Christine was quite pleased that she had recovered fully (a most unexpected turn of events), though sure enough she still tended to fatigue easily in the coming days even after she had returned to life above.

Her next number of lessons involved very little singing (Erik refused to push her voice, insisting it was safest to give her more rest) and although he asked on occasion if there was anything in particular she'd like to go over, she'd shake her head each time and never brought up the exercises she had been thinking of. There might come a day when she felt the need to act on her bizarre curiosities (would kissing him feel very different than kissing Raoul?) but it was certainly not today. She could wait, she told herself. Besides, what they had currently was lovely. She was quite happy, and he seemed to be happy as well.

And then there was Raoul.

She was also quite happy with Raoul. She enjoyed Erik's company very much, but it was wonderful to have someone to go places with. She adored their many trips and outings, and she always had plenty to smile about and laugh about when she was with him. It was often as if all her cares were washed away when she with him - she didn't have a single thing to worry about when they were together. There was no Philippe, no pressures of the opera house, no remnants of childhood struggles, no thought that she was in the presence of a vicomte - there was just her and Raoul.

She lay on the blanket on the grassy bank of the lake and stared lazily up at the soft clouds drifting across the sky. The tree branches bobbed and swayed in the breeze, and the only sound around them was the occasion buzz of an insect and the constant music of birdsongs.

"You always find the most lovely places, Raoul," Christine said.

Raoul, laying on his blanket a few feet away from her, smiled.

"The most lovely girl requires the most lovely places to spend her time, you see," he replied, and she grinned.

The lake was in a clearing in a forest, and it was quite deserted. They were silent a little while.

"Do you ever think about the future, Lotte?"

"Mm. All the time."

He rolled over and propped his head on his hand.

"Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

She let her eyelids flutter shut.

"I'm on the stage of the Populaire, and I'm taking a bow, and everyone is standing and clapping because I've just closed another spectacular season I headlined," her cheeks were pink as she smiled at the thought.

"Is there someone there waiting for you in the wings?"

Her mouth twisted into a frown, her eyes still closed. Was there someone? Erik, probably, but she realized Raoul was likely asking about himself.

"Yes," she finally said.

"Who is it?" he twisted the corner of the blanket around his finger.

Her eyes opened and stared at the blue sky and the swirled clouds. Was it Erik or was it Raoul? Or was it both? What if it was someone she hadn't even met yet?

"Someone I love very much," was all she said.

"And does he love you?" he teased.

"Oh, yes, very much. I'm sure."

She turned her head to look at him.

"What about you?" she asked. "Where are you in ten years?"

He flopped back onto the ground.

"The North Pole," he said with all the seriousness in the world.

She burst out laughing.

"What on earth are you doing at the North Pole? There's nothing up there!"

"Exploring, of course! But I'll come back in time to watch from the wings as you close the season, I promise."

"You'll miss my entire season up at the stuffy old North Pole?" she pouted teasingly. "Is that snow really more interesting than me?"

Raoul hesitated.

"I'll stay for your whole season," he decided. "And then when it's over, you'll come to the North Pole with me."

"Hmm..."

"Think about it, Lotte - you could be the first woman to perform an opera at the North Pole."

"No!" she shrieked with laughter. "I couldn't! Besides, Erik says the cold is bad for my voice."

There was a pause.

"Who's Erik?"

She cleared her throat.

"I would like to tour, but preferably not somewhere so cold."

"Ah," his face lit up. "You can tour, and I'll along with you! We'll go to all sorts of places together!"

It wasn't an unpleasant thought, but she felt her mind wander. Would Erik go with her on the tour? She was struck by the image of all three of them together, standing up at the North Pole, wrapped in coats upon coats as the snow blew all around them. They was absolutely nothing around them, and Erik kept glaring at Raoul who was steadfastly trying to insist it had been a good idea to go to such a place, and she - she could feel her very hair freezing while they argued.

She snickered at the thought.

"But I'll be going to places like Italy and Russia and England... Those aren't exactly prime exploration destinations."

He frowned, and she turned her head to watch him as he thought about it. She could tell what was on his mind. He had hopes and goals he wanted to achieve, but she knew that two of the biggest ones were diametrically opposed to each other. He wanted to be the supportive husband who waited in the wings and watched her as she performed, and he wanted to be off exploring the wilderness and making discoveries. He couldn't have both - or if he could, it would be a half life of each, shows missed and not seeing her for months, and then time with her in places that were dull to him while there was a whole world out there waiting to be explored.

She reached a hand out to grasp his, twinging their fingers together and squeezing.

He looked at her smiled, but he still looked a little sad.

"Christine... whatever happens... we'll still be friends, won't we?"

"Forever and a day, Raoul. I swear it. No matter what."

He nodded, pensive.

"I still think we could put an opera house at the North Pole."

She laughed.

"You won't laugh when you see it, Lotte."

"Mm, I'm sure," she brushed her thumb over his knuckles.

"Will you write to me while I'm at the North Pole?" he asked, his voice a little smaller.

"Why on earth would I write to you when I would be there too?" she smiled. "But I'll write you every day if you wish - I'll even hand deliver my letters right to you, I'll save a fortune on postage!"

He smiled. They lay there a while longer, staring at the clouds and holding hands.

"The North Pole can't be all that great," he finally said. "I'm sure there's plenty of interesting places that you'll be touring."

"What you need to do is hurry and finish your training," she said, looking over at him coyly. "So you can go to the North Pole and see what it's like, and then come back and join me as I go on tour."

His lips tugged into a smirk.

"I'll go up and scope out a place to build the opera house," he agreed. "And then when you complete your tour around the world, it'll be finished being built, and we can move up there. You'll headline and huge crowds will come see you."

"You could be head of tourism. Maybe we'll open a resort. 'L'hôtel de Changy' - how does that sound?"

"Hmm - 'come stay at the de Chagny Hotel and see world-famous opera star Christine de Chagny perform' - it has a nice sound to it, I must admit," he smiled mischievously.

She shook her head vehemently.

"I'm keeping Daaé for my stage name," her cheeks went pink. "But the deed to the hotel will say Christine de Chagny."

He huffed a laugh and rolled over to face her, pushing up onto his elbows. He studied her blushing face for a moment and then leaned down to kiss her. It was sweet and tender, but Christine thought it felt a little sad as well, and she knew why.

Philippe would never approve of them getting married, and they both knew it. The very thought of her becoming a de Chagny was about as realistic as an opera house at the North Pole.

He eventually broke the kiss and sat watching the water ripple across the lake. She sat up and smoothed out her skirts before leaning against him. She couldn't see a way their relationship could last as a romantic one, but she knew he wouldn't give up. She knew deep down that he would give up anything for her, and that both worried and touched her at the same time. He'd give up his title, give up dreams of the North Pole, give up everything else but her - but she didn't want him to. She refused to be the person who stripped him of everything else in his life. Would he ever forgive her for that? For taking everything from him except for herself?

Should he ever forgive her for that? For refusing his love, refusing his own choices in what he wanted out of life? If they both loved each other (if, on that future day, she knew for certain that she loved him in the same way he loved her) who was she to deny them both of that joy? For what? A title? Wasn't love - true love - worth more than that?

She sighed as she rested her cheek on his shoulder, her eyes lazily half closed as she stared at the water and how the pale pink and purple and yellow flowers bobbed in the breeze. All of those concerns seemed so far off, so unreal - all that was real right now were these flowers and this lake and herself and Raoul and the sky above them. There was no Philippe, no Erik, no North Pole, no opera houses, no ten years in the future. Not here. Not now. She couldn't bring herself to truly worry about any of those things. It was enough to simply be there with him and live in that present moment as it unfolded.

Raoul glanced down at her.

"You look like you're thinking of something very serious," he remarked.

She nodded and furrowed her brow.

"Oh, yes - terribly serious."

"Do you wish to talk about it, perhaps?" he asked softly.

"Well, you see, it's a very difficult matter," she began, then glanced up at him gravely. "I'm trying to remember if there happened to be any cake left over from lunch."

He laughed heartily and she giggled along with him.

They raided the remains of the picnic basket they had brought along with them, and sure enough there was some cake left, along with a bit of fruit and a few other things.

"Why do always pack so much?" Christine wrinkled her nose. "No wonder it was so heavy to drag all the way out here!"

"Ah," Raoul grinned. "It's because I know someone is always going to ask for more long after the meal has ended."

She gasped in feigned shock.

"And as for it being heavy, I seem to remember it was you who asked to help carry it," he went on.

She pulled a grape off of the bunch and threw it at him. It bounced off of his face and he returned the gesture with a slice of strawberry, which landed in her hair and caused her to shriek. Soon nearly every piece of fruit and each roll of bread and every celery stick had been tossed at each other in fits of laughter, and just as they had nearly run out of ammunition, Raoul reached for a slice of the cake, already imagining the pink frosting splattered across her face.

"Ooo, no, no!" Christine's eyes went wide and she motioned for him to stop. "Not the cake!"

"Do you give up, Madame?"

"Yes, yes, of course," she scooted closer to him. "I do give up. You're quite right, I have an appetite that's highly unladylike, especially when it comes to sweets, and you're very smart to think ahead and prepare for that."

She eyed the cake as he pulled his hand away from it.

"Hmmm... I don't know if I'd word it that way, exactly," he reached up and brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the fruit juice that was there. "But I do suppose we can call a truce."

"Truce, absolutely," she nodded, and brushed the bread crumbs out of his hair. "Now, about that cake-"

They stayed the rest of the afternoon by the lake, finishing off the cake and then picking wildflowers, and a good deal of time in concentration on making little boats out of leaves and seeing which ones would float the farthest.

Soon the sun was starting to set. They were both loath to leave the little clearing, and the thought that they could come back again soon didn't seem to help as much as it should have. The day had been nearly magical.

It wasn't until the carriage drew closer to the opera house that she suddenly remembered that her plans for the evening were far from over.

She had very nearly been nodding off in the carriage after such a long day spent in the sun and a good deal of walking (that picnic basket had been heavy, even if she had been the one to suggest that they each carry one end of it as they walked to the clearing), but now that she remembered what was next on her schedule she found herself wide awake.

Whereas before she hadn't wanted the day to end, now she was eager for the end of it. She jumped down from the carriage, followed by Raoul. He paid the driver and the two were left alone once more. She glanced up the statue of Apollo atop the roof, the clear moonlight illuminating it. She didn't want to be late - she had promised. She took a few steps towards the building, letting her gaze fall to the ground and thinking of what - of who - was underneath before she turned to her companion.

"It's been such a lovely evening, Raoul," Christine stopped in front the stairs leading the main entrance of the opera house. "I truly enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed it too, Lotte," Raoul said tenderly. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Thank you for asking me," she smiled.

He hesitated only a brief moment before leaning in for a quick kiss. His lips were soft and warm against her own, and her cheeks felt hot after he pulled away.

She looked away from him, out into the distance. The smile on her face grew bigger, but not only for the reasons Raoul assumed.

He smiled as well, although if he had fully seen what was in her mind at the moment he might not have smiled at all.

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded.

"Have a wonderful night, Christine."

"Oh," she laughed lightly. "Oh, I will."

He nodded and started off down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets. A few dozen paces down the street, he turned back to wave to her one last time, that lopsided boyish grin that she loved so much on his face. She waved back.

She hoped that Raoul would have a wonderful night, too. He deserved it.

She waited until he was out of sight, and then she turned and walked around the side of the opera house instead of up the stairs. The little door to the cellars on the Rue Scribe side often went unnoticed, and she slipped inside under the cover of the shadows.

She mused to herself on the subject of fairy tales as she navigated twists and turns and staircases with steps so steep and narrow that they might as well not even exist, places where the light went out entirely and she had to move forward by feel alone.

She finally came to the little house on the bank of the underground lake. The door was unlocked, and her smile returned. She went inside without knocking.

"Erik?"

"Ah, Christine, you came," Erik appeared from another room, looking pleasantly surprised.

"I said I would, didn't I?"

The smile which had started when she was still saying goodbye to Raoul turned into a full-on grin as she looked up at her Angel. Perhaps it was unseemly to have been in the midst of being kissed by a would-be suitor and have one's thoughts already turning to the man one was going to be staying the night with, but Raoul would never know, so it surely couldn't hurt him, and she was not one to condemn herself over the matter.

"Dinner was quite earlier, I'm afraid, but I did make extra for you if you wish me to reheat it. If you aren't in the mood for a full meal, I also made a chocolate mousse, if you are interested?" he twisted his hands anxiously.

"I would love some mousse, Erik."

Wasn't it just like a fairy tale?

She thought that it was. It certainly seemed that way to her, at least. Maybe her life wasn't filled with saintly maidens and Voices sent from heaven. Maybe her life was more the kind of story that was filled with goblins and curses and enchantments, with princesses who held secrets and visited strange lands. Yes, she could see that.

She thought about that as Erik prepared two bowls of mousse and two cups of tea for them, graciously agreeing to let her eat in the sitting room instead of at the table. She sat near the fire he had blazing, the one he had made knowing that she would be chilled from the long journey there, and sipped her tea carefully as she watched him sitting on the couch with his own bowl of mousse.

"How is that new opera coming? The one you were telling me about the other day - Hannibal, I think it was?"

She was reminded of the story of the twelve dancing princesses, and she felt that maybe that story was a little like her own life. Days spent up above in normal pursuits, evenings spent traveling to an enchanted castle, a secret no one else knew of. She though of poor Raoul up above, none the wiser of what she was doing down here, but much like the princesses in the story, she didn't feel guilty. Why shouldn't she be free to choose where she stayed, to choose who she spent time around? She was the mistress of her own actions. Never mind that the story would make Raoul the knight who was doomed to die once he figured out the secret of the castle, never mind that it meant that one day she'd be pulled from this little world down here just like the princesses, never to return or see the castle again. Never mind about any of that - it didn't matter. Those were worries for another time.

All that mattered in that moment was the lingering happy memories from the previous hours she had spent with Raoul, the warmth of the fire before her, the bittersweet taste of the fluffy chocolate dessert that had been made for her as it dissolved on her tongue, and the rich, dark voice of her Angel wrapping around her as he told her about the new piece he was writing.

Author Note: this marks the end for this part of the story! A big thank you to everyone who read this and thank you for the follows and comments, too! "The Prize of All-Too-Precious You" (already posted) is what takes place a little after this story, and there's a single chapter story that takes place after that, called "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the House by the Underground Lake", and THEN there's a follow-up multi-chapter to that which is called "A Love There Is No Cure For", which I'll be posting here very soon! :) There's also a couple one chapter stories for this series as well, a few little snippets of their time together that didn't get fit into the long multi-chapters - "Love Lost as Soon as Won", "An Unusual Gift", and "A Brotherly Discussion" (Raoul and Philippe talking about Christine). Thanks again to all my readers!