Chapter 1
(excerpt from the journal of one Vicomte de Chagny)
Journal,
Alas, the blasted day has arrived. Hardly three weeks have passed since the Opera disaster, and Christine has learned that the wretched monster is dead, God rest his soul—if he even has one. But I should not be writing this, nor even thinking it, for, if he truly did not possess a soul, I and Christine might not have been set free. Even as I write, she is moving about our bedroom, packing for the journey back to Paris. She refuses to let me go with her, maintains that she is able to care for herself, but I can see even now that she is frightened. I've told her repeatedly she should not go, but she does not listen to me, instead says that she has an obligation to fulfill to her "poor, unhappy Erik" and scolds me for trying to sway her otherwise. I watch her now, and she has stopped her fretful pacing and packing; she stands in the middle of the room, looking out the window at the landscape of our new home in Germany, twisting the damned ring on her finger, the one she got from that monster. She promises me that, once she leaves, I'll never have to see it again and that, once she returns, we can finally start our life together. I fervently pray that this is so.
"Oh, Raoul," sighed Christine, looking out the window and playing with her thick blonde hair, deep in thought.
"What is it, Christine?" he asked, closing the book he'd been writing in with a snap, standing from where he'd been sitting at the small desk in the corner and approaching her.
"I wish I didn't have to go."
His immediate response was to say, "Then don't," but he bit his tongue, instead folding her into his arms. "You've told me so many times that you have an obligation to fulfill."
"Yes, but it's so unpleasant, Raoul."
"You've faced the unpleasant before."
"I know," she sighed.
They stood like this for some time, until the faint sound of hooves on cobblestones could be heard from the street. "That must be your carriage," said Raoul wearily, letting go of her.
Christine said nothing, instead picking up her small bag from off the floor next to her.
"Here, let me take that for you," said Raoul.
"Always the gentleman," she teased, but handed the bag over to him and left the room, Raoul following after her, much like an obedient puppy.
He escorted her to the street. "Return soon, my love," he said, handing the porter the bag and kissing Christine full on the lips.
She giggled, reaching out and stroking Raoul's mustache adoringly. "Of course, my love."
He kissed her again before helping her into the carriage.
"Goodbye, Raoul," she called, poking her beautiful blonde head out the window.
"Goodbye, Christine," he replied, watching as the carriage started off down the street, ignoring the persistent sinking feeling in his heart.