Hello there, this is my first ever fan fiction and post, so reviews are welcome. I do recognize that these characters are not mine and in no way take credit for their creation. This writing is just meant to be for my personal enjoyment and appreciation of the Phantom of the Opera.
This is a short one shot with Christine dwelling on her past with the opera house. More RC friendly with the events being based off of the 2004 film. Assume Raoul's older brother (Phillipe) exists in this world.
At times like these, I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. So I tell the party a joke, a lousy one at my expense. Being at such gatherings guaranteed my past would be brought up and it was expected I answer graciously. The flow of conversation regarding past events continued as I sat stone-faced, refusing to make eye contact with the participants who easily called my traumatic experiences to the table.
"It seems the events concerning the opera house awakened the two of you to the darkness of the theatrical world," Phillipe confidently declared, nodding in mine and Raoul's direction.
"Agreed," I acknowledged his thought as the dinner carried on. In my peripheral, I observed Raoul's hand move to my thigh in reassurance we would leave soon. I had enough of this confining dinner and its draining conversations. Politely, I excused myself to the lavatory.
Looking in the mirror of the lavatory, I fought back shinning tears as images of him assaulted my mind. He stood at the edge of the grand underground lake a broken man. An entity who had come to me as a lustrous example of perfection, but simply revealed himself as a fragmented individual in need of love. As Raoul rowed me away from the excruciating events of that night, I had mistakenly looked back into the longing stare of a tarnished soul. The look has since haunted me as it is all I can imagine when recalling the events of Don Juan.
With as much fear as I held towards him, I pitied the man under the mask and could not stop the cascade of tears as I felt the stab of pain I left him in. I knew I could not hold the same amount of love for him as I did for Raoul, but I wish things could have ended differently, for me to have been stronger. We still bear the hidden scars of that single destructive night. A night where I parted with my spiritual mentor, where I had almost been witness to Raoul's murder, and my once grandiose home turned into ashes.
The opera house itself was a representation of his charred soul as it carried much potential, but was fated to be left in shambles in the still and lonely darkness. Continuing to stare at my reflection with my tears ebbing, the guilt lingered and ate away at me. I did not request to be the center of the event and yet I played along willingly. I still carried his burdened loneliness as we all deserved to be loved, but I was not the one.
A hand clasped down on my shoulder and I turned in fright out of my stupor to recognize Raoul. Life reentered me as he held me in his arms and reminded me to treasure the love we shared. The guilt of the past would always be present, but the love we had fought for always shone through.