A/N: I would like to say a very big THANKYOU to Kat097 for her fantastic beta-ing. She is on here, under the screenname Kat097, so check out her work. It's fantastic!

Besides that, I hope this chapter is okay. : )

Chapter 3

The house by the sea had not changed at all. All around, the air was crisp and fresh, stingingly salty. Gulls wailed noisily over a greedy ocean, which lapped the shore with its foamy tongue. The steep, timbered roof still reached upwards with comforting familiarity, and coils of ivy still wove their way around the tiny window panes.

In a memory, two children laughed and leapt with carefree vigour across the pale shoreline. They twirled in the sea spray and clasped one another's hands, dwelling in the glow of innocent, childhood romance.

They shared a picnic on a vast, grey rock, and giggled with impish glee as they related dark stories and rhymes, and whispered great secrets that not a soul, except perhaps a teddy bear had ever heard. They tossed pebbles into the ocean, to see whose would skip the farthest, and watched in untapped fascination as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, and the world descended into darkness. They wondered if the moon could smile, and whether the stars were loved ones smiling down on their fortunate friendship.

And they sang; their tiny, piccolo voices rose up in youthful harmony and filled the air with sweet, untainted sound. Nothing gave the children more pleasure than to sing the lilting tune of a nomadic lullaby, or to hum along with the strains of a fathers violin.

But memories pale in comparison to reality. Once used, time is gone forever, and the past cannot be revisited.

Of this truth, Christine De Chagny was painfully aware. She stood solemnly by the bay window of the old house, gazing with wordly eyes on the sea before her. Time had slowed to a crawl in the world behind these walls. Nothing existed but herself and Raoul, in a realm that wore a mask of false happiness, a world where everything was perfect, but nothing was what it seemed. The two children dancing happily on the shoreline had morphed into silent shadows, and now their replacements – two solemn adults – had filled the aching gap.

Oh, she loved Raoul dearly, with all her heart. He was the angel of light who had entered her world and showered upon her all the promises of love and warmth and friendship that her life had heretofore been devoid of. He doted upon her, kissed her lips with boyish fervour, held her hand as though engaged in a secret tryst.

The wedding had been an extravagent affair. No expense was spared; Christine's gown had been tailored for a perfect fit, and was embroidered of the finest silk and lace. Hundreds of guests had swarmed into the beautiful church, and watched with tearful eyes as the beloved Vicomte and his chosen bride exchanged vows before God, about to enter into a life of such obvious warmth and happiness.

What was the subtle disdain of dignified parents compared to a life that promised so much romance and joy? What were nuances of unrest in a Vicomte's social circle compared to such a fortunate twist of fate that he, after so many years, should once again find his beloved Christine and save her from the darkness that haunted her dreams?

Christine felt a breath upon her neck, as Raoul's warm arms embraced her waist and startled her from uneasy thoughts.

'I told you our honeymoon would be nothing but perfection, Little Lotte…just as you are.'

He placed a soft kiss on the nape of her neck, and entwined his fingers in the auburn ringlets of her hair. Such softness in a woman he had never known. Such vibrance in a soul he had never encountered. Such love for another he had never felt, and hoped never to lose, as once he had nearly endured.

'Come downstairs with me, Little Lotte, I have a surprise for you!' He took her hand with playful zeal, the sparkle in his eyes promising a sure delight to his shy flower.

He led her down the stairway and into the small parlour, where the windows were flung wide and the room was bathed in warm colours of dying sunlight. The curtains blew in a balmy summer breeze, and Raoul gently urged Christine to close her eyes. She acquiesed, and he opened her palms.

Christine let out a wordless cry as the memorable curves of her father's violin made their way into her open hands. The smooth strings were still pulled tight across the neck of the instrument, and the brilliant wood was polished to a friendly gleam. Intricate patterns were etched into the instrument's ornate sides, and Christine could only stare with mouth half open at the exquisite gift in her hands.

'Raoul…I…'

'Hush, Christine,' he placed a finger to her lips. 'I just wanted to give you a memory of your father. One that wasn't crowded with so much…pain.' He paused, unsure of how to continue.

'I know that because of our wedding, you can no longer sing in public, and the fact pains me almost as much as it must pain you. But I thought that perhaps another form of music might help to close the gap.'

Christine blinked back stinging tears as she cradled the beautiful violin to her chest. She would learn to play it. She would nurture her love for music through a different medium to the voice she now hid from the world. It would be a secret tribute to her beloved father.

For the next two weeks, Christine studied the violin for hours upon end. She would lock herself in the attic and devote her time to the little wooden companion that brought her so much joy. Throughout this time, thoughts of music began, like a tiny bud, to slowly blossom in her thoughts. She was happiest in the early evening, when she would draw the bow across the strings and play to the tune of the setting sun.

While Raoul could not have been more delighted with the success of his wedding gift, he could not quelch the feeling of unease that slithered throughout his senses in the nighttime, whilst he watched Christine dream. The tiny smile which curved the corners of her mouth; the peaceful flicker of her eyelids as dreams waltzed throughout her thoughts, only served to heighten his certainty that her visions were filled with forbidden bliss. Bliss that he had thought Christine would try her hardest to ignore – but all the while he knew would never be gone. These secret desires were now an intrinsic part of her life, and Raoul could only hope that the man who occupied them would never, ever resurface. This man who was the incarnation of darkness itself, yet had always managed to bring such light to Christine's features. It was a glow Raoul could neither forget, nor inspire.

Yes, this shadow would always hover threateningly, a tweaked thread on the tapestry of their existence. He knew that Christine was not really his, and that the tiniest breath of the former darkness would fan a consuming blaze that could ultimately to destroy their world.

And while Raoul may not have known it, the presence of music in their lives was only the fuel which started the fire…