The morning sunlight hits me like a brick wall as I lie in my bed with my eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Goodmorning Monsieur!" The sing-songy voice of my maid is far too cheerful for this time of day and I find myself wanting very badly to give her a good slap and tell her to shut up.

Instead I groan my protest and roll over to face away from her and the accursed light.

It is like this every morning. LeeAnn, the maid, comes walzing into my room and flings the bloody curtains open in an effort to bring cheer and wakeful happiness into my room.

It, in fact, has the opposite effect.

"Oh come now, Monsiour Vicomte! It is a bright new day!"

I was about to show her exactly what I thought of this 'bright new day' when a knock resounds at the door, effectivally sedating my annoyance.

Distracted, my twit of a maid scurries to the door to answer it. I am thankful and shut my eyes in order to resume sleeping.

However, my victory is short lived as she comes running back to my bedside. "For you, Monsieur."

I open one eye carefully to see what she has brought and find that it is a letter on one of our silver trays.

I grudgingly sit up and take the letter from her for further examination. It is from my brother, Phillipe. Why he can not just talk to me in person, I will never know, but in either regard I have no choice but to read on.

Raoul,

I trust by now that you are awake. I need to speak with you as soon as possible.

Phillipe

I am pretty upset by his request. I have no intentions of leaving my rather comfortable bed, and yet knowing my brother, it was not so much a request as an order.

So, I proceed to mumble curses under my breath as I swing my legs over the side of the bed to stand up. LeeAnn is standing around like a dolt, so I dismiss her to some other menial task downstairs while I see about getting dressed.

Surveying my room I find the familiar sights comforting. My burgundy curtains, the hardwood floor, even my sitting area, with plush, overstuffed chairs surrounding a large fire place adorned in a purple marble. My books, standing elegantly upon my bookshelves within reach of one of my chairs look inviting as I bypass them to go to my wardrobe, which is tall and made of a majestic mahogany, a family heirloom. However, my treasure, especially right now in my frame of mind, is my large bed, with plush, feather-stuffed comforters and plump pillows, looking sad and empty.

I am more than willing to comfort it, but know that it is impossible. I sigh, 'Do not worry, my sweet bed, I shall see you very soon.'

Once I am finished reasurring my bed of my immenant return, I open my wardrobe and proceed to dress, stepping out of my sleeping garmets and into a nice looking dove grey suit and jacket. I tie my shoulder length blonde hair back and survey myself in the full length mirror contained in the door of the wardrobe. I give myself my most charming smile and even chance a wink, though I do not wish to be to forward with myself.

I chuckle aloud and make my way to the door, going downstairs and to my brother's office. My footsteps echo off of the hardwood floors, and I begin to descend the main staircase, whose banisters start close together before sweeping out in welcome towards the front door. I veer off to the left wing of the house and at last reach his study, where I place a smart knock upon the large door before opening it and walking in.

Phillipe looks up from his work with a wide smile, and I see his brown hair is pulled back, making it easier to see the slight tinge of grey at his temples. Yet his eyes remain a clear and almost youthful dark green, while mine are a lighter blue. His face is faintly lined, however his stance is still as commanding as always.

"Good! I knew you were awake. Now, lets get down to business. Do you still intend upon marrying that chorus girl?"

His frankness takes me aback a little and my mouth opens slighly in surprise. "I...uhh..well I guess not..."

He regards me as he would a child who can not make up his mind, "Raoul, either you want to or you do not, there is no "guessing." which is it?"

I think for a moment about my answer before I dare give it. I would rather die than admit to my brother that she left me for a deformed opera freak, yet I still want to marry her. It is a tough answer indeed.

He obviously sees me giving his question real consideration because he raises his eyebrows slightly as he remains silent, waiting for my answer.

After a while I decide upon, "No," as I can not be sure that Christine is coming back, and well, I am young and handsome, and there are plenty more fish in the sea besides my beautiful Christine.

He looks relieved at my answer and I know why. Phillipe was always against my engagement to her, because she was not a woman of class, and he believed to marry her was to sully our name. We can not have that now, can we?

"Splendid! I knew you would come around. Listen, the Fontains have just moved to paris from the outskirts of France. They do not have a title, but are considerably wealthy due to the father's business in railroads and other good investments. They have two daughters, Madamoiselle Clara Fontain who is around your age, and Madamoiselle Mirielle Fontain who is a little younger. Either would be a good match for you as their ages only differ by a year, and after all, I am not married nor do I intend to be, and we have a name to perpetuate, do we not?"

I just shake my head in agreement, as his quick speech is easier to understand when you say nothing to interfere with his flow of thought. "So anyway, They are throwing a masquarade party as a way of getting to know their neighbors and establish their status in Parisian society. Naturally, the Compte and Vicomte de Chagny have been invited and I intend to get you married off to either one. The ball is next Friday."

I again just nod my head and he looks at me a bit longer before speaking again. "That is all, brother, you may go."

Sufficiantly dismissed, I leave without a word and trudge downstairs to the parlor where I hear the brandy calling my name, despite the time of day.