:A/N: Okay, so here I go again, updated earlier since I can't wait to write more on my new pairing. The question is whom I like more: Raoul and Antoinette or rather Maxime and the Phantom? Oh, you may decide. Hihih. Thanks a lot!
:Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.
:Claimer: I own Maxime! Yahoo! You might borrow her (I am kind, aren't I?), but ask me before, please. Wow, I never thought I would ever be proud of a created character! She's gorgeous!
:Summary: When Raoul gets to the Opera, he doesn't remember Christine. He lays his eyes upon somebody else. Christine pouts. Madame is confused. C. gets on Erik's nerves. How he tries to get rid of her. (Drama/Parody) (Raoul/Antoinette)
:Thanks to: Incapa, Madame Van Tassel, Meg Giry and Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel. Madame Van Tassel, thanks for pointing out my mistakes. I actually got the "blonde" right but my grammar programme deleted it. What a shame. Well, thank you very much!
(Still have no betareader. Guys, keep track to it!)
: Chapter 7 : Holy :
Christine moved away from the mirror, thoughts overwhelming her. The "SLUT" on her cheek convinced her she should indeed leave the Phantom alone, otherwise he'd make her look more ridiculous. 'Oh my,' she thought, 'he could take away my clothes and replace them with some that have more fabric!' A shiver ran down her spine thinking about this, so she decided to stare out of the window and sing a little until it would be time for breakfast. Her sad voice sounded through the room and while her eyes filled with tears, she brooded on how to spend her time differently than visiting the Phantom and eating ice cream, for exactly that made her clothes a little... too small for her. Then, a 'gorgeous' idea stroke her mind, she stood up immediately and ran out of the room.
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Mme. Giry had been watching the clock for the last twenty minutes, her hands trembling and sweating. She waited for Raoul to arrive. She felt something was going on. The Phantom had sung that night, a very rare event. Very rare. He likes to sing before doing evil things. Oh how well Madame remembered how he had first killed a man. It was years ago, it got his new hobby. Once in a while, a cleaner is found in the entrance area, ironically bathed with black roses. Ironically? Madame shivered at the thought of it, pushing it from her mind and standing up to go down and talk to him immediately when the door would open and a happy Vicomte would approach her.
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"Monsieur Le Vicomte," a man said und pulled open the door of Le Vicomte's carriage.
"Thanks," Raoul nodded and sat down. The door fell to and the carriage took up on its way to the Opera, carrying the saddest man the world had ever seen. But Raoul wasn't angry anymore. His eyes didn't glare with foolish fever anymore, his hands didn't crush poor paper. His heartbeat was strikingly slow and powerful. What a good actor he was. It would help him. He wasn't so foolish to ignore Erik's letter. He'd do nothing to provoke him any further. It was enough to ruin two lives. 'I'll do what he wants me to,' he thought, looking out of the window. The Opera came closer.
He had always wondered why he went on such a short way to the Opera. His brother always said, "you're a gentleman. Gentlemen always take a carriage. Always. You won't neglect this rule." 'I'll do what he wants me to,' he thought, looking out of the window. The Opera came closer. He had always wondered why he went on such a short way to the Opera. His brother always said, "you're a gentleman. Gentlemen always take a carriage. Always. You won't neglect this rule."
Oh, if he knew what Raoul was going to do, which rules he would break. How his reputation would suffer. How his love, his heart would suffer. It was probably one of the biggest tragedies he himself had heard of. "We should write an Opera on this. Starring the Phantom," Raoul thought, listening to his own heartbeat, feeling how it cried for Antoinette's presence.
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"Look!"
Meg opened her eyes.
"What is this?"
"It's an altar! What else? These are the candles." Christine approached the altar and pointed on the candles she had lightened. "Isn't this wonderful? I made this painting all by myself."
Meg stared at the table, full of candles and flowers, and in the middle of it, the horrible portrait of what was not clearly to be made out as Monsieur Le Vicomte.
"I'll pray!"
"What?" Meg was astonished. It was the most stupid idea she had ever heard. "You're not."
"Oh yes." Christine nodded her head.
"Okay, Chris, this is enough. You scratched the word "SLUT" on your cheek and now you've made an altar for Le Vicomte? Are you insane?"
"No. I brought all candles Madame Giry could spare."
"She gave you candles for this thing here?" Meg's eyes almost popped out, almost like her boobs.
"It's an altar, just for Le Vicomte, and she doesn't know yet."
"I could have bet she isn't that insane yet."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you kind of make it hard for people not to..."
"He's such a cutie! Didn't I draw him well?"
"Yes."
"I'll show him. Today."
"Oh my God. Please, don't!"
"I will! I'm so proud!" She nodded her head.
Meg shook hers and wanted to run against a wall. Chris would, indeed, show the Vicomte. Definitely. 'GOD. This is the end of the Opera.'
