Author's notes: This chapter is from Christine's POV (though not 1st person POV) to clear things up a bit and add a bit more oil to the frying pan. Heh. Metaphor. And it works, too!

Poor Erik – I really made him suffer in the last chapter, didn't I? From one moment of joy to that revelation… well, Fops have a knack for getting in the way of the perfect EC romance. But I told you this would have an original plot, didn't I?

Mominator – (bows) Thanks! Read on – things are about to get interesting!

Enrinye – Average? Average! Grr! (perfectionist side awakes) Anyway, be sure that you'll have quite a few shocks.

Hsibelius – (smiles innocently)

Sandra – (chooses not to comment on the first part, since both ideas are interesting) Well, currently my voice is between a very high mezzo and soprano, but I hope to be able to hit the high notes after some vocal training.

Moonjava – (bows)

starnat – I'm sure you do… read on!

X X X

Chapter XII

X X X X

She was nervous.

Christine Daaé, prima donna since the age of seven, felt like a shy schoolgirl and hated herself for it. The feeling of unease and a slight foreboding simply wouldn't vanish. Ever since the palace came into view, she felt like this.

Clad in her best dress and wearing jewelry Raoul bought her in the most expensive Parisian shops as a reunion gift, she felt misplaced. Her blood wasn't blue, far from it, and all this court behavior was a tad ridiculous seeming to her, recalling the "crash-course" in noblewoman behavior she had received back in France.

The palace wasn't the most perfectly built structure she had ever seen. It was beginning to age, some of the work was sloppy… Erik wouldn't like it. Mentally, she slapped herself for that. damn the naïve fantasies of an ingénue! She had to remain focused on reality.

The throne room was enormous, if not a bit over-decorated. Nevertheless, she tried to absorb every detail of it, looking around with wide eyes, only vaguely noticing that Raoul was holding her hand tightly. Her eyes traveled to the walls, each line decorating them. she rather liked the balcony decoration, though she couldn't see much of the corridors. The starlit rooms had to be beautiful, however.

But… weren't the stars a bit too close?

Realization came within moments that the two golden orbs were lone eyes, watching her. There was someone there­… and there weren't a lot of people with golden eyes… in fact, she knew just one person­… but once she blinked, the eyes disappeared.

Curiously, she was somehow anxious now. It was a ridiculous idea. Outrageous. There was no chance of that happening. Erik was long gone from her life, no matter how she wished otherwise. Dreaming of him wouldn't help, especially not now.

She mechanically did what Raoul instructed her to do when she would be introduced and greeted the shah politely, behaving like a true Vicomtesse. Christine de Chagny. She didn't think much of the name. As far as she was concerned, Daaé was the only surname she would respond to.

"The king of kings congratulates you on your choice of bride, Vicomte." The interpreter translated, "He says that it is rare to find true beauty, even among women. You have his compliments, mademoiselle."

Christine thanked mechanically. Her mind was elsewhere, though she looked quite content during the reception. The exotic food was interesting, but the political conversation soon began to bore her. It must have shown on her face, too, because Raoul soon gently touched her shoulder, concerned.

"Christine, are you alright?"

Nodding, she looked at him, the trance broken. "Yes, Raoul, I am simply a bit tired from the journey."

"I should have taken more time to see to your well-being. Perhaps you would like to go to the apartment early? I'm sure no one would mind."

Before she could even answer, he turned to the interpreter and asked if it would be alright if his she could go and if she could be given an escort to the rooms meant for her. The interpreter translated the plea to the shah, who, again, said something in Arabic. The translation came quickly enough.

"His majesty agrees that the lady must be tired and bored by the lack of attention."

Christine blushed slightly and looked down on her lap, a bit embarrassed. But the shah chuckled slightly, obviously content that his guess was correct. It wasn't a mocking laugh. Still, Christine continued looking down.

"A servant shall escort you to your rooms, milady."

A slave was summoned immediately, a young boy that couldn't be over fourteen, obviously a fetching boy and instructed to bring her to the prepared quarters. He understood everything, bowing too lowly, which was a sight that Christine was most unused to. Nevertheless, she knew it had to be a custom that the king was viewed as the height of power, so she didn't comment or question it.

Instead, she finally raised her gaze and managed a normal polite smile.

"I thank you, milord. Please forgive my rude departure, I promise that I shall make it up to you tomorrow." She said with practiced civility. Her words were quickly translated and afterwards, the shah nodded to her.

"The shah says he holds you to your word and bids you goodnight, milady."

Kissing Raoul lightly on the cheek, Christine followed the slave out of the throne room and through the palace.

She was right – the starlit rooms were indeed wonderful, but she was used to oil lamps, not torches, and it was indeed torches that illuminated most of the building. The Persian designs were interesting, but she had her fill of them for the day, so she paid only average attention to the way and tried to memorize it the best she could.

There would be plenty of time to explore the palace tomorrow, she reasoned.

Once they reached the chambers, the slave bowed to her as lowly as he did to the shah, said what she guessed to be a farewell and goodnight and departed, leaving her to explore the rooms on her own. The solitude was a welcomed change.

The rooms meant for her were exquisite. As everything in the palace, the designs were oriental and thus a bit foreign to her, but she figured that she could get used to the vivid colors and elaborate designs quite easily after spending a few days surrounded by them. But, overlooking the new atmosphere, the chambers were still clearly meant for royalty or someone very close to that rank, probably important officers or similar people.

The carpets were obviously hand-made and thick enough to serve as a mattress, should anyone prefer to sleep on them. curiously, it probably wouldn't matter if she slept on the ground, since the thick material was so soft in a foam-like matter that her shoes were sinking into it, even though she was light when it came to weight.

The closet and vanity table were obviously made from the highest quality of ebony wood, some decorated with mahogany and gold, richly carved ornaments peering from every corner. And yet everything was made large enough to fit even the most outrageously large outfits.

The mirror was enormous – Christine had never seen one like it. Completely crystal-clear, she could almost believe that it wasn't her reflection but a twin of her looking through a path to another world, a gate to the unknown. It wasn't pompous in its splendor, however. Strangely, it was separated from all the other pieces of furniture, which was good, in a way – if anything else would be near it, it would be over-decorated.

The bed was equally large. Three people could fit in it without problems, four would manage. And she was supposed to be sleeping there alone, since each of the three of them had their separate quarters. That was primarily her and Philippe's idea. They wanted to appear as chaste and you couldn't really trust an engaged couple to sleep in the same bed without anything happening, could you?

On the other side of the next chamber, the entrance to a balcony became visible. The curtains seemed to be thin as spider webs and equally soft, even from afar. The balcony was almost a separate room, certainly large enough to be one. The railings, she could see even from her current position, were also decorated, so perhaps her first impression of the palace was a bit too harsh.

Her luggage was already nearby, she spotted it after she overcame the initial shock. It wasn't unpacked, both fortunately and unfortunately, so she quickly proceeded to do that. but she only took out the things she needed urgently, since it was late and it would take her a while to get out of her elaborate dress and store her jewelry away safely.

The first thing she removed were the silver clasps in her hair, allowing the dark curls to run freely around her face. Afterwards came the necklace with floral motives, which she never truly wanted, despite its beauty. Raoul actually wanted to buy her an even more expensive and far more decorated one, but it seemed very garish to her, thus, since he wouldn't be swayed from the idea of showering her with expensive gifts in the joy of their happy reunion, she picked this one instead.

Most of her dresses didn't have decorative belts, since adjusting the corset alone was a procedure she wasn't very fond of. It was probably the one thing she envied the women in Persia – she doubted any of them had ever seen a corset, much less tried it on. Otherwise, though, she was glad she was European and not one of the overly obedient wives and daughters, completely dependant on the male part of their families when it came to every aspect in their lives.

The jewelry was immediately stored away safely, since she was afraid to lose it, even though she wasn't overly attached to it. It would sadden Raoul, though. Well, he would probably be sad that she lost it because it would mean she lost something he gave her, but a second later, he would be saying that the lost item was unworthy of her and that there was this really beautiful new diadem he saw back in Paris, the newest fashion in Europe…

Once that was done, Christine undid the laces of her dress and, used to people barging into her dressing room even if she strictly said that no one should enter, she automatically moved behind the changing screen. It seemed as if she was finally able to breathe easily when she removed the corset, her feet were almost itching for a run when she got out of the skirt that was somewhat of a limitation of movement. But she was too tired to do that and it wouldn't be proper.

Slipping into a white nightgown, she carefully put the dress into her closet and moved to the mirror, taking out a metal hairbrush. Brushing her hair was sometimes and enjoyable process, at other times a real drag, since her hair was long and curls were hard to brush, especially if they were supposed to remain perfect and not turn into the semblance of an explosion on her head. At least she didn't have to pin her hair up yet.

So far, things were going well, she thought. But she still felt unease. Those eyes… she simply couldn't forget the sight. Often she had dreamed about them during solitary nights and lonely days, imagining the warmth that once was in them, then the pain and hoped that the former returned to them.

Dreams remained dreams.

But she remembered music, warmth, light… a rush of wind blew her candles out rapidly. It was then that she realized that the balcony door was opened and that the rule that hot climates are icy at night applied for the Far East as well. Putting her bush away, Christine went to the next room and closed the door immediately. The wind continued raging outside, but her room was now safe from its effects.

She could see well enough, even in the semi-darkness, because the rest of the palace was filled with lights. And besides, she meant to put the candles out in a few minutes anyway, so there was no point in repeating the process over and over again.

Picking up the brush from her vanity table, she looked at the object closely. It was an ordinary brush, really, without anything special about it, but she was getting so lost in her memories that she needed something to focus on.

Too many years

Fighting back tears…

Why can't the past just die?

Her eyelids slid shut for a moment as she fought with these words for a moment. Memories were like fireflies against the background night of her mind, flickering here and there, showing her a light that might have been created, then fading away back into the darkness.

Painful memories
Bring up silent tears

Always looking back at the fleeing years…

Help me say goodbye…

Though I am wishing you were somehow here again­…

With a slight sigh, Christine looked into the mirror again, raising her hand to continue brushing her hair.

The object dropped out of her limp hand, out of her feeble grasp, falling to the ground with a pang. But then there was silence. Was the even breathing? Her eyes now seemed way too large for her face, her mouth was slightly open. There wasn't even the impulse to turn or stare. There was only shock.

The sound of her heartbeat seemed to be coming from her throat, where her heart indeed caught. Had she completely lost her mind? Or was this mirror really more than just a mirror – was it a door to another world, a world of her imagination, of her dreams?

"Erik?" her choked, unusually fragile voice whispered.

From shock, from lack of air, she swayed, her knees and legs giving away, and fell back. Before all turned dark, she felt someone catch her with ease and hold her protectively. Her final darkening vision was that of two golden eyes shining at her from behind a white mask.