Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Hi all! Guess who forgot to upload this chapter before they went on holiday and only just realised... *sheepish look*.
I hope that you enjoy this (slightly odd) chapter and the start to the second part of this story- we've got some angst coming up, but this time it's not Erik, which is unusual. It's exciting for me to be able to explore the angsty side to Christine, but at the same time, it was so difficult to write. I think I am a bit emotionally exhausted now!
Thank you so much to those lovely people who reviewed- Marilyn KC and TMara- and faved/followed! And thank you for reading despite my complete lack of organised updates.
Twenty Seven- Paris
None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom, or indifference over his inward joy- Gaston Leroux
"That does it. I simply cannot stay sitting here, some useless bed-bound invalid, when I could be chasing after him and bringing him back here! I'm going after him!"
Nadir rolled his eyes, the exhaustion so deep within his bones that he could not bring himself to squash Raoul's foolish declarations with words- the look he delivered to the Vicomte was so scathing, and so perfectly executed from the years of practice he had with Erik's temper tantrums, that Raoul's shoulders instantly sagged and he fell back once again against the pillows of the bed. He turned his face and buried it into the soft material, not wanting the Persian to see the childish tears of frustration and betrayal and disappointment that filled his eyes.
They had endured this routine several times now and Raoul's dejected expression was worsening every time. Nadir sat back in the armchair by the fire, bowing his head and resting two fingers up against his throbbing temple, not beyond the point of spitting profanities or indeed weeping. When he closed his weary eyes for a moment, to shield them from the glow of the embers, he saw again the expression which had dawned upon Raoul's face when he had learned from Nadir's cold, blunt words that Erik had given up and fled- it was that same raw, cold, terrifying sensation of realising that some awful thing had happened, but knowing with complete certainty that you are helpless to change things, that he had experienced when he had been ordered to arrest and execute Erik by the Shah, all those years ago. It was an expression that Nadir had come to associate with love and compassion- that awful ordeal in Persia had been the first time that he, the law abiding, willing, obedient Daroga, had admitted to himself that he did not and could not ever hate Erik. And yet Raoul now held this expression too- Nadir shook his head in disbelief, for the thought that Raoul and Erik might have actually become friends after all the fighting and the hatred was so ridiculously symbolic of this whole horrific ordeal, it held the power to shatter them all.
"Why on earth did Erik think that leaving was the right thing to do?" Raoul whispered, more to himself than to the Persian, who looked up with bleak eyes. "Surely he knows that Christine will be heartbroken- that we will heartbroken! Oh God! That selfish, stupid fool! After everything that has happened, he would go and do this-!"
"Your anger and disappointment flatters him." Nadir said dryly, wincing as he stiffly rose from the chair to pour himself a whiskey. He downed the bitter liquid in one, and promptly poured himself another. "Running away and refusing to face his problems is precisely what Erik would do- whatever his reasons, he is a coward and emotionally unable to cope. He lacks any self belief, any self respect, and clearly believes himself beyond redemption for why else he would leave now, of all times, is beyond my understanding. Christine told him, she told him explicitly, that she loved him and would love him no matter what deceit has been at work with regards to her memories. She said that to his face, Raoul, but Erik being Erik would certainly have not believed it. God's teeth, that man is infuriating!"
He slammed the glass down on the rickety dresser and took a deep breath, running a hand through his severely depleted hair. Raoul noticed that the Persian's hand was shaking.
"How is she?" he asked in a soft voice, and Nadir sighed heavily- the sound told Raoul exactly what he needed to know.
She had already been weeping when Nadir eventually found the courage to go to her room and tell her what had happened- he found the note from Erik thrown to the floor amongst shards of glass from the picture frame of her father, and seeing Christine's tears told him that she must have realised exactly what the cruel words meant. He had never been particularly good at comforting women when they were upset- somehow, Nadir could not bring himself to do and say what he would if it were Erik, for shouting and demanding that she stop being pathetic seemed cruel when looking upon tears of such pain and misery. So he had said nothing- he had merely cleared away the broken glass, put the note on the window sill away from her, and fled the room like a coward. He had been to stand outside her door several times already, and on the final time listening in it was clear that the soft weeping had stopped, but Nadir knew that didn't mean she was feeling any happier.
"I would not be at all surprised if Christine comes to hate him for all he has done." Nadir said in a hollow voice, and Raoul looked surprised.
"She won't hate him, Nadir. She will be angry and she will be confused, but Christine could never hate Erik- that was something I always refused to see, to accept, back in Paris. I charged onwards with my plans and my beliefs, happy in my ignorance, forcing her to follow-" Raoul stopped suddenly, feeling wretched as he remembered as he had begged her to flee with him and how she had refused, saying she must say goodbye to her Angel, as if completely ignoring the fact that her Angel was a murderous monster. "It is as if there is a bond between the two of them that simply cannot be severed. She belongs to him, and he to her- if I were not a cynic, I would say it is fate."
Nadir looked at the Vicomte through narrowed eyes, not entirely sure if these words were coming from his hysteria, or if they were a fanciful lie. With Erik gone, and Christine in a truly vulnerable position, this was the perfect opportunity for Raoul- he could very easily become the dashing hero and firmly position himself in Christine's life, as a friend and someone to rely upon. Of course, his charm, his handsome looks and his honest sweetness would be capable of wooing her, as he had done once before- and Nadir could not blame Christine, or Raoul, if that were to happen. Through fleeing this way, Erik had relinquished his claim upon her- the action spoke as if he no longer wanted her.
But would Raoul truly do something like that? With his newfound feelings of admiration and friendship for Erik, Nadir doubted it very much- for even if he was madly in love with Christine, he had wept for Erik and owed him his life. Raoul was many things, good and bad, but he was most certainly noble and surely that would determine his actions?
"The question is what to do now." Nadir muttered heavily, taking another swig of whiskey, feeling his head begin to pound and his vision a little blurred. "We don't have the luxury of choice- what can two men and a hysterical amnesiac do? If Christine had any living relations I would say we should take her to them but we know she doesn't. Nor can we stay in this inn forever- perhaps you should take her to your home, Raoul."
Raoul winced a little as he moved amongst the covers and sheets to sit up properly- his head still felt heavy and unwieldy on his shoulders, groggy from the unconscious sleep brought on by his blood loss, his limbs still stiff and aching from the bruising from the fight with Emilian. He dared not think about that ordeal, or the death of Pali, for if he did he knew he would be in no fit state to talk important things over with Nadir.
It was true that they were in a dilemma and at first the suggestion of bringing Christine home, with him, made perfect sense to Raoul. His family had several houses in a variety of locations around France, and all were clean and bright and well stocked with food and clothes and servants to help and take care of Christine. For one awful moment, Raoul saw a vision of Christine, dressed beautifully in the latest fashions, looking immaculate and laughing away with his sisters as they strolled through the rose gardens. He could imagine just how he would watch her, perhaps from the balcony from his room, and when she caught his eye she would wave and smile and beckon him to join them in the summer sunshine. There would be no tears and torment, no bitter memories, only Christine looking and feeling as radiantly perfect as she had always been- he would go to her, in that idyllic garden and then-
The vision cut short and dissolved to nothingness before Raoul's very eyes. For what would happen then? It would certainly not be a kiss he came running to her for and nor would he want it- for she was in love with Erik, utterly and truly, and her heart was consumed by the need and want for him. Dragging her away to play Vicomtess in some luxury house would be cruel- and what of the fact that she had yet to recall her memories and that when she did, she would remember that Raoul was not just a childhood friend; he was her fiancé.
All this trouble had been born of deception and lies. And Raoul knew, though how it would be brought about he was still not sure, that both he and Nadir had a duty to Christine to finally end this charade and to help her recover those memories; they would have to tell her the truth, ugly and bitter, in all its entirety. Raoul remembered, with a painful stab to his chest, the deal which he and Erik had made; that he would not reveal Erik's deception if Erik allowed him to also deceive, playing up to the role of childhood sweetheart with sickeningly rehearsed perfection. Had they honestly believed it would work? They were both fools; blathering, dim witted, selfish fools.
"Monsieur Khan." Raoul found himself slipping back into formalities, with his head so full of remorse and regret that he felt it might burst and betray him in the form of silly tears. "You and I both know that there is only one thing to be done now. We have to tell Christine the truth- she has a right to know. And now that Erik is gone, it is not as if we will be hurting him by revealing it all to her."
"And what of the fact that she will probably not believe a word we say? Or that if she does, she will be terrified and then furious?" Nadir asked darkly, remembering similar conversations he had had with Erik, where it had been he who had argued that telling Christine was the right thing to do. It had been so easy then, to lecture and preach, but now that it was he who would have to deal with it, Nadir found himself far less eager to jump into the abyss of unknown consequence- for it was true, that neither of them had any idea as to how Christine would take this.
"I can almost guarantee that all of those things will happen, and more. But you know as well as I, Nadir, that we simply can't keep the truth from her. We don't want her to start recalling her past in fragments- far better to simply reveal it all and deal with the aftermath. At least we will know what we are dealing with."
Nadir shook his head in disbelief- at what point had this childish fop become the wisest of them all? With a begrudging sigh and a slight moan at the whiskey induced pound in his head, he nodded his agreement. Raoul saw this, and gingerly climbed out of the bed, wincing at the pulls and strains of tender muscles, pulling on his clothes with a grimace.
"I will go to her now." He said simply, making for the door, and Nadir shot up to block the exit, open mouthed in horror.
"What!" he demanded, making Raoul flinch. "Are you an idiot?! You can't just waltz into her bedroom right now and tell her everything! She's mentally unstable- to do such a thing would be cruel!"
"I thought we agreed that she needed to know the truth. There is no time like the present!" Raoul argued, cheeks flushed with boyish embarrassment at being lectured.
"You stupid, stupid boy." Nadir shook his head, a little glad that the hierarchy of intelligence and common sense seemed to have returned to normal. "I appreciate that you haven't seen her since the chandelier stunt, but trust me Raoul, she is in no state to have that particular conversation." He paused for second, thinking back to the dilemma of location- more the fact that they hadn't the money to stay in this inn forever, as welcoming as it was- and realising at once that they only truly had one feasible option. "Raoul, we have to take Christine to Paris."
Now it was the Vicomte's turn to look aghast and reel in astonishment that someone could be so utterly insane.
"We can't do that!" he gasped, his mind instantly replaying the scenes from that awful night at the Opera Populaire again- the chandelier crash, the fire, the panic. When he fled Paris with Christine's unconscious body, the streets were already buzzing with gossip, the thirst for scandal well and truly ignited. To bring Christine Daae back into Paris, when she had been missing for almost two years following the most dramatic catastrophe of the century, would only bring disaster! "There'll be uproar- she'll be hounded, the press will go wild! And think of the speculation- opera star returns, with Vicomte and Persian in tow!"
"I'm not suggesting that we bring her back and announce the fact she has returned from the roof of the opera house! It seems to me that the only way Christine will ever be able to accept her past, and come to terms with it, is for her to be in the very place it all happened. Think, Raoul- we can take her to the opera house, show her the stage and the mirror and even the catacombs. And we can stay at my home- Christine would probably prefer to stay with the Giry's, come to think of it..."
"I can understand why that would work." Raoul agreed in a soft voice. "So, that is our plan? To take Christine to Paris, and to tell her the absolute truth once we are there?"
"Yes." Nadir nodded, his expression grave. Now all that was left to do was to decide how on earth he was going to persuade Erik to stop this foolishness and come home- that torturous task was meant for him alone, Nadir decided, taking one look at Raoul's tired expression and knowing that the boy was simply not emotionally string enough to cope with whatever state Erik would be in now. Once Christine was safely in Paris, and happier, Nadir would find Erik and bring him back to her- he would bring him home.
It was late afternoon when Christine heard the gentle knocking at her door. She made no effort to respond to that cautious approach, simply turning her head back to the window and looking out at the fading blue of the sky. She wasn't crying anymore, and hadn't cried for long enough that her face was no longer swollen and blotched, and her eyes were no longer sore with the merciless outlet- whether this was because she had finally calmed, or rather that she simply had no more tears to cry, Christine did not know. Or care. She felt as if she had lost the ability to care about things over these last bitter hours, weeping into the pillows like some pathetic fool. Her head knew she ought to be raging mad, hating Erik for all of his treachery and now this unfeeling abandonment, but her heart was far too wounded for that. The anger would come later- burning darkly, like Emilian's eyes, she thought distantly.
The door creaked a little, the only indication that someone had now entered the room, and Christine turned her head to see that it was Raoul, looking pale and worn down with fatigue but most of all grief. For Pali, or for Erik, she wondered as he took a seat on the end of her bed, not too far from where she sat in the window. He had been injured- unconscious from his wounds, she seemed to remember, and the mottled purple on his face was clearly not the worst of it. Christine found herself wishing, in a blind moment of honesty, that it was Raoul who had fled and abandoned them, rather than Erik. For although she cared for her childhood friend, it was as if he was just one star but Erik was the sun in her darkness. He gave her light and warmth, but not enough- never enough.
"Christine, it's good to see you again." He said in a soft voice, sounding a little awkward, as if he didn't know what was appropriate to say. His words reminded her that she had not seen him since the performance- only a few days, but a lifetimes worth of emotion. "Have you eaten yet today? The inn keeper gave me some pie earlier and I can assure you that it is the finest pie I have ever-"
"Don't come to me to talk about trivial nonsense, Raoul, I'm too tired." She cut him off, not unkindly, but in such a way he knew she meant it. "It has been a... busy few days. But I'm sure Nadir has told you everything that has happened. I hope your injuries are feeling better."
Raoul opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again, an amused smile creeping onto his face. If Christine still had the energy to attempt to boss him around, in that scornful tone of voice, then clearly she was not as broken as Nadir had implied- Raoul was not foolish enough to imagine that this meant she would be smiling and dancing with no cares, but at least the events of the last few hours had not completely shattered her. He looked at her then, with all the admiration for her courage and strength and bravery that he simply had not seen in Paris- his naive ignorance and fascination with her had blinded him of all the true qualities of Christine Daae. Perhaps if he had seen this intelligence and courage in her, rather than patting her on the head as if she were a child, he would have believed her about Erik- perhaps things would have been different. God, how stupid he had been back then- how utterly, utterly stupid. What were money and fame and aesthetics compared to these raw, true traits he saw shining in her eyes now?
If anything, seeing her like this only made Raoul love her more. But that was manageable- his priorities were set in stone, and he held no intentions to change them.
"Why are you smirking at me?" she asked in a tired voice, turning from the window to face him- there was a dullness to her eyes that reminded Raoul of the way Erik had sometimes looked, when his guard was down and he was staring into the distance, clearly thinking about Christine.
"That voice. I haven't heard it since we were children." He offered her a submissive grin, and was delighted to see a brief glimmer of a smile on her lips. "You were truly a handful back then, for someone so small and whiney. Always bossing me around, always getting me into trouble-"
"I think you'll find that it was you who always caused the trouble in the first place, Raoul-"
"Liar!" he laughed at her. "There we'd be, your father and my governess all set to launch into a full lecture, and all you had to do was tremble and look angelically up at them and they would listen to any word you said. I think you used to tell them I bullied you into it!"
"How awful." She said, in a voice that implied she felt nothing, but she turned towards the window and Raoul caught a glimpse of an actual smile on her lips. He laughed again, softly, and took this positive turn of events to mean it would be alright if he came and crouched down beside her where she sat. She turned to him, and instead of pushing him away, she ruffled his hair in the way she had done as a child, pushing it into his eyes and making him grumble. "It's a wonder you didn't just toss me into the sea and be done with it."
"I would have-" he began with a grin, and she shoved him with an indignant expression. "But I was a little fool, and was rather proud of the attention you gave me. I rather liked having some child follow me around, beaming at me like I was some sort of God."
"Such a narcissist." She shot back with a grin. But then she suddenly seemed to realise where they were, and what they were doing, and the light disappeared from her face. Her shoulders sagged and she leant back into the chair with a small groan of surrender, turning her face away again. "I appreciate that you're trying to cheer me up, Raoul, but I just want to be left alone. I'm sorry."
Talking of memories and childhood days had reminded Christine of another depressing reality to add to this dreadful day- the entirely practical truth that it had been Erik who claimed to know who she really was, and Erik who had been going to tell her the truth. It was torturing her, the wonder that perhaps the reason he had fled from her was because he had done something awful to her and could not face it- or perhaps she had somehow driven him away with her nagging?
She remembered, in that sullen moment, just how she had felt waking up beside him in the gypsy caravan- how in that glorious second, there had been nothing but Erik, existing beside her. It was strange, and always had been strange, how she felt so deeply connected with him, as if their hearts or souls were bound to each other; when he had stumbled across her that day in the woods, it had scared her how her heart had raced to see a man she knew to be a stranger and yet felt like someone she had known all her life. These echoes of the past, their past, did nothing save further distort the present- for why would Erik flee if their past was one of love?
Who am I, she thought angrily, wishing that she could just reach into that dark space in the corner of her mind and obliterate whatever barrier was holding her back from her own memories; who is Christine Daae? Who is Erik? And why do I feel this awful terror at the thought of knowing the truth?
"Raoul." She suddenly called out, stopping him in his tracks, his hand resting on the door handle. "We were the best of friends as children, even childhood sweethearts- your family and mine cared for one another. How can it be that we never saw each other again? I know that you are a Vicomte but- but surely that wouldn't have mattered."
Raoul could see the terror in her eyes as she called out to him, the unspoken accusation in her words loud and clear to him. She was begging him- begging him to reply with some plausible reason that they had never met, begging him to remain this wonderful figure from a distant past; begging him to not be yet another deceitful instrument in this web of lies.
He moved swiftly over to her, kneeling before her, taking her hands in his. She was crying again, but this time there was anger there too, the beginning of a dark fury that Raoul had known would have to happen but had dreaded all the same.
"Christine, I know you're scared but soon it will all be over." He said gently and she looked as if she could not believe that it was happening again- the feeling of betrayal. "Nadir and I are going to take you to Paris. And once we're there, I give you my word that we will tell you everything. It seems to us that your memories often return to you if triggered by a sight or event that holds significance to your past- we hope that it will make things easier for you."
"If you're making me wait to learn the truth- which you have no right to do!- then I demand that we leave now." She stood up and glared at him, her words like daggers. She was raging with fury- the anger that she had not quite been able to bring herself to unleash at Erik. "Raoul, I can't believe you- you b-bastard! Coming to me, trying to make me laugh, and all the while knowing the truth- can I trust no one that I care about?!"
"I know you don't want to hear this, Christine, but I promise that everything we have done has been for you." He offered lamely.
He didn't see the almighty slap that came sailing through the air and collided with his face, making him yell out in pain. His face was tender with bruises and cuts from the fight with Emilian, and it seemed that Christine could put a lot of strength into her blows if she meant it.
"Get out." She practically snarled at him, slamming the door in his face and narrowly missing the fingers of his outstretched hand.
And even though the blow had hurt both his pride and his swollen face, Raoul could not help but feel a little glad that it was he who had suffered the outburst, because he knew that if it were Erik who had been in his place, the poor man would not have been able to hold his composure. Or perhaps Raoul was only telling himself that as he strode back down the corridor to tell Nadir of their imminent departure, to soothe that colossal bash to his ego that came with the realisation that Christine could punch better than he could.
Christine's request, or rather her demand, that they leave for Paris immediately seemed perfectly reasonable to Nadir, considering that they refused to tell her anything until they reached the capital. He pointedly ignored the muttering Raoul, taking no notice of how his face seemed red and bruised again, and set to work organising the logistics of their trip. Despite the fact the ride would be long, and was unlikely to be smooth due to the terrain they would be crossing, Raoul remained adamant that his bruised body was more than capable of making the trip.
With nothing to wear save the dress Erik had purchased for the fateful performance, Christine was forced to wear a borrowed pair of trousers and a shirt of Raouls- it looked ridiculous on her, far too baggy and in no way socially acceptable, but she was beyond caring. Her desperation to reach Paris and the truth was so great that it allowed her to fixate upon it and ignore the torment of the last few hours- Nadir took one look at her impassive face and shook his head, knowing with a heavy heart and half-hearted curse towards Erik, that the damage had already been done.
"You shall have to ride with me, Christine." Raoul said softly when they entered the courtyard and realised the next logistical hiccup- it had been planned that Christine would ride with Erik, but both rider and mount were long gone. "Nadir's horse is not big enough for two, it would be unfair to the poor creature. Here, I'll give you a leg up."
"If you think I will sit beside you from here to Paris then you are very much mistaken, Vicomte." She replied acidly, turning from them and storming off, coming back five minutes later with another horse in tow. It was a beautiful creature- a glossy black, recently brushed, and saddled with equipment made of the finest quality. It was clearly an expensive mount.
"Please tell me you didn't steal that horse." Nadir groaned, rolling his eyes skyward and wondering what Erik would say if we were here to witness this- knowing his criminal record, he would likely congratulate her.
"Fine, I won't tell you." She quipped, her blunt and unintentional humour making Raoul smirk and Nadir gape at her, not knowing if he should snatch the reins from her and take the horse back to the stables, as his conscience was screaming at him to do. But then, in this tense state she had been worked into, she would probably ride off before he had the chance.
The long, winding, cross country route to Paris was both an uncomfortable and uneasy ride- there were many roads they would have to take which were famed for being targeted by criminals, who loitered by the roadside and murdered anyone who seemed to possess items worth stealing. Nadir had his dagger, from the days in Persia when he had been stealthy and cool headed when it came to dangerous situations such as these, but dealings with Erik had frayed his nerves over the years and destroyed that calm attitude, so much so that Nadir doubted his ability to fend off any attacking criminals. What made the ordeal so much worse was the fact that Christine was riding far out ahead of them, refusing to keep pace and engage in small talk- in her ridiculous attire and astride a gleaming, athletic horse, she seemed a beacon for attackers. Raoul's guilty expression told Nadir all he needed to know about the cause of Christine's fury and the Persian would have thumped him for it, if he weren't already battered and bruised.
By some miracle, Nadir was not forced to use his dagger- without obstruction from common criminals their speed was good, and they decided that there was no need to stop and rest.
The miracle of their safe passage was, however, not so miraculous in truth. What the party had not realised, as they made their way across France, was that they were not alone on those dangerous roads. From the cover of the trees, Erik rode César alongside Christine, his eyes alert to whatever dangers might be lurking and waiting to pounce. His concentration was vulnerable, with his senses so full of her, and how she looked so strong and determined and sad and even utterly stupid in those clothes- he was so close to her, he knew he could make himself known to her and step back into her willing arms. His entire body was shaking with both the need and the resolve not to.
After he had fled the inn, he had waited in the village, knowing that Nadir would have to take Christine somewhere. Paris was of course the logical destination, despite the dangers of the press and the gossips wanting to pounce and drag every last detail from her- but Erik trusted Nadir, and Raoul, in whatever they were doing. What he had not trusted was their ability to cross the country without being killed by thieves, which was precisely why he was doing this now, despite the fact he was slowly being crushed from inside out. They were nearing Paris now, and it was dark- Erik looked hard at Christine, using the gentle shimmering moonlight to imprint this last vision of her into his mind. He savoured it all- her wild hair, her elegant profile, the astonishing strength coiled in her limbs. He would have liked to have seen her smile, one last time- his vision blurred and his heart throbbed painfully. Why am I doing this? Erik knew the answer- it was the same answer as it had always been, the same answer to the question he had tormented himself with years ago- why am I hiding and pretending to be an angel behind this mirror? Because I am a coward- a coward who cannot face her, strong and beautiful and forgiving and innocent, and tell her the truth; that I am a monster.
Because Erik also knew very well that monsters are not supposed to have happy endings.
Christine could feel eyes on her back, making her neck prickle, and she turned and glanced into the trees. Through the darkness, it was hard to see anything with clarity, but she knew that even if it was light she would see nothing. It must simply be my imagination, she told herself firmly.
The party of three had reached the gates of Paris- as they entered the city, the place that Erik had come rushing from two years ago on a desperate mission to hunt down the woman he loved, Erik stepped back into the shadows and melted into the dark, not knowing where he was going but certain that it would be as far from Christine and Paris as he could manage.
"Goodbye, Christine." He said simply, blowing a kiss to the darkened road she journeyed down, away from him, and he instantly became angry with how stupid the gesture was. She was better off without him and he was better off back in the shadows, just where he belonged.
Christine dismounted her horse despite Raoul's urges for her not to do so- the streets of the city centre were still busy, despite it being the darkest time of night, but she knew she could easily faint and topple and such a thing seemed very dangerous, being high up from the ground which was hard and unforgiving. There was something in the air- a pulse, a spark of life, an atmosphere that surrounded her and made her clutch at her throat. The ragged gypsy tramp in her marvelled at this beautiful city, sparkling under the stars, the gothic architecture seeming wondrous and the bustle in the streets making her heart pound, her blood pumping with energy now under her skin. She span slowly, eyes wide and drinking in this beautiful, beautiful place and feeling tears come to her eyes because this was it- she was home. Despite the fact she could not remember, she could feel it. There was a dull ache beginning to grow at the place on her head where there would forever be a scar, and she touched it gently, suddenly full of desperate need to know and to learn, no matter what it was.
Her feet were moving without her mind having decided on anything- she was oblivious to Raoul's desperate yell, or Nadir's curses- she was running, feet light against the cobbles, a laugh escaping her lips as she barrelled into pedestrians and felt the clothes and skin of city strangers brush her own, surrounding her, encasing her. She knew this city- her mind didn't, but her feet did, carrying her without fear. The mounted Raoul and Nadir were held up by the crowd but Christine was free and deliriously happy in that moment.
She ran through the night, tears streaming down her cheeks, and eventually she came to a sudden halt, her chest tightening as she looked forward at the sight now dominating her vision. She had been pulled to this place without consciousness, but it did not seem wrong. Christine Daae knew this building and Christine could feel it- a love, worn and tested by fear and hardship, for this place.
Christine fell to her knees before the Opera Populaire. Behind her, the rest of Paris swept by, oblivious as ever.