Disclaimer: Nope
A/N: So I'm on summer break. I'll definatly be writing more often, probably start a new story or two. So many of you said their wasn't as much actuion. I'll try my hardest in the following chapters. this one is more of a set up for that. So be warned. Hope you like it. And Raoul appers! ( gasp!)
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We did meet again. And he was true to his word, he kept in touch. I would often find roses in my dressing room, or notes upon my pillow when I went to the dormitories after a long day of practice. They were poetic notes, though his handwriting was crude and child-like. But, I suppose that's what made it so exciting to read them. Finally, two months later, a note came from him requesting a meeting.
Dearest Mademoiselle Daae,
I believe it is time for us to meet once again. In Carlotta's dressing room tonight at the stroke of twelve, I shall be waiting.
Your Angel
I held the note close to my chest. Finally, another chance to talk with him. That glorious angel!
I could still remember that figure standing before me. So strong and brave, yet too timid to touch my cheek. Remembering all the wonderful things, I also recalled the bad. He had almost killed me that night. But it was only because I startled him. He would never hurt anyone intentionally, would he? But the question of his mental state was of my least concern at that point.
My largest problem was the Vicomte De Changy. My childhood friend and the new patron. Raoul. He was such a sweet boy back then. Bright, never vain, shy. Everything a young girl should want. Something I wanted actually. I loved him. You could have said we were childhood sweethearts; my father did.
But as a grown women I wanted more. Passion, sensuality, and true love. Not the petty love of strolling down the boulevards ,too shy to kiss, only daring to hold each others hands. No. I wanted more than the love Raoul could give me. I made that clear a week before I received my Angel's note.
I had seen him a week after I came to the Opera. He was looking out from the managers box, eyes fixed on the chandelier. I watched him for a moment, and then his gaze moved and he spotted me. In fact, he was so shocked his mouth fell open before he could catch himself. I looked away, and before I knew it, there he was, making his way past irritated dancers ( a combination of aching feet and the repetitiveness that is rehearsal), and drunken stage hands with the never ending blurbs of " Excuse me" " very sorry".
He stood before me a dashing young man. Tall, well bread, stylish. " C-Christine?" He asked in uncertainty. I nodded as he kissed my hand in the customary fashion. " Why, Raoul!" I asked in surprise, " Is that you?" He blushed. " Dear Mademoiselle Daae, how long has it been.?"
By this point I had missed my cue to go on and strut around in my nymph costume, but I hardly noticed. It had been so long, and I won't lie, I did miss him. And I felt no remorse in talking about old times over dinner that night, nor flirting shamelessly with him as I danced around in the barely there costumes of the Corps de Ballet.
This went on for a week or two, until I received a note from a stranger.
Be Careful. To love the white rose is to devastate the red.
The note brought me back to reality. If I loved Raoul, I would hurt my Angel. What was to be done? What could I do? What had I done! Flirting with Raoul in that manner, all the while, forgetting that the angel was with me all the time. I had hurt them both in different ways.I had to make things right.
That evening, after the production, Raoul came backstage ceremonially to ask me to dinner." I can not join you tonight... I feel ill" Why did I lie? Day after day, I refused his courtship. And day after day, his bright eyes portrayed a sadness that was weighing heaver on my heart than ever.
Finally, after a production of Faust, I told him. " I don't wish to keep hurting you. I- I'm in love with someone else. I'm sorry." I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm." It can't be true." He whispered gravely. " It just can't be..." I looked at him with a sadness. I had grown so attached. This could not end well. I knew this much. This poor boy was unknowingly stuck in a love triangle." I'm sorry" I repeated before rushing off to think things through.
Then a week later, the note came and I was certain what I would do. I would see my Angel.
At the stroke of midnight, I crept into Carlotta's gaudy dressing room. The gas lamps were burning low, and he was sitting at the vanity, one leg over the other, a rose in hand. I clicked the door shut and his gaze shot up. His eyes seemed to glow in the semi-darkness, and I felt myself drawing closer to his regal figure. He stood up and I leaned my head against his chest. " Angel" I said softly into the folds of his cloak. He began to stroke my hair with a uncertain hand. " Come child. Let us go to the roof."
It was a rather cold night, I must admit. But the view from the roof was one that could never be replaced. He had leaned himself up against a statue of Apollo with his gaze fixed to the sky. I wonder what could have possible been troubling him. " Angel, what is bothering you?" I asked, holding the rose he gave me to my chest.
He shifted his stare to me. " I saw you flirting with that aristocrat. It was shameless of you." I opened my mouth to talk but no words would come out. " Don't worry, my dear I saw you reject him. That was quite noble of you. But, the question is, did you want to do it?" His voice was tinged with anger. I didn't like this side of him.
" Angel, I did, I swear to you... I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else. Why- Why can't you understand that." I was fighting back childish tears as he looked away defiantly. Why was he doing this? Where had my kind hearted angel gone? " Why? Because you do love him!"
"Not as much as I love you! I told you that!" I lashed out, banging my fists against his chest in frustrated rage. He seemed devoid of any feeling until he fiercely grabbed my wrists.
I don't know how things would have ended up, but I do know this. We never expected to see Raoul on the roof that night.
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So Flame and Flatter.
Pulling all nighter writing streaks,
Bella DeMuerte