Disclaimer: Hmmm I haven't been doing these have I? Well, I guess I don't own anything. I know, shocker. You could probably I don't even own my "original" characters because no character in any literature is completely original. In fact, you could argue that there hasn't even been an original story since Homer's Illiad. But, if that's true, then no one could really own POTO without having to give some credit to writers, lyricists, composers, etc. that came before them. Something to think about. Wow, I'm a loser for typing that long of a disclaimer. Wait, what was I saying? Give me a second….Jeopardy theme in the background…..scratches head…..I have got it! You ready for this. clears throat Do not sue me!
Meg's POV
The day was young at the de Changy estate. My mother and I had been guests for a little over a week now. It had been simply splendid. It was nice to be near Christine again. She was so happy. She was almost her old self again, almost the friend I knew before the Opera Ghost came along. Of course, now, the only difference was her love for Raoul. Before the young Vicomte came back into the picture, she was always shy and timid when it came to the subject of love and men. Whenever another, though I will admit, more bawdy chorus girl would take up the subject, Christine would blush furiously and turn away from the group. Not that I stayed and hung on their every word, but I was less terrified of the notion of men than she was. But, now, she was completely different. I saw the way she and Raoul looked at each other. Yes, there was pure love, but you would have to be blind to miss the other emotions swimming in their eyes.
Just the thought of them together like that was enough to bring a maiden blush to my cheeks. I was a decent French girl after all. I shook the impure thoughts from my mind and turned my attention to the frosty garden in which I was seated in. Unlike Christine, I was born and raised in Paris. This past week had been my first time away from the city. I found the country pleasant, but not all that intriguing. I would always prefer the hustle and bustle of Paris. The one thing the country held on Paris in my eyes was the cleanliness of it all. The air was fresh and the sky, clear.
"Meg?" I turned to find Christine, moving in between the snow-covered flowerbeds to come to my side.
"Christine," I greeted. She smiled at me. I slid over on the stone bench I had been occupying, making room for her. She gracefully sat down. She did not say anything; she just looked around at the snow covered land. She seemed particularly interested snow that was drifting lazily from the sky. We watched flake after flake descend to the ground.
"Even in winter, it's so beautiful," she whispered, though I doubted it was aimed directly at me. She seemed more like she was simply thinking out loud.
Nevertheless, I responded, "It is." She turned her head to face me.
"You miss the city," she observed. I bit my lip. I didn't want to seem ungrateful to all that she and Raoul had provided me with. I just nodded. "I miss it a little too."
"I'm surprised. With the company you have here, it's a wonder you would ever want to go back." I could not resist the urge to tease my life long friend. She averted her gaze, blushing. She may look at that man one way, but, in many ways, she was still the innocent little girl I had grown up with.
After a minute, she managed to control the color of her face. "I do miss it, Meg," she repeated.
"I know," I assured her.
"It will be awhile before the construction will be complete. Raoul said eight months at the least." My heart fell, eight whole months without the Opera, without Paris. Upon seeing my obvious disappointment, Christine hurriedly continued, "It'll be all right, Meg. You and Madame Giry are perfectly welcome to stay here until then. Time will fly faster then you think." I considered the idea of staying here for eight months. It would be nice to stay near Christine, but I was already longing for the city. I sighed.
'No,' I thought to myself, 'A few months in the country will do me a world of good.'
Misinterpreting my reaction, Christine's face fell. "You don't want to stay here," she whispered quietly. She opened her mouth to say something else, but I interrupted her.
"No," I said quickly, "that's not it at all. There's nothing I would like more." Her face lit up.
"Excellent!"
We sat in silence for a few minutes. She seemed like she had no intention of saying anything, but I could take it no longer. I broke the chilly quiet with, what I thought was, a conversational question. "When will the wedding be, Christine?" Her face darkened ever so slightly.
"Nine months," she whispered.
"Not until November?" I asked incredulously. Surely they would not have to wait that long. She just nodded. "Why?"
"The typical time of engagement for a noble marriage is a year," she explained, "Raoul is a Vicomte. No one would marry us before November. We were even lucky to find minister to perform the ceremony then." I was shocked. I couldn't really believe all nobles waited a whole year to marry.
I decided to voice this thought. "Surely all nobility doesn't wait an entire year just to marry."
"They don't," she whispered, "The church is only abiding by this formality because of my status."
"Did they say that?" I asked, appalled at the very thought.
"How could they?" she said, somewhat sarcastically. She was being sarcastic? This was not the Christine I was used to. "No, they did not need to say anything. I understand." She stared off into the distance. "He's going through so much trouble for me, Meg. He shouldn't have to."
"He loves you, Christine." I took a firm grip on her shoulders, forcing her to face me. "He would do anything for you." She gave me a weak smile. "You don't believe me?"
A single tear fell down her cheek. "I don't know, Meg."
Think of him
Think of him now
I knew my voice paled in comparison to Christine's, but I felt this was the only way to get my point across. She turned away from me, but, once again, I made her face me.
Think of him
Think of him fondly
I know
He thinks of you
Think of he
He that loves you
Trust me
She stood up, and began to walk away from me. With her back turned, she began to sing back to me.
You ask me to
Have faith that he
Will always love me for me
That he'll ignore the wealth
Or lack thereof
She was still sarcastic, but I could tell that she was more scared than anything. She was afraid of being turned out by him.
Think of him
Think of the man
I know that you love
Remember him
Remember the one that saved you
I walked over to her. "Trust me, Christine. Something as trivial as nobility will not keep Raoul from you. He's too good a man." She turned to me. Her eyes were still damp, but they held hope now.
"Hup, hup." We both spun around to see Raoul driving a sleigh out of the stables. His practiced hands guided the two large horses through the snow and towards us. He pulled them to a halt at the boundary of the garden. He leapt from the carriage and moved in our direction. Once he reached us, he bowed with mock formality.
"Mademoiselles," he addressed us, "Can I interest either of you in a sleigh ride?" He grinned toothily at us, and made a broad gesture to the scenery. "You see, the day, though brisk, is a gorgeous one, and we would hate to miss the opportunity to enjoy it." He finally took note of Christine's distraught appearance. "Christine, love," he whispered, moving towards her, "Whatever is the matter?" He placed a loving hand upon each of her trembling shoulders. She bit her lip nervously, and looked to the ground. A single tear slid down her cheek. Raoul gently removed his hands from her shoulders and cupped her face. He brushed the tear away with his thumb. He stood like that for several moments, staring deeply into her wide, brown eyes.
I averted my gaze to the snow after a few seconds of this. It always embarrassed me a little when I witnessed one of these moments. If I was Christine, I certainly wouldn't want an audience.
"Oh, Christine," Raoul breathed. I turned back to the couple. Raoul had drawn Christine into arms, and was whispering sweet nothings into her hair. Every so often, he would go silent as he placed a small, loving kiss on the top of her head. She was as unmoving as a statue throughout all of this, but she kept her head buried in her love's chest.
"Perhaps," I said hesitantly, breaking the silence, "You and Christine should go, Raoul."
"No," Christine interjected swiftly. She pulled her head off Raoul's chest so fast their heads collided. He took a good bang to the chin, but only closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds in pain. While Christine had hit the top of her head, her eyes only showed the discomfort for a split second before she continued speaking. "You should come too, Meg. I'm fine." Upon seeing my and Raoul's doubtful looks, she insisted, "Really."
"No. Really, it's too cold out here for me anyway," I lied with a smile. She needed to speak with Raoul without me there. She looked at me doubtfully, but, before she could say anything else, Raoul spoke up.
"Well, if you're sure, Meg,"—I nodded—"Then it's settled. Come, Christine." He put a hand on the small of her back, gently propelling her in the direction of the sleigh. We exchanged meaningful glances before he followed Christine out of the garden.
He helped Christine into sleigh, and then climbed up himself. She slid in close to him, for heat and, I expect, for other reasons. He placed a small kiss on her temple before taking up the reins.
"Ya!" he called and snapped the reins firmly upon the beasts' backs. They quickly picked up a trot, and the sleigh jolted to life. Christine twisted around to give me a small wave which I returned. She moved so she was facing forward and rested her head gingerly on Raoul's shoulder.
Once the sleigh had disappeared from sight, I started back towards the large house.
The rush of warmth I felt upon entering the house was a welcomed relief. I padded silently through the halls. I still wasn't an expert at maneuvering about this house. I could get to the necessary places without problem though.
'Eight months,' I reminded myself. I had eight months to figure this house out. On the way to my room, I passed the room of my mother. It was shut tightly. I knew she was in there. That's where she has been spending all of her time since we arrived here, or at least most of it. Ever since she returned to the Opera to fetch our things, she had been distant, always thinking, but never telling anyone exactly what she was thinking about. Every time she would open her mouth, and it looked as if she was going to say something about it, she would shut it again and shake her head silently, retreating back into the recesses of her mind. I opened the door to my room, and say down at the small desk for writing letters. I unearthed a piece of parchment and a quill from the drawer, and began a letter to Marguerite. I hadn't sent one to her since our arrival, and was feeling slightly guilty.
'Dear Marguerite,' I thought, moving my pen in unison with my thoughts. I set about telling her of the estate, our happenings since leaving the Bird and Baby, and assuring her that we were all getting along just fine. Next, I started on a letter to one of my friends from the ballet. By the time I had finished, it was time for dinner.
I was not sure what to expect upon entering the dining room, but one glance at Christine quickly told me that she was much better. Whatever Raoul had told her on their ride had most definitely worked. She beamed at me from her seat next to Raoul.
"Hello, Meg," she smiled. I returned her grin and moved towards my chair. Ever the gentleman, Raoul quickly rose and pulled the chair out for me.
"Thank you." He inclined his head slightly and moved to sit down again, but before he had made contact with the chair my mother walked in. He immediately stood once again, and pulled the chair out for her.
"Thank you, monsieur le Vicomte," she thanked him. He gave her also a tiny nod of the head, though this time it was coupled with a slightly annoyed look. He had asked her repeatedly to call him by his first name, but my mother, being stubborn, had refused, continuing to address him by his title. He finally was able to take his seat just as the food was being brought in.
The meal went as usual. Christine, Raoul, and I would talk animatedly, while my mother would sit, speaking on occasion, but more often then not she was caught up in her own thoughts. After the last dish had been cleared away, Raoul, Christine, and I stood and left (my mother had excused herself some time ago). While Christine and Raoul were going to the sitting room, I made up my mind to follow my mother's example and retire. I liked spending time with the two, but I often felt like I was intruding, even though they constantly repeated that I was not. We walked together through the halls for a minute, before reaching the door of the sitting room. Christine bid me good night and slipped inside. Raoul was about to follow suit, but I put my arm on his to stop him. He gave me a quizzical stare.
"Is she all right?" Christine was my sister, in almost every sense of the word.
"Yes," he promised.
"This afternoon,"—I checked the expression on his face to see whether or not I would have to explain. One glance told me he knew exactly what had frightened Christine so badly—"Promise me that you won't hurt her. Assure me that I wasn't lying to her today." I knew Raoul was a good man, but even the best of men have their limits as to what they can and can't take. If Raoul was going to turn from Christine at the first snide comment by another noble, I wanted to tell Christine now and spare her all of the pain later.
"I would never hurt her," he said earnestly, "That is one thing I simply cannot do. You don't have to worry, Meg. As long as I live, she'll be fine. As long as I live, she won't ever hurt again." I searched his eyes for any sign of a lie. Christine, my sister, had lost a father, not once, but twice. When Gustave Daae died, and when she discovered the truth about her "Angel of Music." She had had her sanity chewed away at by the same "Angel." She had almost lost the man in front of me, and had been forced to damn herself to hell just to save him. She did not deserve any more pain.
"Love?" came Christine's voice from within the room. I smiled at him. Yes, I trusted this man. I believed him; he would not hurt her. I nodded for him to go to her, and turned around.
Throwing a, "Good night, Raoul," over my shoulder before turning the corner and disappearing from sight.
A/N
How did the changed lyrics go? I don't know how I feel about them, but I haven't included any music in a long time, so I decided to add it. Some of the syllables don't quite match up because it's like the character is kinda talk/singing. I don't know how to describe it, but I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. I also altered the melody a little, but just a little. If you honestly can't figure it out, tell me and I'll post the melody in my next chapter or on my profile page. Mind you, it would be very crude (ex. Middle C, D, E), but I think it would work. That is, if you read music. And if you don't, well, you're out of luck. I'm trying really hard to set up the plot. It makes me sad because that means less fluffy chapters, and more of an actual story. The next few chapters will be fillers, so just FYI. My goal is to get two more chapters up this week, and the first "good" (AKA non-filler) up by Christmas, but that probably won't happen. Anywho, I started a forum, so come and comment about how RC is SOOOO much better than EC! Ummmm……aren't ya'll proud of me? I got a chapter up on a Monday! Yay for me! I think that's it. Until next time! Ta!