Short, I know...
"Turning from true beauty...." Christine woke up with a scream caught in her throat. Her dreams had been filled with the haunting,crying voice of the Opera Ghost singing that phrase over and over again, till she was driven mad. It was a day after she and Raoul had played the ill-fated Little Lotte game. The day before, she had just gone to rehearsals and actually participated, and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Yet when she had retired to the room she shared with Meg, she had found Raoul outside her door, reading a book. When she had questioned him about his location, he had told her he sensed something was amiss, and would spend the night in his current location.
So when the troubled singer awoke when the light of dawn was trying to peak through thick gray clouds, she immediately felt reassured to know her savior's presence was outside her door. Yet when she thought about her dream, not even the presence of Raoul could comfort her. In fact, Christine felt repelled. She drew herself up from her bed, and wrapped a blanket around her thin night gown to ward off the winter chill, and spirited out of her room. She passed by the slumbering Raoul, and felt an inexplicable sadness when she quickly gazed at his worn face before rushing onward to the opera's stables. She knew where she needed to go. When she had at reached her destination, Christine's eyes sought out the driver she would need, and she nodded her greeting as he murmured, "Where to, mademoiselle?"
"To the cemetery." The girl whispered to the hung-over stable hand. She pressed a small bag of coins in his fat hands, her wages from the last week, and he weighed the purse before sleepily nodding then heading off in the direction of a phaeton. Christine barely stayed to see him accept her offer, then rushed to the costume department. She could not risk going back up to her room to dress, for then she would surely wake Meg or Raoul.
The dim costume room was silent as the grave when Christine entered. Her white hands quickly skimmed through the every-day dress section till she found a dress that looked like it would fit her thin frame. It was black velvet, and when she put it on, it fit perfectly, though it also had a very low neckline. Christine figured that the dress itself would not be warm enough, so also put on a midnight blue silk cloak that she had always fancied. She found a transparent black scarf and tucked it around her hair before turning back to the door. There was a vase of withering red roses that she could not take her eyes off of, and despite a strong ill-forbearing feeling, she also took the bouquet. When she at last went out to the stable again, the stable hand had already hitched up horses to the phaeton, and was patiently waiting by the doors. Christine pulled herself into the leather seat, then said, "To my father's grave, please." The stooped over driver nodded, and the horses set off a swift pace, much faster than the expected speed. Christine did not notice though. She had stopped thinking of realistic things as soon as she had told the familiar driver the expected location. She had visited her father's grave so many times over the years that she only told the stable-hand her destination out of habit, not necessity.
As they raced through empty roads and forests, the wind blew Christine's veil till it covered part of her face. She did not feel it, nor did she feel the cold winter air or the slight caress of early morning mist. Her mind conjured up images from her dream, and also of a night months ago, back when the days were warm and her mind innocent, when the masked Phantom had led her down to his home.
So her thoughts began to sing, "In sleep he sang to me..." She silently marveled at how different the tune sounded in her mind, sung just an octave higher, it sounded so vulnerable. As she stared out at the desolate landscape, Christine continued, "In dreams he came, that voice which calls to me and speaks my name..." Her mind quit singing, and she felt like she could almost really hear the sound of the Phantom playing the organ, to his own haunting tune. Then she thought of how she had denied him two night before, and how the bitter sound of his tears had haunted her dreams. Then she arrived at the cemetery.