A/N: Hi guys! I just wanted to say how happy you made me. I never thought I would get all those reviews! I'm kind of sick at the moment, and I feel a little crummy. I think your reviews are just the medicine to make me feel better. So, remember, don't forget to comment!

Disclaimer: I've written so many of these in the past, I'm sick of it. I don't own Phantom of the Opera, yada yada yada. There! Enjoy the story!


Red Rose

Chapter II: Beyond the Door's Entrance

"Miss. Daae, is that you?"

Richard Firmin laughed whole-heartedly, at the delightful sight of Christine and Roaul standing before him.

"It's Chagny now, Monsieur," she corrected politely, glancing down at the fingers entwined with her old little playfellow. A small smile spread across those full red lips.

"Is it now? Hear that, Andre? Christine has married the M. le Victome de Chagny!" He held out his hand warmly, welcoming them further into the Opera Populaire. Andre however, stood firmly at the entrance, the complexion gone from his skin.

"Yes, that's wonderful to hear, but Firmin-" The manager began to feel slightly uncomfortable with the sudden show in company. He balled his fists to his side. White knuckles were poorly hidden under his lifeless patches of flesh.

"How is business, gentlemen?" Roaul asked, while removing his gloves and sticking them into his coat pocket. Since he was here, he might was well start up a friendly conversation.

"Ummm, Firmin-"

"Wonderful, just wonderful! The Opera has been doing splendidly. No more chaos, no more Opera Ghost-"

"FIRMIN!" Moncharmin did not like to be ignored.

"My god, what is it?" His voice rose, shooting an annoyed glance straight to his partner's face.

"We have a note"

"Another one?" Richard reached the man's side within seconds. The letter at once attracted his attention, not only because it was addressed in that same, familiar red ink, but because the handwriting was still recognized as that same clumsy, childish handwriting, which still held a look of elegance. At once, Firmin Richard tried to hide the paper behind his back, but Roaul's beautiful blue eyes were quick in catching it.

"Sir, you don't mean to tell me that-that thing is still living beneath this very place?" The viscount could feel his pounding heart beating strongly in his chest. "Isn't it you two who wished to track the beast down?" He said with a trembling voice of anger.

"Well, we sort of pitied the man-"

"Man? My good friend, that thing is no man! He is a murderer! It is too late for pity!

"Chagny! He has changed! You have not been here, he has truly changed!" Andre spoke up.

"Changed? You call such a demon, changed?" Those innocent eyes had now burned with a raging fire.

"Monsieur, may I please read the letter?" Christine shyly exclaimed, meeting Roaul at his side.

"Of course, my beautiful lady. We see no harm in it. After all, the Opera Ghost is no longer a threat." Andre and Firmin replied darkly, starring coldly at her husband.

"You're all mad! You must be on medication!"

But Christine ignored the bickering of the three men, and allowed her eyes to curiously wonder the page.

'My Dear Managers,

Such as before, I have written this letter to remind you, that I will no longer be needing my regularly reserved seat in Box 5. However, shall I attend the performances or not, I still ask that my salary be paid. On another note, I must tell you that rehearsals have improved greatly. I am pleased with the chorus, and I do wish their career to progress. I suspect with the absence of our toad, and by toad I mean Mme. Carlotta, that the cast has indeed been given back the use of their ears. Yet, something lacks in your opera. Perhaps, it is talent that you need.

'Kind Regards,

O.G.'

She shot her head up and looked at Roaul. "No longer in need of Box 5? How can that be? He loves music! It's his life!"

"I believe he's lost his passion for it. We often saw him gazing in upon us. For awhile, he lived all about Paris, hiding I presume. At the moment you left, Ms. Daae, he seemed rather soulless. The 'evil' as we thought he had, seemed to have drained from him. And so, we invited him back into the Opera House. He thanked us, yes, but showed no sign of emotion while doing so. Before making whatever journey he makes down to the cellar, he gave us his word that he would not be the one starting trouble. We believed him, since he looked exhausted from his constant travel, and his eyes showed complete sadness. But, we still pay him his francs. He has to make himself a living, you know. As for his music, I don't think he's played since your leave, my lady. He lives in the cellar for shelter, and nothing more!" Andre described, directing it more at the noblemen than at his wife.

"Are you suggesting that the reason why that gargoyle is allowed to live here is because he misses Christine?"

"You're twisting my words around! That's not what I said at all!"

"Frankly sir, I don't think you two have the sense to own an opera!" He yelled, throwing his arms in the air.

"ROAUL! Your insults do not help!" The countess snapped, very much unlike her. She shoved the letter into Andre's chest and continued to remain heated. "First of all, he is not an 'it' or a 'thing' her is a man, and you, being so highly respected should treat him as such! What gives you the right to tell these men how their theater is to be run? I am not happy with your behavior, Roaul!"

"Christine!"

She silenced him with her hand. "I'm searching for Meg! It would be wise not to follow me, Victome de Chagny!" With that, she stomped off towards the dressing rooms. Why had she gotten so upset? Was she feeling all right? The men didn't exactly miss her presence, for as soon as she left, all three boys were arguing a painfully pointless fight

'So much for staying by my side at all times, dear Roaul.' Daae sighed to herself and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Passing by her dressing room, she wondered in, just to get the comforting feel of her old life. It cooled the steam that had been blowing, and cheered her up. The giant mirror was still there. She approached it slowly and pressed her finger tips against the cold glass. Five round smears appeared before her. "I didn't even know your name," Christine whispered to her reflection. Reluctantly, the woman left the room, for it was no longer hers, and the maiden thought she was trespassing.

A figure lurked in the shadows of her dressing room. A black, leather glove pressed its own fingers against the marks his lover had made.

"Christine…"

Another chapter done. Please do review! I'm proud of this chapter. I wonder where your computers are located, because mine's in the basement, and it's really cold in the basement. I guess it's not such a great place to be when you're running a pretty high fever of 101. Yeah, I'm stupid, aren't I?