November 1881

Meg tapped her foot on the floor of the carriage, bored after the tediously long journey that her mother had failed to warn her of previously. They'd already travelled from Paris to Calais and then boarded a steam boat to somewhere that quite frankly looked like France all over again (though it was admittedly dark), before being bustled back into a different cab that had been waiting for them at the port. Meg hadn't questioned her mother up until now, she never really did, but the situation was altogether to strange to make sense of alone.

"Mother," She spoke softly after noting the steady breathing of the third occupant within the carriage. Meg wasn't entirely she why he had accompanied them, but from the events that had occurred at the opera house she knew better than to provoke him. If her mother wasn't bothered by his presence, then Meg was sure it would be alright.

"Yes, Meg dear," Madame Giry didn't turn to face Meg, just continued to look forward with a blank expression, her elbow leant up against the window pane and a single finger massaging her right temple. She'd obviously grown as weary as her daughter over the course of the voyage and perhaps conversation was a welcome thought to take both their minds off it.

"Where are we going? In fact, where are we for that matter?" She looked out of her own window, but was met with complete darkness that hid any clues the land would have given her.

"We are going to stay at my cousin's old home; she could never bring herself to sell it when she moved to Italy and offered the place to me a couple of months ago. This is the soonest I could bring you both here," She gestured to the silent figure as she said these final words.

Meg's eyebrows knitted together as she tried to remember any relative of her's that lived outside the city of Paris, but her mind remained blank. "Yes but mother..."

"That is all you need to know on the matter, Meg," Madame Giry cut her daughter off before she could pry further.

Meg nodded solemnly, knowing better than to insist she was told. Instead she decided on changing the topic to their fellow passenger who remained asleep; "Mother... who is-"

"I think you know who that is, Meg dear," Her mother's tone was sharp and annoyingly dismissive.

Unsatisfied, Meg persisted: "Yes, but what do I call him?" She knew her mother had plenty of excuses for dismissing her when it came to the Opera House, what with about thirty other girls to teach and care for. However, for once it was almost just the two of them and they were a long way off their daily rush - her mother couldn't escape her here.

Madame Giry turned to her daughter, opening her mouth and then closing it as though reconsidering. "You refer to him as master, Meg," She faced the front quickly, decidedly ending the conversation.

Meg sighed, then mumbled almost inaudibly "Yes, mother" before turning to look out of the window once more. She was used the disappointment her mother so often brought her. It wasn't always on purpose, Meg understood that, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. She just couldn't help but wish her mother had spent more of her time being... well, a mother, as opposed to the many other roles she supposedly had to fulfil. Meg tapped her fingers rhythmically on the window as she thought about all of this. Soon her eyelids slowly dropped, the tapping ceased to continue and she drifted off into a well deserved sleep with the thoughts of her lifetime still flashing through her mind.

Madame Giry watched her daughter with a studying gaze as Meg began to sleep and was overcome with the realisation that her daughter was no longer a child. Her face was less rounded, her figure was slim and womanly and her features were more defined than Madame Giry remembered. Meg was a young lady, that was quite clear, and yet she had failed to notice until now. The question was, how?

She was awoken from her thoughts when she noticed her other companion begin to stir.

"Erik?" She questioned to ensure he was waking, using his name for the first time in countless years.

He turned his head to Meg sharply, finding she was sound asleep, before focusing once more on Madame Giry. He glared at the woman but then seemed to change his mind, for his eyes softened and he slowly shook his head at her: "No, Erik left this Earth long ago." And it was true for he was only Erik when he needed to be human. He'd lost his humanity with his dignity and childhood... At least he had thought that, there had been one person who brought Erik back: never again.

Madame Giry strained to catch the muttered sentence and remained silent for a moment before continuing "I see... Well then, master..." She spoke the word carefully, giving the man a sideways glance as she did so. "Might I ask where it was you hurried off to earlier on? And perhaps why it was you hurried back?" Her eyes never left his as she asked the questions, certain she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

Erik had been caught off guard and hurriedly tried to form an answer in his head, hesitant about admitting his trip to the church. He should've known Giry had guessed his whereabouts already; "Was it not the wedding of the De Chagny boy yesterday?" He refused to meet her gaze as he tried to block out the memories of the happy couple leaving the ceremony arm in arm.

He remained silent the rest of the journey and Giry quickly got the message. He tried not to, but couldn't help letting his mind drift to the thoughts of his old domain, his previous way of life...And of her. It was when the latter of the list came up that he shook his head abruptly. If he was ever going to start anew he would have to perish the thoughts of Paris; if that meant discarding his memories of Christine Daae, then he was determined to do so...

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Christine came down the staircase, wisps of her chestnut curls falling from where she'd pinned it, her hand in the crook of Raoul's arm. She smiled at her husband as she had been doing for the past twenty four hours, and to be perfectly honest her cheeks were beginning to ache. However she had no choice as Raoul's few cousins and their partners had stayed the night after the reception, and it was only fair to him to keep up the perfect newly-wed visage (if only until they left).

As the two entered the dining room, the three women already at the table with their husbands cooed at the couple. Christine continued to grin like a lunatic whilst trying to remember which of these women, if any, were actually related to Raoul. In all honestly, she'd only remembered of one of his relatives – an extremely decrepit great aunt who had hobbled around the service pinching everyone's cheeks and slowing down anybody unlucky enough to be found behind her.

"Christine?" She came back to reality as she realised Raoul was looking at her, a questioning look in his eyes. "Are you alright, dear?" He said this in a low voice so as not to attract the attention of their guests.

"Of course, just daydreaming as usual," She said, trying to keep the situation light-hearted. She seemed to succeed as he was satisfied with the answer and went sit at the head of the table, Christine following behind him and sitting to his right hand side rather like a dog follows their master, much to her annoyance.

The whole concept of entertaining at breakfast was something Christine couldn't get her head around. An evening dinner party between friends was one thing, but guests first thing in the morning? It made no sense to her but she was able to keep her composure, managing a cup of tea and various bits of pastries and fruit as she continued to make a good impression with her new 'family'.

After they'd all finally retreated to continue packing, Christine let out a sigh of relief. A slight chuckle reminded her Raoul was still there and she blushed slightly at this realisation. "I-"

"It's alright, I understand. Families can be tough work," He clasped her hands in his own and set them on the table. "But they'll be leaving this afternoon, then you and I can finally start our lives together." He leant forward and kissed her lips softly before standing up and brushing himself down, heading out of the dining room as he called back; "I'll be in my office if you need me, I have some paperwork which needs seeing to."

Christine poured herself a final cup of tea and then took it with her as she headed towards the library, her favourite room of the house. It wasn't just the musty old smell of books and ink, or the welcoming arm chair and various settees dotted down the elongated room. Her favourite part of the room was what waited at the end of it; an old mahogany grand piano, with real ivory keys and a red velvet stool. She still remembered the day that Raoul had first shown it to her, the excitement she'd felt at the thought of practicing here. It had been left to him by his grandmother as a family heirloom and after being told this, Christine was always extremely careful to handle it gently.

She sifted through the various bits of paper across the top of the piano trying to find one of her warm up pieces and then moved over to settle herself on the bench. She spread the three sheets where she could see them before beginning to slowly work through each part of the melody, trying to recall the small amount of piano she'd learnt when her father was around.

At last, she began to sing and as she did so the stress of the past couple of days melted away. Christine's singing was an escape from the real world and it made her feel like a different person, someone who had no worries or fears. Her voice let her be carefree for a few moments and as she finished the final bar of the aria she let out a sigh of relief. Then she remembered a time where she didn't sing, as a child where it didn't mean anything to her. She remembered who'd changed that. He'd let her into his mind, exploring the depths of his creations. Sometimes she hadn't known if he was a figment of her imagination, but she'd always hoped he was real...

She shook herself from these memories, trying to ignore them as she stood once more to search for a more challenging piece. She was a married woman, she was happy with Raoul and he was wonderful to her. She should be happy... No. She was happy.

Christine couldn't help lying to herself, and the more she said it in her head the more truth she saw in it. With false hope plaguing her mind, she buried herself into her second piece, hitting notes with such ease you'd have thought she'd always known how to sing. It was easy to forget the past now, but little did she know that simply tossing the memories away would no longer be an option soon enough...

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Right well that is a slightly longer chapter for you all, and I'm not sure if I like this but after restarting this over and over I felt I needed to stick to something! Anyway, the next chapter will jump ahead a short time, and it might go on like that for a while to keep you lot entertained (: Please leave a review if you bother to read this far, it keeps me writing!