Enchanted chapter 3- The escape

I do not own Phantom of The Opera or It's characters.

UPDATE- It's been almost ten (yes ten) years since I've updated this story... I never once stopped thinking about it. I just got stuck, lost, and lacked the motivation to keep going. In order to continue, I had to delete old chapters that no longer work for the story I want to write. If by some miracle you followed this story and read this update/chapter please let me know! that would be amazing to see. I myself hate when authors don't update/finish their work but it's part of the creative process I guess. Are people still even reading on this platform? ha. Anyway, I apologize for the brain vomit... Just happy to be back writing. Even if it's for a void.

Christine awoke with a jolt. Gasping for air, trying to steady her breathing. She had been dreaming of her wedding, a nightmare really, she thought. She sat up, her dark curls covered in sweat. Peeling off the heavy covers, trying to regain her composure. The dream wasn't all bad; she remembered a familiar, masked face… He had captivated her; something in his amber eyes felt familiar, warm, and safe. Something she desperately craved as of late. She pulled herself up from bed, wrapping a light shall around her shoulders. Today was a new day. She vowed that she wouldn't be a coward; she would run.

It was early morning, still dark. The city was quiet, and the Parisian streets were empty. Maybe now was the best time? She thought to herself. No, she needed to devise a plan. Perhaps leaving without a word would lessen Raoul's anger or only fuel it… she wasn't sure. She was sure Raoul did not love her; he was clearly having an affair with the red-headed woman, but Christine had one thing over her: her good name. Raoul would not legally attach himself to a performer; he would only do it physically behind her back.

Where would she go? Her thoughts were racing, scattered, coming in all at once. Overwhelmed, she sat on the bed, trying to think what the best course of action would be… There was Meg, the rising ballet star, and her beloved friend. She had been performing in the company for some time now, quickly becoming one of the prima ballerinas: her mother, Madam Giry, head of the ballet company at Garnier. A strict woman, most perceived as severe, but Christine only experienced respect and kindness from both women for many years. Surely, they would understand, as women, that she was in danger. But would they agree to hide her? She wasn't sure. Raoul was the patron of the Opera, and they could fear him and the consequences of keeping her. All of Paris knew of their engagement, and Meg was the one friend she had before Raoul. It was her only hope.

Still, she needed to find their permanent address. She knew Madame Giry often worked late and would stay at the theater. Perhaps she would make her way over this afternoon and confide in her and Meg about her situation. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was all she had. Perhaps her father would realize his mistakes and sever ties with the Viscount. She hoped as much, for she could not enter a loveless marriage, forced to bear his children and be his caged songbird for eternity. It was a death sentence.

The day slipped by in a haze. Christine, trying to be discrete, hiding a few essential items in a cloth bag. She could not carry much for fear that it would draw attention to her departure. She packed what she could and hoped it would be enough to survive a few days. For the rest, she would have to rely on Meg. She hated the thought of being a burden to both Meg and Madame Giry. However, she knew Meg would understand and keep her safe. Meg and Christine had been friends for most of their adult life, and she would often confide in her. Meg treated Christine like a sister but was surprised by the engagement, which admittedly created a rift between them. Christine couldn't bring herself to disclose the reason for agreeing to Viscount. Meg, sensing her inner turmoil, offered silent understanding. Raoul, eager to drive the two apart further, made no invitation to the mother and daughter, assuring that she would be reliant on him at his parties and further isolating her.

It was evening, though heavy rain clouds closing in on the city made the time seem much later. Darkness closed in on the house; a good cover, Christine thought. She needed to make her escape before the storm arrived. Grabbing her bag, she calmly opened the door, not wanting to draw attention from the staff. Silently, she closed it behind her and made her way down the hall towards the grand stairwell. And just as she reached the top of the stairs-

"And where might you be going?" A deep, sharp voice came in from behind her. Raoul. Careful not to alarm him further, she pivoted gracefully, summoning all the poise and elegance she could muster. He had been watching and waiting for this, she thought.

"I'm Going to look for Papa," she offered a weak and unbelievable explanation. Why would she be leaving just as the storm was settling in? It was a stupid mistake, she thought.

"Really?" It was a statement rather than a question. He crossed both arms and leaned against the banister. "Don't worry about your precious papa. He's out in town and left me in charge of his precious daughter." A wicked smile began to form.

"Roul, please, this can't go on…I—I have to go." Knowing it was futile, maybe rejection would let her be released from his grasp.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my darling." He moved in closer, wrapping one arm around her waist, making sure she was locked in—the smell of alcohol on his breath. "You can make me very happy…" his whisper sent a shiver through her. He began pulling her back towards her bedroom.

Panic set in. She would have no escape if she were in that room with him. "Please, Raoul, don't!" she held on to the railing, trying to wiggle her way out of his grasp. The house seemed empty, and no one came to her rescue. She was alone, perhaps by design.

"Common now, darling, don't make this any harder than it has to be," he spat, trying to keep his grasp on her. He was intoxicated; she could use that to her advantage. She suddenly turned to face him, pushing against his chest with as much force as she could muster. She broke free, and he stumbled back, hitting the marble staircase hard. He rolled down the stairwell, hitting his head a few times until he finally hit the foyer floor.

He lay there, inert... perhaps lifeless. There are no signs of blood, however. She slowly made her way down, afraid to wake him. She was being careful not to make a sound. She could not be caught now. Stepping over his motionless body just before noticing the faint breathing and groans escaping him. Just unconscious... She pushed forward towards the front door. Carefully opened it just enough to slip past it and silently close it behind her. She needed to run.