Prologue: Twisted
The waxy scent of the candles mixed with the acrid scent of smoke from one that had spontaneously gutted out made Raoul feel instantly nauseous.
He hated the chapel. If it had not been Christine's one solace, if it had not been a part of her life long before he had reentered the scene, he would have denied her access to it, had it barred shut, torn down. He knew that it was here that the 'Angel of Music' had first visited her, and he knew that it was not only to light a candle for her father that she knelt here.
It was to seek the presence of her Angel, to feel comfort from him rather than fear, to be warmed by his presence rather than oppressed by it. She wanted to forget the demon, forget the man, and know only the angel.
It was here that Christine became a child again.
It was here that she became innocent again.
She was kneeling on the stone floor now, her pale skin illuminated by the flickering candles. She leaned forward to light one, and Raoul overheard her soft whispers as she uttered a prayer in French.
"Gardez Dieu de coffre-fort d'Erik…" she murmured as the flame took to the candlewick, and Raoul felt jealousy begin a slow burning within his soul.
She heard the gentle tread of his footsteps behind her and she turned her head, her shoulders stiffening in surprise. Raoul had never come here before. This was her sanctuary, her private place.
She felt a moment of anger that he would trespass so without even asking if she might prefer to be left alone.
This was where she and her Angel met, where she could commune with her father.
"Raoul, I'm frightened." The confession caught her by surprise, but the words rushed from her mouth on a breath of nervous air, her blue eyes catching his hazel ones. "Don't make me do this." She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly pleading. "It scares me! Don't put me through this ordeal by fire."
She stood suddenly, her hands at her mouth as she turned away from him. "He'll take me. I know." Christine faced Raoul, certainty in her eyes. "We'll be parted forever. He won't let me go. What I once used to dream…I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end!"
She turned away to sit at the window, her hands pressed into her skirts. I can't bear to be his murderer. I have done so much against him already. How can I do this as well? I can't do this. I can't.
"And he'll always be there singing songs in my head—he'll always be there singing songs in my head."
Raoul sat down quickly with her, grasping both her hands in his. "You said yourself, he was nothing but a man."
Christine looked away. It would be better if he were a ghost. Men can die. Ghosts cannot. If he were a ghost, he would be safe already.
"Yet while he lives, he will haunt us 'til we're dead."
There was truth behind his words. As long as the Phantom reigned, Christine and Raoul could never escape. He would find them. Somehow he would find them. He would never let Christine go so easily.
She bit her lip and tasted blood. "Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Do I become his prey?"
Raoul saw the argument in her eyes and the fire of jealousy burned more hotly. What claim did this man have on her?
"Do I have any choice? He kills without a thought; he murders all that's good—I know I can't refuse, and yet…I wish I could."
Her eyes, glistening with tears, turned back to meet Raoul's gaze. There was fear there, and resignation to fate—both the Phantom's and hers.
"Oh God, if I agree, what horrors wait for me in this—the Phantom's opera?"
This is why he must die. She loves him, but if he is dead, she can love only you.
"Christine, Christine, don't think that I don't care…but every hope, and every prayer rests on you now!"
The terrible weight of what she was to do rested fully on Christine's shoulders, and she collapsed into Raoul's waiting arms, tears streaming down her face.
The candle that she had lit for Erik flickered, and gutted out.