Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera

A/N: So, this chapter is all over the barn. It just sort-of jumps around to various unrelated things. My mind just did not want to focus today! I hope you can still follow.


Dear Journal,

Avoiding Raoul has been harder than I thought. I had forgotten just how persistent he can be.

Once, when we were children, his dog ran away. He spent all day and all night looking for her, refusing to give up and come inside. Eventually his sisters had to send a party out to search for him when he didn't come home. When they found him, he was only barely conscious and his lips were blue from the cold. Even after all of that, I remember the first thing he said upon waking was, "Did you find her?"

Raoul's perseverance--it is so very charming, a trait I have always found attractive in a man. Unfortunately, now is not a convenient time for his determination. I wish he would just give up.

Does he not realize that I am more trouble than I am worth?

"Mlle. Daae, open up! I wish to speak with you."

Christine groaned when she recognized Philippe's voice. He had been trying to gain audience with her ever since the gala.

Poking her head out of her door, she whispered harshly, "What is it you want?"

The older man sighed. "You know what I want, mademoiselle, I come on behalf of my brother, Raoul de Chagny, who wishes to speak with you--though, Lord help me, I can't understand why since you haven't given him so much as a single kind word since he arrived."

He didn't sound angry per se, though it was always hard to tell with Philippe; he sounded more weary than anything else. Christine couldn't help but feel bad for the poor man. All he wanted to do was to enjoy a relaxing evening at opera and spend a little time with his friend, La Sorelli, from the ballet corps. Instead, he had been spending the better half of the week indulging the fantasies of his heartsick younger brother by trying to speak with Mlle. Daae on his behalf--a task that was proving to be much more difficult than he had thought.

Still, Christine knew she could not risk giving either of them the slightest encouragement. However, before she could speak, a cluster of boisterous young women made their way through the hall outside her door.

On a separate note, even in her absence, Carlotta finds ways to torment me.

"Don't look now, girls, but look who's dressing-room we're passing!" one of them said--another one of those stage whispers that Carlotta's gossipy friends seemed to be so adept in.

"Look who's with her, the Comte de Chagny!"

"Somebody's got an 'in' with the opera's biggest patrons!"

"I bet she's bedding both of the brothers; it's the only way she can elbow her way into Carlotta's spotlight."

"So that's how she does it! Heaven knows she didn't get the role based on talent."

"Carlotta says she got another note this morning. It was practically threatening her not to return to sing this weekend!"

"How awful! What kind of disgusting, jealous toad is she…"

"She's probably doing the Opera Ghost too!"

The girls snorted and giggled unattractively as they passed by the dressing-room. The comte had kept his back turned and pretended not to notice; it would not do for a nobleman to lose his temper in public at a bunch of whiney girls--despite the temptation to throttle each and every one of them.

When they were out of sight, Philippe leaned into the door way and asked softly, "Have they been bothering you for long?"

She shrugged, "Just since I first arrived at the opera. I had something of an unfortunate run-in with their fearless leader and ever since then, torturing me has become a bit of a hobby for them."

He nodded solemnly. "I will speak to the managers."

Christine shrugged again and nodded slightly. They were really not as troublesome as they thought they were. By now, she had become used to their abuse. But, if it made the comte feel more chivalrous, she would allow him to feel like he was protecting her. Anything to keep his mind off what I really need protection from!

"Now," he continued, "about my brother…"

She interrupted him. Christine had tried being polite, she had tried being rude, she had tried being snobbish and dismissive. Nothing seemed to be able to sway Raoul or, consequently, Philippe. However, now she realized that perhaps she had a chance to appeal to the brother's protective nature that he had just demonstrated to her.

"Monsieur," she began, her eyes pleading for him to listen to her, "please… please, don't ask me to see Raoul. I can't tell you why, but I just cannot see either of you… I cannot be seen with either of you. I beg you to understand! Tell your brother what you must but it is of grave importance that you do not attempt to contact me again!" Some small part of her hoped he would leave her statement at that and go away. Her more sensible side knew that he could not take such a heartfelt plea without asking some questions.

"Mademoiselle, if someone is troubling you--" he began

"No!" she said quickly, then, pushing the door closed, she added, "I must not speak to either of you again."

Actually, some twisted part of me almost enjoys Carlotta's pitiful attempts of sabotage. They are childish, petty (not that putting ink in one's perfume was any more mature, but that is beside the point), and, in the grand scheme of things, wholly inconsequential. However, for some reason, these spiteful whisperings and silly pranks are a sort-of comfort. As odd as it sounds, it brings a small bit of normalcy into my life.

Christine sunk down to the ground, her back against the door she had just pushed shut. She wanted to weep--weep for herself and Raoul and the life she had just shut to door on--but the tears would not come.

Years of pushing away her troubles made it virtually impossible to wallow in her self-pity. It would have been lovely, she thought briefly, to just lie here and break down. No desperate planning, no worrying, no sleepless nights. I could just give up, put my life in someone else's hands--Raoul, the Voice, anyone really--let them make the hard decisions and consequences be damned.

But then, she shook the thought away. Think of it as a game, Christine, she remembered the words she had said to herself her whole life, remember that. Concentrate on winning! You are still alive--that means you are not out of the game yet. You must not ever give up! You can do this. Don't you still want your happy ending? She did, desperately.

She nodded, feeling only slightly better from her personal pep-talk, and pulled herself off the floor. She made her way over to the sofa only to find that a large toad had taken up residence on one of the pillows.

For some reason, the picture didn't shock her in the slightest. In fact, she barely reacted at all, save for a small smirk when she realized who must have been responsible. So, it would seem Carlotta is not above cheap pranks.

"Well, hello there, big fellow," she said to the toad, "you seem to have monopolized my favorite pillow."

Today I found a toad. I named him Carl, after his mistress. I figured it only proper, since they look and sound so much alike.

"What is that?" asked the Voice. Again, Christine was not alarmed. She had come to expect His voice to come out of nowhere. Indeed, over time she had come to sense his presence even before he made himself known. This was a skill she had chosen not to reveal just yet… anything that might possibly prove useful or gain her the upper-hand was considered a weapon to her.

"It is a gift." she said holding Carl up with one hand and gesturing to him with the other. "That reminds me," she added, "Carlotta has undergone a miraculous recovery and has decided to return for the production later this week."

The Voice was silent for a few minutes. This was news even to him. His thinly veiled rage was so close to surfacing itself that he did not trust himself to speak, lest he frighten his little Christine with his anger.

Finally, he said, "She should know better than to use her voice before it is healed. It can be very damaging."

Christine pretended not to understand the double meaning in that statement. She would rather not think about what that could imply.

The Voice thought to give me a break from my lessons for the rest of the week. I assume it is because I am no longer playing Marguerite so I don't need as much practice.

"You seem distracted today, Christine."

"I am a little," she replied honestly. Then she kicked herself for that honesty because it meant she would have to elaborate and, no doubt, he would not take it kindly if she told him she was distracted thinking about another man.

After a brief pause, she continued, "Tomorrow is the anniversary of my father's death. I usually make a trip to Perros to visit his grave. I suppose I had nearly forgotten, what with everything going on recently." This was all true, it just wasn't the reason for her distraction… but he doesn't need to know that, she decided.

"Well, Christine, why didn't you tell me?"

HA! Why? Aren't angels supposed to know these things, anyway? Especially you who claims to be sent by my father!

"Of course you would be distracted! Please, child, I will not stop you from visiting your father! I will fetch you a carriage and you can leave for Perros at once!" There was no sarcasm in his voice, just genuine concern and affection.

The offer was thoughtful enough that it brought a rare smile to Christine's face as her mind started to process the opportunity this freedom allowed her. My chance! I can escape to Perros! I will go away where he will not find me!

What shocked me most of all was his suggestion that I take Raoul. I never would have thought he would allow such a thing--much less, be the one to suggest it!

"In fact," he continued, pleased by her reaction, "Perhaps you should bring a friend along. What about that de Chagny boy?"

She panicked. What does that mean? How does he know about Raoul? Is he angry? How should I react… think, how should I respond…

"Are you sure?" she asked tentatively

"Of course, my dear. I trust you Christine. You made a promise to me… I know that you would not betray my faith in you." His voice was tender, but she could still recognize the warning in his words.

Then he continued with authority, she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he formulated his plan, "Your Angel has also decided to accompany you. I will be their to watch over you and keep you safe. I will also be able to see for myself that you have been faithful to me."

Damn it! Her mind screamed. He caught on to her plan. Can he read my thoughts? That notion made her sick so she pushed it from her mind.

Then, choosing to remain positive, she thanked the Voice profusely and quickly penned a note to be delivered to the de Chagny residence.

So, now I am in a carriage on my way to Perros. Raoul, I believe, will be meeting me there later tonight or tomorrow morning. At first I was disappointed to have lost my chance to run away. I was even more disappointed that I would not have a chance to speak to Raoul about my situation (I cannot risk that He may be listening).

The concept that I will never see Raoul again after this trip is unsettling. However, I will be thankful that I at least have been given this much time. Perhaps now I will have the chance to say a proper goodbye to my little playfellow.

Sincerely,

Christine