Hey guys, it's me again, I know I posted this one quickly, but my next post may not be as quick as my last few, as I have two research papers due within the next few weeks, and this time I must try not to procrastinate . . . we'll see how well that goes.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter, things are about to get good here in the land of Fiction. Happy reading!

~TPWG

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"Viscount? Viscount! Viscount!"

A young man with eyes of sea blue green turned around and said, "You called me?"

"Ah, yes, yes we did," the managers sputtered as they caught up with the Viscount.

"What for, did you need something?"

"We wanted to congratulate you on Miss Daae's performance," Monsieur Andre explained, moving his hands about as he spoke. "She was simply stunning tonight!"

"Well thank you," the Viscount blushed, "but as I recall she was the one singing tonight, not me, so I think it would be more appropriate to congratulate her."

"Certainly! We shall do so on the hour when she comes out of her dressing room!" The managers chanted in unison, happy as clams that their business was back up and running with Christine at the helm, as their enchanting Prima Donna.

This was the Opera Populaire's first grand re-opening show they had put on since the "Don Juan Disaster", as the newspapers had called it. Carlotta had returned to Spain after Piangi's death, leaving the chorus-girl-turned-opera-star as the only successor to the stage. She accepted the position graciously, surprising many people that heard about what happened to her. "Emotionally shattered Prima Donna is set to return to the Opera Populaire after its reconstruction," the newspapers all read.

"Christine Daae, only 18 years old, has just confirmed her return as Prima Donna to the renowned Opera Populaire after the "Don Juan Disaster", during which the Opera House was set on fire, the chandelier dropped to the floor, and the singer was kidnapped from the stage before the eyes of a full house, all believed to be the master plan of the 'Opera Ghost'. The traumatized singer has spoken little of the incident since its occurrence, and those bold enough to confront her about it have been fended off by Raoul de Chagny, Daae's fiance. Although her return is shrouded in mystery, it is greatly anticipated by show-goers all across Paris."

"Publicity, Andre, free publicity," Monsieur Firmin said as he attempted to console Monsieur Andre about the myriad of newspaper articles concerning Christine Daae and the Opera house.

"At least we have a cast," Andre shrugged, grabbing yet another newspaper from off the table. "Can you believe how lucky we are to have such a loyal following?"

"Hardly! Sometimes I find myself thinking it's all a dream, then I realize I'm awake. This was a wonderful business investment indeed! The richest man in Paris, at least, our skills in business, and a Prima Donna fit to make history!"

"And the best part?" Andre asked, grinning.

"No more Opera Ghost!" They both shouted happily, hugging each other for several seconds before realizing how awkward that looked, and they let go of each other, each clearing their throats and dusting themselves off, avoiding each others' gaze.

"Ahem," a sweet voice sounded near the doorway, causing Andre and Firmin to jump in fright. They both glanced at the doorway, and their hearts sank when they saw who it was. It was Christine.

"Hello, Mademoiselle," said Andre and Firmin as they hung their heads.

"Hello, messieurs, I was curious about what you thought of my performance tonight. Raoul said you two went and congratulated him!" She laughed daintily. "Anyway, I just wanted to know what your thoughts were on opening night."

"You were enchanting, Mademoiselle," they said, quickly reaching for a bouquet of pink peonies and handing it to her. She took them in her hands and thanked them for the flowers, blushing lightly under her stage makeup. They spoke briefly with her about the aspects of her performance that they found to be best and bid her goodnight as she walked out of their office to go find Raoul. "Such a sweet girl," they sighed, "Such promise."

/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\

"Little Lotte!" Raoul exclaimed as he saw Christine approach. He rushed up to her and held her in a gentle and loving embrace. She giggled with glee and threw her arms around his neck as he inhaled deeply, smelling the shampoo and hair product in her abundance of glossy chocolate curls. She smiled warmly, her light green eyes conveying her deep happiness. "You sang beautifully tonight," he said, kissing her once on her cheek.

"Thank you," she replied, "but you missed."

"Wait, what?"

"You missed," she repeated, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him into a kiss, lip to lip, not missing that time. Once she released his shirt collar and their lips parted, Raoul looked at her, blissfully stunned.

"Wow."

"Wow what?"

"I did NOT know you had that in you."

Christine shuffled her feet around for a moment. "I suppose you do now," she said, blushing once more.

"I have something for you," said Raoul, "so don't go anywhere yet."

She gave him a slightly apprehensive look as he walked away, and when he turned around, he held up his arms up and mouthed the word "what?". She giggled and he exited the room, soon returning, but this time with a face full of flowers.

"Raoul!" Christine gasped. "Those are beautiful!"

"I'd hoped you would think so," he replied, giving them to her. It was an armful of pink and white, long-stemmed roses, wrapped in sheer, light pink material. Flowers in one arm and Raoul in the other, she set off to her dressing room to change out of her fanciful, gauzy, and elaborate costume and into an evening gown more suitable for a night out on the town.

Raoul stopped Christine for a moment just before she arrived at her dressing room, saying he needed to go fetch a carriage. She nodded, kissing him lightly before they went their separate ways. As he strode off into the lobby of the Opera Populaire, she turned the door handle to the Prima Donna dressing room, once inhabited by Carlotta Giudicelli. Her mind took her back to the time when she was more or less forced to answer to Carlotta, and how different her overall scenario was now.

"You did wonderfully, my dear," a woman said, interrupting Christine's suddenly empty thoughts. She turned around to face the woman who spoke and realized that it was her surrogate mother.

"Madame Giry!" She cried happily, rushing forward to embrace her. "Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling tightly, as was normal. Christine knew that Madame Giry was not one for showing an exuberant amount of outward affection, but she also knew that she loved her like she loved Meg - as a daughter, her daughter. Christine wrapped her arms around her surrogate mother and sighed happily.

"Tonight has been amazing," she said.

"I'm sure it has," Madame Giry replied sweetly. "I will leave you alone now, let you get changed."

"Raoul is taking me out to dinner tonight to celebrate, then we're going to go to the Louvre!"

"I hope you have a wonderful time, dear."

"Oh, Madame Giry, I'm positive we will, I think I am one of the happiest girls in Paris tonight!"

Madame Giry smiled tightly once more, resting a hand on the bubbly Christine's shoulder. Her eyes said everything without any need to open her mouth. Her eyes conveyed worry, and a general message of "be careful", was sent and received.

"Don't worry," Christine comforted her, "I will be."

With that, Madame Giry left Christine's side and she entered the dressing room, being almost overtaken by the powerful floral scent that consumed the giant room. Flowers oozed out of every crevice in the wall and spilled over onto every bare surface that made itself available. Christine gazed around the dressing room, wide-eyed, waiting for a particular flower to catch her eye, to pique her interest. Not one flower did. As she explored the room, every single flower looked and smelled the same - all pink, all overpowering. She sighed and went to her enormous closet, thumbing through her gowns until she found the perfect one.

It was a navy colored evening gown, strapless and low-cut, exposing a bit more of her back than was normal. The dress was slightly scandalous, but Christine felt wonderful in it. She felt like she could breathe. As quickly as she could, she detached the puffy sweeping skirt that attached to her dress underneath. Once out of that, she wriggled out of the main dress and did her best to escape the clutches of the hoop skirt and suffocating bodice that trapped her. Once she was freed from all of the costume, she took a deep breath and exhaled blissfully. She took the navy evening gown off of its hanger and slipped into it. Its sheer material fell over her, flattering her curves and fitting her like a glove. She walked over to her floor length mirror and smiled - she looked stunning. The dress sparkled when it caught the light just right, and the dress had a long slit that traveled up to her thigh. She slipped into a pair of navy pumps she bought with the dress and realized that she was still wearing her stage makeup. Gasping slightly, she went over to her vanity and removed the obnoxious stage makeup that was caked on her face, reapplying a darker shade of eyeshadow to her eyelids and some heavy eyeliner. A touch of foundation, a quick dash of rouge, and two swipes of mascara, and she was ready for a night out on the town. Grabbing her matching clutch, she checked herself in the mirror once more, verifying that she was ready for a night of splendor and joy with the love of her life. As she looked into the mirror, though, her fleeting heart sank from cloud nine to the pit of her stomach when she thought about what, or rather who, got her here. Her green eyes glistened with soft tears, full of painful memories regarding the only friend she had who really understood her deeply.

Christine loved Raoul, simply, wholeheartedly, blissfully, since childhood. She knew for a solid fact that he loved her back with the same kind of unadulterated passion. Her angel, though, was a different kind of love, one struck up and brought about by fear and angst. She didn't love him the same way she did Raoul, and as soon as he figured it out, he let her go. For this, she couldn't thank her angel enough. He was her mentor, her guardian, her tutor, and to continue as Prima Donna without him there scared her and comforted her at the same time. Opening night went remarkably well, no hiccups or anything of the sort. Even so, she simply felt empty. Empty thoughts, empty smiles, empty eyes without gleam or sparkle. Just empty. Raoul made her happy though, and thoughts of him filled her up inside again as she realized that she needed to get going. Hurrying out of the room, she closed the door behind her, locking it and turning around to face the world.

/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\

As she ambled through the crowds of people in the opera house, she couldn't help but overhear typical Parisian gossip and chatter about a whole fat lot of nothing. She started to tune everyone out as she walked through the lobby, going outside to meet Raoul, but a particular conversation caused her to slow her pace and listen for a moment.

"Yes, Christine, who else do you think I'm talking about?" A woman said in a thick French accent.

"Well I wasn't sure, I just got here!" A man said, potentially her boyfriend.

"Fine. What did you think of her performance?"

"I felt as if it was missing something . . . I can't pinpoint what it is, but something was missing tonight, something felt off about it," he replied, wringing his hands, "I've been to a few of her other performances, and this one was more hyped up than any of the others, yet I just didn't think it was as enthralling as her others. Poor girl."

"Indeed," the girlfriend agreed, casually reaching for something inside of her purse. "Probably traumatized after the 'Don Juan Disaster'," she finished, reapplying her lipstick.

"Probably," the boyfriend trailed off. "Can you blame her?"

"I suppose not," the girlfriend said offhandedly, popping her lips and giving him a quick peck on the cheek, leaving him with a red kiss-shaped mark on his face. He blushed and wrapped his arm around her, escorting her somewhere unknown to the now trembling Christine. She started to feel dizzy, like her world was spinning around her and she couldn't escape it.

"Missing something?" She asked herself. "What'd I miss?"

"Mademoiselle Daae?" A middle-aged man asked, donning a concerned expression. "Are you feeling alright?"

Christine gasped for breath and struggled for words. "Quite alright, thank you," she said meekly, hoping that this would warrant her the opportunity to leave the presence of the multitudes, her only wish now to be out of the spotlight and alone, somewhere she couldn't be found. Once she felt remotely steady on her feet, she treaded lightly through the lobby, her head down, like a ghost, longing for the comfort of Raoul's steady and loving arms, holding her close to his steadily beating heart.

Survivors of the "Don Juan Disaster" never returned to the Opera Populaire out of fear that their lives would be threatened again by opera, stating that they were already traumatized enough for one lifetime. The only reason that the Opera Populaire did so incredibly well on their grand reopening night was because even though they lost a chunk of their former business due to Don Juan, they attracted a whole new type of people to the opera house because of it. They attracted people who sought out mystery, enigma, and all things dubious. Even though there was no more Phantom, the story still stood, and people wanted to explore the opera house to say they had been, almost as if it was a badge of honor. These people were what kept Firmin and Andre's business endeavor running, much to their delighted surprise, and so they welcomed this, supporting the recent lore and surcharging those who wanted to sit in Box Five. Of course, the owners, in conjunction with Raoul and the French police, sealed off the intricate tunnels and passageways below in order to avoid future problems with people getting curious, but they were able to keep the mystery alive, without the looming threat of danger. Their only challenge with this was the one person who was positively affected by the Phantom. Christine Daae. They desperately needed their leading lady back singing Soprano if their business was going to bounce back, so in order to appease both the French public and their lead singer, they tried their best to keep Christine far away and oblivious to their business tactics regarding her fallen angel.

"Little Lotte!" A voice shattered her wandering thoughts. Raoul was standing directly in front of her, gently holding her shoulders and shaking her lightly to bring her back to reality.

"Yes? Oh God, I'm sorry, I . . . I didn't mean - didn't want-"

"Shh, Little Lotte, it's alright, you don't need to say another word, I'm here," said Raoul as he attempted to soothe her. He wrapped her up in a hug and kissed her lightly on the nape of her neck. "Come with me, Christine, please," he pleaded.

Silently, she acquiesced, nodding and falling into step with him as they exited the lobby and got into a carriage. He would protect her, she knew this without a doubt, but to what extent could he do so? Could he go so far as to protect her from her own thoughts? Perhaps, but maybe not. Even though her angel let her go, he was still inside her mind.

"I love you Raoul," she said, breaking the silence.

"I love you, Christine," Raoul replied softly, caressing her delicately on the cheek and raising her chin just enough for her lips to touch his. They kissed for a moment, then withdrew, silence reigning supreme for the rest of the ride.

Christine's thoughts consumed her for the entire ride through town as they sat in silence, and as they arrived at their destination, she realized what she was missing.

That one, blasted red rose.

/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\

Hey again, hope you enjoyed the chapter, sorry if you don't like RaoulxChristine, but as you continue to read my story, you will find out why I did this. Mwahaha! Now that we have covered the exposition, things are going to get much more interesting from here on out, so please review, let me know what you think! Thanks a bunch. :)

~TPWG