Okay, regarding the horse in Chapter Four; just so you all know, I have read the book and I know that the horse is white and is named César, but I happen to like "Othello" better, and black Friesians are my favorite horses, so there. I don't own any of the characters, etc. Just keep reading.
Heartache
Days passed as Christine and Erik both tried to carry on with their lives, each torn to pieces by loss and heartache. Weeks flew by, Time oblivious to human imperfections, and Christine told herself she had imagined everything. She never could really believe that, though, as love for the man in the mask grew with the passing of time. She simply ignored this overpowering feeling, and threw herself into her role as lead soprano for the Opera House.
Not long after, Christine's life took a sudden change. The new patron of the Opera Populaire arrived, and the girl was shocked to discover that he was her childhood sweetheart, Raoul de chagny. She had no chance to speak with him until one evening when he attended a performance of Hannibal. He was just as surprised as she to see his past love at the opera house. After the show, Christine sat in her dressing room, which was filled to the brim with flowers of all kinds from her devotees. Still in her performance gown, she scrutinized herself in the full-length mirror, and whirled in surprise when she heard a knock on the huge oak door.
"Little Lotte let her mind wander," said Raoul as he entered the room. Christine smiled, almost sadly, as she gazed at the man she had loved so long ago, when they were both still children.
"Raoul," she whispered. "It's been so long."
"Too long," he said, sitting next to her on the vanity bench, hugging her tightly, then taking her delicate hand in his own. He softly stroked her slender fingers. "I've missed you so much," he murmured as he kissed her open palm. She gently pulled her hand away. He stared at her, startled and confused for a moment before he stood up abruptly and reached for his coat, which had lain draped over the back of another chair.
"Let's go to supper," he suggested eagerly, suddenly excited. "We shall talk and laugh as we did when we were young."
"I can't," she said quietly. "I've so much to do this evening."
"Such as? Christine, you just delivered the finest operatic performance this city has ever seen. You can relax with me for one evening, I'm sure."
She looked up at him through thick lashes bewilderedly, trying to remember what she had felt for him before, trying to rekindle her first love, and she failed. Sighing, she stood up and went to find an evening gown.
The two left shortly after, completely ignoring the wild party being thrown in the cellars, and dined quietly for hours, catching up on the last ten years of their lives. Christine did speak with the first man she had ever loved, but she never truly heard a word of the conversation; her treacherous thoughts and defiant heart continually turned to the man she had so recently loved and fled, but whom she couldn't get out of her mind.
A dark figure prowled along the corridors in the bowels of the opera house. Strange occurrences had been happening lately, involving broken glassware, frightened ballet girls, and an overall sense of foreboding. Anyone familiar with the opera recognized that its most dangerous inhabitant was restless. Over the course of a few weeks, things got worse; all who dared venture into the dark domains alone returned always with a new scar or broken appendage, testimony to the violence of the masked figure down below. He was heard, at times, yelling at the impassive walls, muttering to himself and cursing Christine. What no one ever heard was the soft weeping Erik allowed himself whenever the sorrow became too much to continue to bear. his life had been irreparably altered by the faithless girl, and he was utterly alone in his despair.
