February 14th, 1897

I was not surprised to find a letter from Raoul when I received my post today; asking me to join him for lunch at Café Bellaroux at Place André Malraux and Avenue de l'Opéra at one o'clock. Though not far from my little flat, I had to quite readily drop what I was doing and rush out my door if my arrival was going to be at all prompt.

I knew this was going to happen. I just hoped to have a few more days to prepare for the likely discussion. Alas, it was better now than never.

When I arrived at the little café, I saw him sitting at our usual table under the shade of a great red awning, looking rather sad and very much alone. I swallowed back the nervous lump in my throat as I approached and found the will to smile. He spotted me as I neared. Exchanging a chaste embraces and air kisses at our cheeks in cordial greetings, we took up our seats and ordered our lunches after a bit of small talk.

As our server left us, Raoul wasted no more time in dawdling chatter as he said…

"You've been to see him."

It was no mere question either, only a statement. Four days pass since Christine's night with Erik, and she had not seen him since the morning after. This luncheon with Raoul already proved they were right to separate for a few days. Otherwise, her part in this conversation with her former fiancé would suffer more difficulties in explaining things.

"Yes I have and yet, I still sit here before you. Free to make my own decisions."

Hurt flashed across his bright green eyes. For the past month, Raoul's world turned upside down because of that night. The results of it left Raoul as little more than a shell of himself in the subsequent weeks of pain and grief. Philippe vanished beneath the opera without a trace. Their engagement was no more, and she had gone back to the one she knew he blamed for it all.

"I told him just as I told you; I need time to decipher my own fickle mind before I make us suffer needlessly. Please…Raoul," she reached over the table and clutched his resting hands with a small squeeze. "Neither of us wants a mistake. We're not ready. I'm not ready. You may have had time to decide what you are looking for in someone to love, but I have not."

At his twenty-six years, he had much more time to discover himself than her twenty summers. She only just began to understand herself within the last year.

"Very well, at least read this," he handed her a small binder. "I know you will not believe me if I told you… They found Philippe. There are pictures in the back, but they are very…graphic. I am only showing you this because I want to know that you know what you are getting into with…him."

Christine swallowed as she took the binder and opened it to the see the police report dated a few days ago. It was forward but very detailed. Opera Staff from the forth cellar complained of a foul stench coming from the fifth cellar, by the lake. When police came to investigate, they found a body on the shore at the Communard Road— a maintenance corridor that the revolutionaries used to move armaments and food stores. Although decaying, they were able to surmise that the individual suffered a heavy blow to his right temple and subsequently drowned.

She did not dare look at the pictures. Instead, she shook her head as she closed the binder and handed it back to him. "No…Erik did not kill him. He was with me from the moment you saw us on the stage until he had us go Raoul. He might have blood on his hands, but not your brothers. Not Philippe's, this only proves it."

"How can you be so sure?" he accepted the files back.

"Because, if you look back to all the mysterious deaths, before I came there even, you will see how is not him. Every one that I know of, they found the soul suffered asphyxia by rope or water. No blood."

"How do you know this?"

"I–we've talked, and I know him. I know of his traps…" she shook her head. "No…if Philippe only drown, then yes…possible one of Erik's traps but, a gash in the head? Raoul…"

"Enough of this," he said, his voice drained and weary. "Let us speak of happier things. How are you getting along on your own?"

…we carried on our lunch with idle chatter, as good friends would do. I saw the pain talk of Erik and the opera brought him, and with the matter of Philippe, I could not blame him. They were ever so close that I wish I had a sibling through blood. I had Meg, and to spite that we felt like sisters, somehow I knew it was not the same. I envied Raoul for that. For having so many sisters and a brother, I could not help but sit in idle wonder at their bond.

I even marveled how accepting they were towards me when I was engaged to their little brother. Although I knew Philippe was not fond of the idea of Raoul marrying outside his class, he was nothing but a gentleman to me. However, I cannot tell if that extended beyond the time we shared. To spite things, I doubted he would even consider deploring me amongst social circles. However, I can never be sure of that.

At least my social standing was no longer of any concern to me in the ways of high society. The man that dominated my thoughts never cared for it, and I learned to not care for it either. Even the highest echelons of society were not as infallible and perfect as they would have those beneath them believe.

I only experienced a taste of these things. What more would I have learned if I did marry Raoul? I cannot begin to fathom it!

Nevertheless, right now, I see nothing but passionate love and beautiful music in my future. I will see him again tonight, and we can share in it again.