"Christine?" his wearily asked. It sounded like he had been fighting off tears. Christine immediately withdrew her arms in shock. Her cheeks inflamed, she took a step back from him and tried to cover herself. The dressing gown wasn't modest. "Philippe, what are you doing out here?" Christine tried to muster indignation but only sounded embarrassed. Philippe let his handsome head drop into his hands.

"I...I don't know." He sighed. "Christine, you know how I feel about you." Slowly raising his head, the young Vicomte turned to stare into Christine's eyes. She looked back at him with pity. They had grown close over the course of time that Christine had lived with the de Chagnys, but she only viewed him as a dear friend. Philippe desperately wanted more from her but never spoke of his desires. He respected his older brother too much. His earnest attention flattered her, but she was quite tired of men falling in love with her.

"Philippe, it's only a passing fancy," she murmured and awkwardly patted his shoulder. He miserably nodded and turned away from her. Her thoughts conjured back to nights at the opera house. To herself, she whispered, "It seems men only want what they know they can't have." She sighed. They stood in silence for a few moments, then the soprano asked, "Where is Raoul?" Philippe reached into his waist coat pocket and produced a folded piece of paper. Curiously, Christine unfolded it and read, "I feel restless. Am going for a ride. Don't tell Mother or Father. If Christine inquires, show her this. Will be back in time by tomorrow. Thanks." Her voice fell to silence and she stared out at the vast De Changy grounds with accusing eyes. While it was perfectly acceptable for men to be nervous before their wedding, Christine felt that Raoul should have been above that. They had gone through so much together, it was like they were already married. Why should a mere ceremony scare him so? "...I'm going to retire. Goodnight, Philippe." With a disappointed sigh, she gave a final pat to his shoulder and left the balcony. Her night-time escapade made her feel too lively to sleep, but she returned to her room. Instead of falling to her bed and sleeping, Christine instead went to her own balcony. She shed a few childish tears but felt too silly in doing so. Drying her tears, she leaned upon the balcony railing and consulted the stars above.

She wasn't sure when the realization hit her – the sudden knowledge that she wasn't alone. Calmly, she began to look around her surroundings. Christine couldn't see a single person, but she knew there was some one there, watching her. Strangely, she wasn't frightened. Perhaps it was the late hour, perhaps she was too stressed, but the presence of another person only intrigued her. "Any one there?" The soprano asked the night sky. Silence was her only answer. For a few moments, Christine allowed herself to realize that she was disappointed. Had she wanted a stranger to be there?

A few moments later, she turned and began to make her way back indoors. Right as her hand began to turn the door handle, she heard a soft thump. Christine jumped a little, then immediately turned back around.

Resting upon the smooth marble railing was a single red rose. Tied around the stem was a slender ribbon that winked in the moonlight. Without a thought, Christine ran to it. Her heart was pounding, and her rushing blood sounded like a roaring river in her ears. Erik! She hadn't thought of him ever coming back to her. Their story had seemed finished when she left the lair for the last time. But she picked up the flower and stroked the crimson bloom. Then her fingers slid over the dark green stem. "Ack!" she hissed. Her eyes wide with shock and pain, she lifted her hand up into the moonlight. A drop of blood collected at the tip of her dainty finger. The rose had thorns! Erik had never given her a flower with thorns when she lived at the opera. His token had always been a long-stemmed red rose that hadn't yet bloomed. She frowned while continuing to inspect the mysterious rose. The bud was completely in bloom, the lush petals spread invitingly for her inhale the intoxicating scent. Bringing her face closer to the petals, she saw that there was a tiny black font scrolling across the arch of the bloom. Christine curiously squinted down but couldn't make out an image. She raised her head from the flower and scanned the surrounding area. She appeared to be completely alone still. Then she took the rose inside.

Sitting near a candle, she held the bloom near the flickering light. In the golden glow she began to understand a message. Written in a elegant but tiny font, it spelled - "Show me what you wish for the days to come." Christine closed her eyes. Long, silent minutes she spent in a state of deep meditation She was lost in confused, longing and painful thoughts and memories. Her eyes opened nearly an hour later. She looked down to to see the rose still bathed in candlelight. With a thoughtful sigh, she ran her fingers over the silky bloom. Then the girl daintily tore the crimson petals and held them over the small flame. They burned quickly, and filled the surrounding air with a sweet scent. When the rose was no longer beautiful, she reached for the naked stem. Deftly she untied the silk ribbon. She discarded it on top of her night stand, then returned to her balcony. Quickly, she tossed the bare stem out into the dark night. Then Christine guiltily returned to her room and flung herself onto her bed. She rose onto her elbows and looked over at the ribbon. It was the only proof that Erik had been to her balcony that night. The soprano left a trembling finger stroke the thin silk. Wearily, she brought the ribbon up to her face. The black silk was a contrast to her white skin. The harsh edges of the ribbon, which had once been dark as midnight, had seemed to soften. Christine dropped the ribbon back to the night table and blew out the candle. Her last thought was that the gold lining of the ribbon had matched the candlelight. Then sleep claimed her, and the rest of the night was filled with restless dreams.

The morning sunlight streamed through the filmy curtains along Christine's windows. She felt the warm heat fall over her face like a caress. Lazily, she opened her eyes and stretched. "Mhmm," the girl sighed with contentment. She leisurely rose from her luxurious bed and walked over to glass doors to her balcony. She let her head fall against the warm glass. Christine was a child of the summer, through and through. Smiling softly, she left the window and tied on her dressing gown. "I'm going to be married today!" the soprano sang to herself. Her turmoil from the previous night no longer bothered her. She felt as if it were just a dream, and that she would be creating the life she wanted to live that afternoon. At last, Christine believed that she would get her second chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A Few Hours Later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christine had been pampered, powered and corseted to perfection. Keeping true to tradition, she hadn't seen her husband-to-be that day. Wryly, she wondered when he returned from his midnight ride. The girl was sitting upon a cushioned stool in her room. Around her were vases of exotic flowers. If she squinted a bit, it was almost like she was in her old dressing room after a successful performance. But the vast size of the room, the luxurious finery and the lack of a huge gilded mirror reminded the soprano of her new role in life. She would play the ingenue no longer, nay, her permanent role was to be Vicomtesse. She brought gloved hands up to her hair. The heavy auburn curls were up-swept with strands of multicolored stones woven through. Her dainty veil had been secured to the top of her head, and the gauzy material had been fastened up for the time being. The soprano's wedding dress was lovely, though she couldn't help but remember the first wedding dress she had worn. It was completely different from the gown she now wore. Tiers of lace started at her waist and fell gracefully to the floor in a long train. More colored stones ran along the seams of her bodice, and long, sheer sleeves covered her arms. Her dress was feminine and summery, but still managed to give off an air of nobility and grace.

Christine pinched her cheeks for a flush, then rose from her seat. Her mind was a mess of excited and nervous thoughts. She spared a final, fleeting thought for that night. Christine had thought about it very frequently. Would it hurt? Would he think she was beautiful? How would she ever manage to be naked in front of him? How much would it hurt? How would she look at him when it was done? Would he sleep with her? Would he be there in the morning when she woke? Christine anxiously exhaled, then gave a fleeting glance to the mirror. "I look fine," she reassured herself. Earlier that day, she had survived a viscous tongue-lashing from her mother-in-law, and if she could handle that, she surely could handle this! The soprano smiled to herself triumphantly and turned to leave the room. Then, quickly, she lifted her heavy skirts and ran to her night table. With shaking fingers, she lifted her long sleeve and tied the black ribbon around her wrist. The soprano guiltily lowered the sleeve again. The dark ribbon was only visible through the silk if one stared hard at her dainty wrist. She wasn't sure why she did it, but it felt necessary. Then she left her room.

The wedding ceremony was long, formal and overtly tedious but it passed by in a blur for Christine. Before she uttered her vows, she felt an intense moment of panic and remorse. What was she doing? Then the girl had looked up and into the doting eyes of her fiancee, and she regained composure. The ceremony concluded without a flaw and left Christine in a breathless state of exhilaration. She was a married woman! The massive wedding party left the stuffy church in a swirl of silk and jewels and all were directed to the luxe De Chagny mansion. A herd of ladies' maids rounded up the newlywed so Christine was spirited to her room. She was quickly changed into a summery gown of pink silk and lace. Her hair was released from the up-do and trailed freely over her creamy shoulders, and the bright jewels from the ceremony were replaced with white flowers. The only trace of her wedding finery was the new ring that adorned her fourth finger. It was nothing like the first engagement ring that Raoul had gotten her. The soprano's new ring was a large diamond shaped like a tear and surrounded by light emeralds and sapphires set int a dainty gold band. It was very pretty but felt heavy to Christine's little finger. She wore it with pride. After she was changed, the maids hastily sent Christine out into the gardens where a lively party had commenced.

"Ah, here she is!" Raoul gaily shouted. The group he was with all turned and gave Christine smiles. "Hello," Christine shyly murmured and strode to Raoul's side. He captured one of her hands and kissed it before safely tucking it into the nook of his arm. He looked dashing in his fine suit and his hair had been swept back. A new gold ring shone on his fourth finger. The men in his group all gave polite little bows to Christine. There were a few women, and they all shot bored smiles in Christine's direction. The girl knew that Adellyn, her mother-in-law, had arranged for a huge wedding party in the hopes of discomforting Christine. The Comtesse de Chagny had done everything in her power to persuade Raoul not to marry the former diva, but his heart nor his mind couldn't be altered. After the wedding ceremony, Adellyn had given Christine a hate-filled look, but the soprano knew her wickedness was at an end. As Raoul had told her, the de Chagnys would rather die then divorce. Her position as his wife was forever safe from his over-bearing mother from that point on. From her vantage point on being in the center of a crowd, Christine scanned the surrounding people. Her eyes finally landed on the cold beauty of Adellyn. She coyly waited until the older woman met her gaze, then she smiled triumphantly. Ha! After the Comtesse's torture, Christine finally relished her victory. She had won her happy ending.

The party didn't fly by like the wedding ceremony had. After the first hour, Christine grew weary of the constant congratulations and watching eyes. After the second hour, she realized that every single woman of the upper-class was an actress in her own way. She felt grateful for her stage training and relied on those skills to carry her through the long night. The singer from the Opera de Paris, Alais, showed up nearly halfway through the party and sang a few songs. Her beauty was like the summer rains; both wild and dainty. Every eye was fastened to her while she sang of love. Her voice was a pleasant and charming coloratura soprano. Christine knew that her own voice was superior. She bitterly missed the rush from singing. After her performance concluded, the new star soprano mingled around the guests. She was treated as a distinguished performer, but not given the carefree acceptance of a noble . Christine understood the sentiment. Finally, an hour before midnight, Raoul showed up at her side. Throughout the night he had both vanished then reappeared beside her. He had to talk to all of the guests whilst Christine only had to smile at them. "Ready to go, my love?" Christine vehemently nodded and Raoul merrily led her to the specially arranged carriage. He shouted a charismatic farewell, then led his new bride into their ride. The plush carriage immediately sped off into the night.