shoulder.

Either way you choose, you cannot win.

You will not win, Christine.

"It only hurt a bit."