AN

WOW It's been a Long time since my last update, Sorry about that, life is busy and I was having serious writers block.

Thank you to all my kind reviewers

Moonlight Dutchess ( My muse came back!) erikismyangelofmusic, Fan of the Phantom, (I'm glad you like how I wrote Christine's grief) romilly grace, ARoseForErik, 13Bridges of Water, sevviephantom, megumisakura, Rawrbeans, jamiepaige19, (salivating? Really? I'm flattered), angelwings263, and temarigirl116

Thanks also to everyone who favorite or alerted!

And without further ado, here's chapter one!

Christine was beginning to regret her hasty decision. Not the decision to leave, that, she knew was the right choice. It was she mused, the only good decision she had made as of late.

"Yes", she muttered under her breath, "but even my smart choices appear to be incredibly stupid! What was I thinking, leaving like that on a whim! I should have planned, prepared, thought ahead - I should have at least changed out of my nightgown for goodness sakes!"

It was still late summer, but the nights were beginning to take on an autumn chill. Christine shivered and pulled her riding cloak more tightly about her shoulders, wishing for the umpteenth time that she'd had the common sense to put on clothes before setting out.

It had been several hours since she left the De Chagney mansion, by now Christine was in the middle of Paris, and her mare's hooves made sharp clattering noises as they struck the hard cobblestones. Having lived there for half her life Christine had expected to find her way to the opera house with ease, and so she was at a loss upon realizing that riding in a cab through the bustling sunlit streets of Paris was quite different from wandering through the streets alone at night. To her horror, Christine found herself completely and utterly lost. She had absolutely no idea where she was, or even if she was heads in the right direction. All of the narrow winding alley ways seemed the same, and none of them led her to the opera.

In fact Christine was beginning to very much doubt whether she was anywhere near her destination at all. The Opéra Garnier was located in a very high-end part of the city, and judging by the decrepit buildings that hulked on either side of the narrow alley, and the foul odor emanating from the gutter, this was not one of the better parts of town - which of course did nothing to reassure Christine.

Glancing nervously about her, Christine turned left, onto what turned out to be yet another dark deserted ally. She continued riding, but no matter which way she went Christine always seemed to wind up on some derelict trash-strewn street. How will I ever find the Opera House? But thinking of the Opera House only lead to thoughts of her angel.

Though she knew that thinking about him was counterproductive, and would only hinder her attempts to locate him in the first place, Christine found that she was a slave to her own mind. She could not help but think of him, her Angel, her wonderful Angel and his silken voice. His voice had such power it was still difficult to believe that a mere mortal could possibly sing so magnificently. But he was a mortal, a man not an angel or a phantom.

But these thoughts only brought to mind the painful image of her angel's anguished face as he told Raoul to take her away. To see him laid so low, weeping as he once again professed his love, and all the while telling her to leave cut Christine to the core. His pain had been tangible, almost a physical force that she had felt while she left with Raoul. I floated away with someone else while I listened to the man who loved me more than any other crumble to pieces from heartache. He loved me and I left.

I loved him and I left.

Christine knew that her actions were inexcusable but she hoped that somehow he could forgive her. He had to forgive her; somehow she had to make him understand that she had been frightened and in a moment of panic had made a stupid choice, a weak choice. But that was not her true choice. Her heart chose him. Somehow she had to tell him that she loved him, and make him believe her.

Christine let her mind wander back to his voice, his sensual voice with its rich smooth timbre. The recollection of his music brought goose bumps to her arms and she hugged herself against a sudden chill. His voice has the power to make me feel so strange so-

"Well looky here boys? Aint she a pretty thing. Awful late ter be wandrin' round town by yerself in't it mam'mselle?"

Startled from her reverie, Christine looked up, and gasped. She had wandered into a dead end ally, the only exit of which was now blocked by the most ragged bunch of boys she had ever seen. The one addressing her so rudely appeared to be the leader. It was hard to tell under all his grime but Christine thought he might be about her age. The rest ranged in age from the cusp of manhood down to one little urchin who couldn't have been more than five or six. Their youth was not however particularly reassuring. Several of the older boys carried knives, and they all had a mean, hungry expression that made her stomach churn. What have I gotten myself into?

"So, Mam'selle what brings you to my turf eh? And in yer night things too…"

Christine blushed furiously, and hoped it did not show in the darkness of the night. She clutched her cloak more tightly about herself, tying to conceal her figure in the thin cotton of her night shift.

"Please, um… Monsieur, I am simply passing through. I was looking for the Opéra Garnier but I seem to have gotten turned around in the dark, if you just tell me the correct direction, I'll be on my way…" Christine trailed off uncertainly, she very much doubted this gang was going to tip their hats and give her directions.

The greasy youth sneered at her, revealing broken yellow teeth, "No one passes through Pierre's turf wit' out payin' a toll. So, Cherie, what price do you think is fair eh?" He raked his eyes up and down her body in a way that made Christine's hair stand on end; she drew her cloak even tighter about her shoulders, and regretted yet again that in her haste she had forgotten to change into suitable clothing.

A skinny freaked boy in the back shouted out "She's got money this one has, look at 'er horse, that's a fine beast that is. Pierre! We should take 'er horse!"

"Where'd we sell a horse eh? See if she's got jewels!

"I bet she has gold!"

"Let's take 'er horse and 'er gold Pierre!"

"SHUT UP YOU LOT! I am in charge, I will decide the toll!" The boy named Pierre hollered. "So," He turned toward Christine. "What'll it be, yer nice horse? That trinket 'round yer pretty little neck? Whaddaya want to pay wit? 'Cause of course if you don't want to part with yer belongin's I'm sure we could work out a private deal between the two of us, eh Cherie?"

The way Pierre sneered out that last bit while raking his hungry eyes over her figure made Christine tremble in fright. Then with a deep breath she steeled her nerves. She was utterly alone; there was no angel, no fiancé to protect her. She would have to gather her wits and use them to get out of this mess because she was NOT going to allow this greasy, lecherous boy to touch her. But as Pierre and his gang of urchins closed in around her, driving her further back into the dead end of the ally Christine trembled, for though she knew she needed a plan, she had no idea what her plan was.

AN: SO? What did you think? More will come soon, though soon is of cource a relative term ;)