Chapter 3-Party
Christine's eyes flickered to the large dressing mirror to examine her reflection. She feared she looked too gaudy in her engagement gown and a quick glance proved her correct.
The gown was horrendous, a deep purple that clashed with her skin tone, and it was too scratchy, especially around her arms. Christine never cared for the color purple, unless it was a lilac or lavender. She absolutely hated it…wanted to rip it off of her body and set it aflame, but no, it would disappoint Raoul.
Raoul, who had been mostly absent during the week leading up to their engagement ball, had chosen the gown for her. He had no eye for simpleness, and the grandiose environment he had been subjected to all of his life was no doubt the cause. Everything was too much for Christine; she hated her new home, she hated the too-pristine grounds of the estate, and mostly she hated the people. They thought so little of her, not caring to halt their disgraceful whispers in her presence, and her time at the Opera Populaire was forever the topic du jour.
She longed for the simple dormitories of the opera house; to be back in the company of true friends and attending rehearsals, stealing sweets from the kitchens and–she was so happy, so very content with her life until Raoul walked in announcing himself as a patron of the opera house. Perhaps, if Raoul hadn't–
No, don't think like that, Christine scolded herself. None of what happened was Raoul's fault. How was he to know of the events that were to follow his arrival?
Christine swallowed hard, lowering her eyes from the mirror and trying to push any thought of the Opera Populaire away from her mind. She could not dwell on the past, she needed to prepare herself for her future with Raoul.
"There, all done, m'lady," her servant murmured. She was a quiet girl, much like Christine, and one of the few that didn't spread vicious rumors.
"Thank you, Eveline." Once more, Christine raised her gaze, this time to acknowledge the girl who stood behind her. Before she could catch sight of herself again, she stepped away from the mirror and towards the door.
"Do you not like it, m'lady?" Eveline rushed to Christine's side and took her hands. "We can get you fashioned into a different dress if you would like, it will take no time at all. I do not wish to disappoint you."
Christine shook her head. "No, that's not necessary, Raoul expects me to attend the ball wearing this gown. I would do him a disservice if I did not wear it tonight."
Eveline smiled at her. "You look beautiful. Would you like an escort to the ballroom?"
"No, thank you, I can find my way down. I will be there in a few minutes. I should not keep my guests waiting. Thank you for dressing me, I will call for you when I am in need of your assistance once again." Christine squeezed Eveline's hands then released her.
"I will await your call, m'lady." Eveline left then, and Christine was alone in the room.
She glanced around the room before her, pondering if she was making the right decision in marrying Raoul. She loved him, but she felt her heart's connection with him had suffered greatly ever since the night she arrived at the Chateau de Chagny. His attempts to force her into premarital sex at the recommendation of his ghastly brother had been enough for her to start questioning if he had her best interests in mind. Surely not, as he had been making every decision for her as if she were a child. He chose what she wore, what she ate, and where she went in the manor that was supposed to be her home.
Raoul was treating her as if they were still at the Opera Populaire, posting guards when she slept and having the same men follow her wherever she went. It was rather frustrating never being alone unless she was in her room, and even then she could feel the presence of armed guards just outside of her bedroom door. It was highly unnecessary, but if it made Raoul happy then she would not argue. It wasn't as if she had a choice in the matter.
Christine wasn't sure if she could go on living being treated like a feeble child, so she would have to change Raoul's mind on the matter; perhaps she would attempt to pull him aside during the ball and speak with him.
A loud rapping at the door interrupted Christine's thoughts, and she swiftly smoothed out the skirts of her gown and wiped away any threats of tears before turning to open the door.
A familiar man of medium stature stood in front of her. His straight brown hair flowed down past his neck much like Raoul's and his piercing hazel eyes made her stomach lurch.
Philippe.
The name was venom in her veins. What reason would he have to be visiting her room alone after all he had done to her in the past?
Christine looked behind him and noticed the guards that were usually posted across the hallway were gone. It made her uneasy. He must have sent them away, but why? Had he come to mock her and couldn't bear to have any witnesses?
Though, surprisingly his face lit up when he saw her. "Greetings, Mademoiselle Daae. You may not remember me, but I am Philippe de Chagny." He gave a low bow and took her hand, placing a light kiss on her fingers. The contact stung, and she tried her best not to recoil from his touch. Those disgusting lips which had spoken such vile words, now speaking formalities? It had to be some form of trickery.
Christine returned his smile half-heartedly, not wanting to cause any unnecessary disputes. "Philippe, Raoul had informed me you would be attending the ball tonight."
Philippe chuckled. "Well, he did invite me and my wife. I have come to escort you to the ballroom. I hope you will allow me to do so. After all, we will be family soon and I want you to feel welcomed by everyone."
Christine bit back a scoff. He must not have heard the rumors yet. She plastered a false pleased expression on her face. "Yes, I would love an escort. Shall we be on our way?"
He extended his arm and she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, attempting to not grimace at the contact. "This way, mademoiselle."
They walked in uncomfortable silence towards the ballroom. Christine stared listlessly at the bright red carpeting as they walked, not wanting to converse with the man whose arm she held. She had little to no interest in anything he would have to say.
After a minute or so of walking, Christine was yanked by the wrist into a dark hallway. As she attempted to scream, a hand clasped over her mouth. The rough calloused palm muffled any cries into near-silent whimpers. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up into the twisted face of her assailant.
With his other hand, Philippe trailed his fingers down Christine's neck and to her collarbone, pausing just above her breast. "You have grown into a beautiful woman, Christine. I didn't think I would ever see you again but now here you are, ready and waiting for me." His hand moved down to cover her breast fully.
She tugged and contorted her body, trying to free herself, but he was too heavy on her and kept her pinned to the wall. She scratched and clawed at him, desperate to sink her nails into any piece of flesh she could reach. But he was too strong for her, shoving her hands away and trapping them between their bodies..
"Don't worry, I will not harm you. God, you are perfect." He sucked in a breath through his yellowed teeth, then squeezed her breast, causing Christine to let out a whimper. A barrage of tears fell from her eyes, dripping along her cheeks until they met Philippe's hand.
"My love, there is no need for this, don't worry, we will be together soon. After I am rid of my brother and wife, we will be free to marry. I know how much you want me. I knew the day I met you on the beach, the way your eyes followed me." He inhaled roughly, and pressed Christine harder against the wall. "I tried with all my might to make you mine, but of course, my spoiled brother had to take you away!"
Christine's struggles intensified, her eyes widening when his hand snaked its way down her thigh. Rucking up her perfect skirts, he reached under her dress, and he didn't stop no matter how hard she kicked or screamed. His slimy fingers moved up her stocking and then he tore her pantalettes down.
Christine clenched her thighs until they ached, but he forced his knee between her legs to pry them apart. Pain stabbed her in the stomach when Philippe's fingers probed her sex, and she gritted her teeth against the wave of nausea. All she could do was sob into his hand, the noises only fuelling his desire for her.
Philippe's whispered obscenities while he defiled her with his fingers burned into her soul, incinerating any hope she had of reconciliation with him.
Christine wanted to scream, call for help, anything to attract attention to her but no one would hear her muffled cries. She hated Philippe. She wanted him dead. She wanted him to suffer in Hell for thinking he had a right to her body.
"You are really so beautiful, my love. I should take you right here, bury my cock inside of you, but I'm afraid I might ruin your beautiful dress and we wouldn't want that now would we?" She recoiled from the hot breath that spread down her neck. "After all, we need to be discreet for the time being, just until I can be rid of Raoul."
Philippe pulled his hand from underneath her dress and eased away from Christine, then he released his hand from her mouth. "Look at you, a blubbering mess. I did not know you held this much affection towards me, my dear."
Christine couldn't find her voice to scream, she was too frightened, too overcome with sobs wracking her body. Instead, she rammed her knee right into Philippe's groin.
"You bitch!" He doubled over in pain, grasping for her arm, but she darted out of his reach.
Christine left Philippe in the dark hallway and sprinted back towards her room, never once glancing behind her to see if he pursued her. She flung the door to her bedroom open and rushed inside, setting the lock and backing up to the bed until it hit the back of her legs. Then she allowed herself to fall to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling into a ball.
Philippe had assaulted her, touched her. Choking gasps came over her and she couldn't breathe. There was a tight pressure in her chest and she couldn't bear the pain. God, why did Philippe have to commit such a heinous act of violence? What had willed him to believe she desired him? She certainly had no want for him, especially after what he had done.
A lump formed in Christine's throat and she swallowed hard. Philippe could be running to Raoul to warp the story in his favor and paint her as the aggressor. Would Raoul believe his brother? Certainly not after the events from all those years ago, but how was she supposed to be around that monster when he would gladly take advantage of her again?
Christine didn't feel safe near Philippe, wouldn't be able to stand his presence during the evening to come, though she needed to attend her party, her absence would only fuel the rumors.
The party! How are you supposed to attend looking like a wild woman? Christine thought, quickly righting herself and stumbling to her vanity. She sat and wiped away her smeared cosmetics and shakily reapplied the products to conceal her swollen eyes. Her trembling hands struggled to be still enough as to not smudge during the application, but it was in vain, she was unable to control the tremors that took her body.
"C-calm yourself, don't be a f-fool," Christine mumbled to herself, and after several deep breaths, the shivering finally stopped.
A pounding at the door startled her, and Philippe invaded her mind once again. He had come back for her, to finish what he had started. Christine crept to the door and pressed her ear to it.
"Christine, are you in there?" It was Raoul's voice.
She breathed a sigh of relief before opening the door. "Raoul, thank the Heavens you are here. Please, I have something to–" She stopped. Philippe was standing behind Raoul on the other side of the threshold. A smug look spread across his face and he shook his head at her.
Christine shuddered then turned back to Raoul. "I have something I need assistance with." Her eyes flickered briefly to Philippe then back to her fiance. "Alone."
Raoul didn't look away from Christine when he addressed his brother. "Leave us."
Philippe's eyes widened then narrowed once again. "Yes, my dear brother. I will see you both at the party."
He glared at Christine before turning and disappearing down the hallway. She watched after him, then once he was out of sight, she tugged Raoul into her room and shut the door.
"Christine, what is the matter with you? Is everything alright?" Raoul pressed, his arms crossed on his chest. "We are going to be late to our engagement party."
Christine fought to hold back tears and ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. "Raoul, it was Philippe. He assaulted me!"
Raoul held her back by her shoulders, his eyes darting across her face. "What do you mean?"
"He arrived under the guise of escorting me to the ball, then he touched me. He told me he wanted to take me from you, to get rid of you so he could have me," she choked out, tears escaping her eyes once again.
Raoul shoved her away and scoffed. "No, he wouldn't do such a thing. He is my brother! Are you sure–Christine, are you sure it wasn't just a misunderstanding?"
Christine's eyes widened and she gasped. "Are you calling me a liar? Do you not trust me to provide you with only the truth?"
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she felt nauseous again. He didn't believe her, how could he not believe her? He so easily dismissed her words, disregarding how Philippe had been in the past. The gall this man had, to tell her it was a misunderstanding while she still felt the ghosting of Philippe's fingers over her womanhood!
Raoul shook his head, "No, darling, I just–I don't believe Philippe would do that to me, or his wife for that matter. He is happily married and she is carrying his child."
Christine squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to stop crying. "You don't believe me?" she whispered, backing up to the wall to steady her trembling legs. "You really don't believe me?"
"Christine, you aren't thinking straight, not since that night. These past several months have been difficult for you, but don't let them affect us now." He walked forward and caressed her cheeks, wiping away her tears. "Get cleaned up and join me down at the party. I will send your servant and a guard to escort you down."
She nodded and smiled meekly. "Yes, of course. You have been very enlightening with your observations. Don't worry about an escort, and please spare the guards, there is no need for them." She reached up and ran her fingers along Raoul's arm, then released herself from him.
"Yes, my dear. I will see you in just a few minutes. Don't be too long," Raoul replied, giving her one last sorrowful glance before exiting the room.
Christine stared absently at the door for a few seconds before returning to her vanity, where she sat and reapplied her cosmetics once again.
The harsh reality of her situation hit her; Raoul didn't trust her, didn't care for her safety. Yes, he assigned guards to her, but what were they guarding her from? There were no threats other than Philippe and they surely didn't do their duty when he had assaulted her. No, they weren't for Philippe, Raoul could care less what his brother did to her.
This was about controlling every aspect of her life. Christine was tired of control, she wanted to be free, she wanted to be away from the lavish lifestyle of a Vicomte. She wanted to run away and never look back.
One thing was very clear: she would need to be stronger, smarter, and more assertive until she was able to decide if she would leave for good. There was no place for her in Raoul's life anymore, no place for her to call her home.
Christine sighed and stared at her broken face in the mirror, then she massaged her temples and breathed deeply to calm her nerves. After a moment, she felt ready for the party and so, she stood and headed towards the ballroom once again.
xXx
Christine grew weary of the party almost as soon as it began. The chateau's guests barely bothered to feign interest in her, now that they were all caught up on the gossip about her time at the Opera Populaire. To them, she was nothing but the chorus girl that Raoul had saved from the infamous Opera Ghost–no one cared to know Christine as a person, and they disregarded her attempts at conversation as if talking to her would sully their reputations. It was a night of forced congratulations and ingenuine welcomes, not celebration.
To an outsider, she would look like the most miserable person in the world. And she was. She was unhappy, and the party had only solidified her need to leave Raoul. She refused to keep lying to herself. She didn't belong with him, and no matter how strong she made herself seem, nothing would change that fact.
Christine sighed, staring into her glass of champagne. It was her fifth, though by her second, she was already feeling rather tipsy. Her thoughts were incoherent and she wasn't sure if she could suffer through another conversation while the entire room was swaying around her.
The only thing keeping her in place was her grip on Raoul's arm, though he seemed to have forgotten she was there. He gave his attention to a Baron from Nice, bragging about his upcoming trip to London during the summer which would leave Christine alone for months.
"Dear, are you alright?"
Christine released Raoul's arm and turned to see a gray-haired woman wearing an extravagant blue gown. Her face was gentle but fixed with a worried expression.
Christine nodded, plastering a smile on her face. "Of course, thank you." She held out her hand to the woman. "I'm Christine Daae."
"Oh, I know who you are, my dear. You are marrying my nephew." The woman took Christine's hand and squeezed it. "My name is Lillian. Welcome to the family." Her eyes flickered to the glass in Christine's hand. "Perhaps you should pace yourself, my dear. You look like you are going to fall over. Though, I see nothing wrong with a woman indulging in a few drinks, I just would hate to see you faint on such a special night."
Christine blinked rapidly, then she set the glass on a small table near them. "You are right, I have had far too much."
"That's quite alright. We wouldn't want to give these blabbermouths more to talk about." She gave a small smile. "Now, I hear you were an opera singer, it must be quite the thrill to be up on the stage." Unlike the others who'd asked, Lillian seemed genuine.
"Why yes, it was. I am hoping to be able to perform again soon. It's always been my dream to travel the world and share my music," Christine said, though it wasn't her music she would be sharing but that of her Angel's.
Lillian's face lit up. "Why don't you sing later tonight, once you sober up, that is? I'm sure everyone would love to hear your–"
Raoul interjected, "Not necessary, a Vicomtess has no need to be performing. After all, we don't want to put unnecessary strain on her."
Christine looked at him with disbelief. "Why not? I love to sing. It doesn't put any strain on me at all."
Raoul scoffed, then looked at Lillian as if trying to get her support on the matter, though she was only nervously looking between them. "A woman of your status does not partake in such interests. We will find another hobby, my dear. Perhaps, painting?"
Christine nodded meekly. There was no use in arguing. She needed to agree with him. "Yes, painting it is," she grumbled as she turned her eyes towards the floor.
Raoul laughed and nudged Christine's arm with his elbow. "See, I will have a room set up for your endeavors shortly after we are married."
"Well, my dear, it was fabulous meeting you. I must return to my husband. I am afraid I have left him alone for too long. I do wish you will join me for tea at my home sometime." Lillian took up Christine's hand again and gave it another gentle squeeze before departing.
Christine's hand fell onto her skirts and when she raised her eyes from the floor, her vision began to blur and she was on the verge of tears. She couldn't cry now! Now in front of all of her guests. She needed to leave and fast, lest she embarrass herself even further.
She turned to Raoul, who had focused his attention back on the man from Nice and quickly said, "Darling, I am rather tired, I am going to turn in for the night. Please tell our guests to excuse my absence."
Raoul excused himself from his conversation and pivoted towards her. He grasped her shoulders and held her in place. "Of course, my love. We have had a long night."
He pressed his lips to hers and she half-heartedly returned the kiss before pulling away and staring into his eyes. Christine felt nothing in the moment, no love and no hatred. She stood before Raoul and her stomach no longer fluttered and her heart no longer leaped. Just as quickly as she had fallen in love with him, it had been quashed into nothingness.
Christine broke eye contact with Raoul and turned for the stairs, still holding back her tears. His words had ripped her soul from her body. Her entire life was music and she would not be allowed to perform again until she found a way to leave. How was she to live without music? How was she to honor her fallen angel?
She rushed up the stairs, trying her best not to stumble as her legs felt like jelly. Eveline was already waiting for her and once Christine was sure she was out of view of any guests, she sprinted down the hall and burst into her room. She nearly tripped on the skirts of her gown as she bolted for her dressing screen. She needed out of the damned contraption.
"Are you alright?" Eveline asked, quickly closing the door behind her.
Christine was gasping for breath, trying to combat the tears that were streaming down her face. "Yes, yes, please. I just need help out of my dress. I am having a hard time breathing."
Eveline nodded and got to work undressing Christine until she was only in her chemise. "Is there anything else you need assistance with, m'lady?"
Christine shook her head. "No, Eveline. You are wonderful. I am eternally grateful for your kindness. I just need to be left alone."
Eveline nodded again and the poor girl left the room without another word.
Christine ran her trembling hands through her hair and opened her wardrobe for a sleeping gown. She grabbed the first one she could find and dressed herself with her shaky fingers. Her lack of coordination made fastening the buttons nearly impossible.
She had been a fool to agree to marry Raoul. How was she to know what kind of man he would grow to be? But what of her other choice...her angel? She couldn't condemn herself to live forever in the darkness below the Opera Populaire. Perhaps, she should have chosen neither and went on to live her own life–one full of music and traveling like she had with her father.
Either way, she refused to follow through with this engagement. His blatant lack of respect and his denial to allow her to pursue her music only made her more furious with him.
Christine tore from the balcony door in desperate need of fresh air. Once the frigid air entered her lungs, she was able to calm her frantic breaths. She crossed the balcony to the railing and looked out into the night, letting the tears dry on her face. She wished to be able to see the lights of Paris again, even for a moment…to walk the busy streets and visit the bakeries and shops with Meg…to see her angel one last time…
A new onslaught of tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. She lowered her eyes to the railing in front of her and watched the droplets form small dark spots in the gray stone.
Only a minute had passed when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She did her best to covertly swipe away her tears while also attempting to smudge out the darkened spots on the railing. "Raoul, I thought you were still at the party. I am going to bed, so I won't keep you for long. Please, go back to our guests."
Raoul didn't answer her and she felt an overwhelming urge to cry again. Then she couldn't stop herself from speaking. "Raoul, I don't know what I'm doing wrong. No one likes me, and the rumors are getting out of hand. Not one person tried to know me tonight, they all assume I'm some–some whore only with you for your money. I'm calling off our engagement, but I fear I have nowhere to go, so I wish to stay until I am able to support a life of my own. I will be no trouble at all." She paused and sniffled, hoping he wouldn't be angry with her for revealing her true feelings.
Christine dabbed her tears on her sleeve while running a trembling hand through the mess of her hair. "I miss Paris, I miss the opera. I want to perform again and you won't let me. You know music is everything to me and yet you allow me to paint? I don't even enjoy painting. I couldn't hold a paint brush if my life depended on it."
There was stark silence behind her but she could still feel his presence. He was letting her speak, actually listening to her…so she continued.
"I know you think poorly of my past, and of–of him, but you said so yourself, he is dead, so what are you afraid of?" Christine paused, remembering her prayer. "I prayed for him so he could find passage to Heaven. He may have done horrible, sinful things, but everyone deserves a second chance. Even if he had gone on living, I'm sure eventually he would come back to me and we could have become friends. He didn't deserve how the world treated him, and, God, what it did to him. It was so unfair!
"He believed himself a monster, if only he had someone to show him kindness, maybe things could have ended differently. Maybe he could have seen himself as a man. I wish he had just revealed himself to me all those years ago instead of–" Christine's knees buckled, and before she could grab the railing to steady herself, she collapsed.
Arms were around her then, catching her before she hit the ground. She was enveloped in an embrace and sobbed into Raoul's coat. "It hurts, Raoul. My heart hurts and I don't know if it will heal. I still care for him. I wish he had been able to move on and find a woman to love him as he loved me." The warmth from Raoul's body was soothing and calmed the trembles that shook Christine's body. "I feel terrible for leaving him in the state he was in. I should have stayed and helped him. I hate myself everyday for leaving him."
Christine was pulled tighter against Raoul's chest and she felt the heat of his breath across her scalp as he kissed her. She was overly grateful that he wasn't reacting with anger towards her confessions, after all, he and her angel hated each other.
She buried her face farther into his coat and breathed deeply. Familiar notes of musk and roses encompassed her mind and she pulled from Raoul's arms and reeled backwards against the railing. She squeezed her eyes shut as the trembling in her legs returned.
That scent, it wasn't possible. It had died with its owner…
There were footsteps again and Christine held out her hand to attempt to stop the unwanted advance. "Stay back for a moment, I just need a few seconds. I don't feel well." She was going mad, she knew it, or she was dreaming.
After she took several stuttering breaths, she slowly opened her eyes. Her mouth fell agape and she was left dumbfounded at the sight before her.
It was her angel. Half of his face was masked in black the other half, perfect and so very stunning. The heavy cloak draped over his shoulders billowed in the breeze, the fabric ruffling faintly. He wore an expression of amazement and when his icy blue eyes found hers, she felt as if she would faint. Her chest tightened and she clutched at the pain while melding into the railing.
He's not here, it's his ghost. He is dead, calm yourself.
She wanted to speak, but nothing but garbled incoherent noises escaped her lips. The ghost made no movement towards her, it's eyes still boring into hers. Her breath hitched when his expression softened into one of adoration.
Christine swallowed the hard lump that formed in her throat. "Are you a ghost?" She was thankful that she found her voice, though it wavered and grew weaker with every word that passed her lips. He didn't answer and she chuckled timorously. "Look at me, I'm completely mad; speaking with the ghost of–of–" She couldn't finish her sentence as she had no idea what she should call him. Never once did he tell her his name.
She placed her palm on her forehead and exhaled. A ghost…what does one say to a ghost? "I suppose I–I should ask you how you are doing?"
Oh, yes, casual conversation! How witless of you! Might as well offer him tea, perhaps supper…
The ghost smirked and finally spoke. "Doing well for a dead man."
A shiver ran up her spine and she felt another sharp jab in her heart. She hadn't expected him to answer and his voice was honeyed velvet in her ringing ears. To say she didn't miss his voice was a lie and part of her wanted to ask him to sing for her one last time. But there was little possibility he had come to sing for her. No, he had to be visiting her to find closure or even to tell her he found happiness and God answered her prayers. Maybe he wasn't even real.
"Are you a real ghost or am I hallucinating?" Then something came to her mind and it all made sense. "Oh God, it was the champagne, I knew I shouldn't have had that fifth glass."
Christine tossed her hands in the air and walked over to the tea table. She steadied herself on one of the chairs when dizziness overtook her. The balcony was spinning and it was hard to focus.
She glanced back up at her visitor, and whispered, "Forgive me, I am not feeling well."
The ghost furrowed its brows, then spoke again, "Did you really pray for me, Christine? Did you really mean all the words you said?"
She saw tears wavering in his eyes and wondered what the ghostly droplets would look like racing down his unmasked cheek. An overwhelming urge to run to him and provide him comfort arose inside of her, but she stopped herself, knowing she wouldn't be able to hold him.
Instead, she simply nodded. "Yes, of course, I cared for you very much. I still feel that I do, I just–" She looked down at her hands and tightened her hold on the chair as a wave of nausea passed over her. "I wish things could have been different for us and that you would have come to me as a man. You hurt me, but I forgive you. I don't wish to harbor ill feelings against you."
Tears plopped onto her white knuckles and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stop her girlish crying. It was in vain, as an assault of tears wracked her body. Her throat closed up and she doubled over, clutching her tightening stomach. "I wish I could have done more for you, Angel. I should have gone with you that night and–and you would still be alive. I–I killed you! I killed you!"
Christine's stomach lurched and she started gagging. Her hand clasped over her mouth and she lunged for the railing and retched over the side. The rancid taste of champagne made her heave again and once she was sure her body had rid itself of its contents, she turned and slumped against the railing. She wiped the back of her sleeve across her mouth and groaned from the embarrassment of behaving so monstrously in front of her angel.
Then she started giggling, unable to help the fit that came over her. "I hope nobody was below us. That would be unfortunate." She smiled and turned her face up towards the ghost to see that he looked worried. "Don't fret about me, Angel. I'll be fine–eventually."
He took a step forward and Christine scrambled to stand up. "Please, I–I know you can't touch me, but I'm frightened." He stopped his advance, though he stood shockingly close. She could feel the heat radiating from him. Were ghosts warm?
When he frowned, she automatically reached for him, but swiftly retracted her hand. Her urge to comfort him was only going to cause harm, but her words had hurt him and she was ashamed of herself. "Not of you though, I just have never seen a ghost before. I don't know what you want, and I don't know what to do to be of assistance."
He took a hesitant step forward. "Christine." But he paused, brows furrowing as he glanced at the space between them. "I'm not a ghost. Have you already forgotten that I held you in my arms just minutes ago?"
Christine shut her eyes, thinking back to that moment. He had touched her, held her, and kissed her, all while she thought he was Raoul. She gasped and her eyes shot open, but when she tried to scream, she couldn't find her voice.
Her angel lunged forward and covered her mouth with a gloved hand, his other on the small of her back. Dizziness overtook her again and her body fell slack against him.
He was real, not a ghost, and certainly not dead as Raoul had told her. He was real and standing before her, there for an unknown purpose. Her breathing increased against his hand, her whimpers going unheard by everyone but the man before her. She awaited her body's response, wondering if it was going to fight for her, but it never did. The last thing she saw before submitting to darkness was the face of her very much alive angel grinning down at her.