Raoul and Charles started to have a better relationship. There no longer was a single dinner where silence would rule; instead, the two chatted about how their day was. Charles didn't ignore his father, and his father didn't ignore him. They were finally on speaking terms.

That is, until something changed.

Charles didn't know what exactly it was that changed – he just knew that whatever it was had morphed into some strange, new, unwanted thing. The most obvious side effect was that Raoul wasn't himself anymore. He didn't give alms to the poor; he no longer met with his business associates; he cried during the dead at night when he thought nobody was listening. It seemed to have come from out of the blue, and that irked Charles more than anything else – not knowing where, why, and how this change came about.

Of course, we all know that things such as these do not appear out of nowhere. This, most certainly, was a reaction of something else that had occurred. But what exactly was it that happened? Let us venture to when this change made itself known.

Raoul sat at his desk, going over the boring paperwork concerning the Opera Populaire. It still seemed unreasonable and completely absurd to pay that amount of money.

His thoughts drifted to other topics; namely, Christine. He rarely thought about her that much anymore. It wasn't that he didn't love her – far from it, actually – it was just that... well, he loved her too much. He missed her, and thinking about her did more bad than good.

She had been so afraid - so helpless – when her last hour had come. He had been the dutiful husband that he was expected to be, and held her hand even when her breathing stopped. He remember oh-so-clearly her last words. They hadn't been, "I love you, Raoul" or anything like that. Nothing like that. They had been;

"Raoul, I know you still bare hatred towards him. But please, as I have, forgive him..."

Even on her deathbed she had thought about that man! Even her last word had been a reference to him! Nothing in this marriage had been his; it was all his. Heck, he wasn't even sure if Charles was his! Speaking of Charles...

Charles was a strange boy, in every meaning of the word. He had blue eyes; that wasn't too suspicious. The odd part of him was his hair. His hair was black. Christine had had blonde hair, and Raoul had brown hair. None of their parents had black hair either...

The thought struck him like a lightening bolt as he realized just why Charles had black hair. It was because his father did. That monster. Him.

What made this realization hurt so much was that Christine never told him. And she had known. It was obvious to him now. So, so, so obvious.

He hated Charles now – hated him for not even being his own child – hated him for being the child of the demon who had nearly murdered him. For being the father of Christine's only child. He hated Charles and that monster so much it made him sick.

And now he was sick – very sick. It had been eight years since Christine's death. Those long years without her laughter and happiness had been grueling, and time hadn't gotten rid of that empty space in his heart where he longed to see her once again.

Truth be told, he hadn't been able to keep her last wish. He couldn't forgive that man. Oh, he forgave him for the torture chamber incident, but for Charles? Never in a million years.

It must be remembered at this time that the doctor had told Raoul that if his wife had another baby, her body would be too weak to handle the pregnancy. Thus, Charles had been the only child she could have. And the only child she had wasn't even her husband's son. It was the beast's.

Now – now we can see what happened to Raoul after he made those conclusions. He was laying on a soft, comfortable bed, with flowers all around him, courtesy of all his friends and his son. Well, Charles. At this time we shall disclose the most shocking of news to be heard at this time;

Raoul was going to die.

Well, it wasn't that shocking. Everybody is going to die. That's not really that shocking either, right? No, it's not. But here we are faced with the fact that Raoul was going to die soon. This was because, as I said just a few moments ago, Raoul was very sick. In that time and era, being very sick was a very bad thing. No medicine to treat him had been developed at that time.

Again, I shall state; Raoul was going to die soon. Perhaps the most stunning part of this was that he was actually happy about it. Here's his reasoning, as taken from his journal;

December 25, 2012

The doctor told me today that I have a month to live, at most. I didn't want to believe it at first, but now I've come to terms with it.

I have no doubt that Charles will be able to take care of himself after I am gone. He was always the mature type, and as he never loved me as much as he did Christine, I am sure he shall be able to make it through my death without much distress, as much as it pains me to admit it.

As I've just said, I've come to terms with dying. I dare not tell this to a single soul, lest they call me insane and lock me away for the rest of the short time I have. This truth I do not wish to tell is that I am happy about this. This is the one thing in my life that will be mine.

My title of Comte came from my brother; my name, de Chagny, came from my father; Christine's heart and child were another man's. My death is the only thing which will truly belong to me. Nobody can take that away from me.

-Raoul de Chagny