A/N: The Marrakesh is an actual restaurant, located in downtown D.C. I dined there one evening and, as I usually do when I'm in any one place for a significant amount of time, I dreamed up a Phantom scenario to fit my surroundings. I contemplated the idea further, and eventually the phic came about. Let me know what you think, but be considerate—i.e., no flames. Thank you.

Disclaimer: Lyrics in this chapter borrowed from the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Prologue

I'll find a way to right this wrong

If it takes my whole life long

Lord, I'll fight my battles all alone

But make me strong

"Mademoiselle Daae is here to see you, sir," Raoul's butler informed him upon returning home.

"Thank you, Damien," Raoul automatically replied, not reacting much to this information. It was, of course, perfectly normal for his fiancée to drop by from time to time.

However, the perfectly normal sensation evaporated the minute he walked into the darkened living room. The lights were muted; the windows were open, allowing a chilling breeze to pervade the space; the air was thick with a sensation of imminent tragedy. A vaguely outlined shadow sat burrowed into a corner of the sofa, silently frozen.

Raoul switched on one of the lamps, illuminating the form of Christine hugging her knees to her chest. She was wearing a plain cream-colored dress and had draped a deep azure shawl over it. Her dark curls, half pulled back into a silver barrette, were sprawled around her shoulders and down her back. Her sapphire eyes stared straight ahead as if in a trance.

Thoroughly dreading whatever was behind her gaze, Raoul placed a hand gently on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Good evening, Christine," he said apprehensively. "Would you care to explain to me why you are sitting here in the dark?"

Her eyes shifted slightly to acknowledge his presence. "No, I'm sure that I would," she said in a hollow voice.

"And yet…" Raoul gestured for her to fill in the sentence.

She sighed. "Well, I saw the doctor today. To find out about the nausea." Lately, Christine had been experiencing stomach sickness. Probably it was influenza, transmitted from any one of the multitude who were currently afflicted, but Raoul encouraged a medical examination to confirm the condition's innocuousness. Unfortunately, that confirmation was not to be made.

Another pause. "And?"

"Well…I don't have the flu." The lack of enthusiasm for this seemingly good news hinted forebodingly that there was more to the story.

"Christine, what are trying to tell me?"

The circumlocution drew to a close. "Raoul, I'm pregnant."

An intense silence followed. Raoul numbly crossed the room to sit in an armchair facing the couch. Somehow it seemed that this discussion would continue for a while. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands for a moment. Then he abruptly straightened up.

"Whose is it?" he asked without a trace of emotion.

"What do you mean, whose is it?" Christine suddenly shot back indignantly. "Exactly what kind of woman do you think I am?"

Raoul remained irritatingly composed. "Honestly, I'm not sure I know anymore," he said coolly. "I wouldn't have suspected anything like this would befall you in the first place. So clearly I'm not the best judge of your character."

"In case you've forgotten Raoul, I did have a husband," she said icily, somewhat enjoying the shudder that passed through him at this comment. "And I don't believe consummating a marriage is quite the same thing as sleeping around."

Raoul's tone grew softer. "Can you honestly tell me that this union was consensual? That he did not force himself on you?"

"Yes, I can," she said quietly.

Silence. Raoul held his head in his hands again.

Finally he murmured, "Get rid of it."

"What did you say?" Christine asked in a whisper.

"Get rid of it," he reiterated more assertively.

"I don't believe you just said that," she declared, her voice quavering.

"Christine, listen to me," he said gravely. "If you want still want our marriage to take place, this is what must be done. You know our relationship has already caused something of a scandal. If you're pregnant as well, my name—the Chagny name—is ruined. And I absolutely cannot raise a child who not only is not mine, but is spawned from that monster."

Christine stood up angrily. "I don't care what happens to the precious Chagny name! I don't care whose child it is! The point is that it is a child, and if you would rather have that child killed than hurt your pride, then you're the most selfish person I've ever had the misfortune to meet!"

Raoul rose so he could glare down at her. "It's your decision," he said coldly. "You can do what you want with the child, but I will not allow you to destroy my reputation." He sighed. "I'm sorry it comes to this. But if you have this baby, I will not marry you."

Christine stepped into the empty house. She was immediately engulfed by a wave of despair.

"I've lost everything," she realized.

Mama Valerius had passed away, leaving behind the moderate estate. The Opera, along with her career, was permanently closed down, all its glory decaying into oblivion. The newspaper clipping in her dresser drawer bore the sinister script, "Erik is dead." Raoul had disowned her. And her father…still painfully absent.

In that moment, Christine understood sheer anguish—the feeling that follows the knowledge of not having a soul in the world to depend upon.

The next thought that crossed her mind was a dark one. It alluded to a memory of kneeling on the floor, blood dripping, head aching horribly—but it did help to quash the ravaging pain in heart. If only she had been allowed to finish…

"This time I will be." It was perfect. Why live? There was nothing, no one, to live for. What difference would her death make to anyone?

The baby.

Remembering the reason for her current plight, all thoughts of suicide were terminated.

Even if Christine was lost to the rest of the world, her child still depended on her. For the sake of this unborn being, she would have to carry on. Somehow.