Belle Douleur || The Phantom of the Opera ||

Chapter One

Paris, France,
1914,

The world around her spun as she and her dance partner spun with it. Lively Piano and clinking glasses danced around them and the rest of the cramped café. It was perhaps the loudest farewell celebration in all of Paris. People from outside continued to pour in, half the party piling into the street due to the already packed café. It was quite the sight, and it was making Christine far too dizzy.

Her partner was having a wonderful time, however, and this was enough to quell her worries, for the time being. Their hands pressed together as they moved along with the crowd to the upbeat piano. She wasn't used to such quickness and her face grew hot with each misstep or laughed-off stumble. His smile was enough alone to make her anxious, but she did her best to reflect his happy bliss. They danced on, until Christine slipped away on the excuse of a parched throat. Her partner, the gentleman he was, offered to accompany her, but she merely smiled.

"I'm quite sure I'll manage, Monsieur De Chagny."

There was nothing in her voice but teasing, if possibly a hint of chagrin. Then his smile widened and her knees went weak. Despite her awkward limbs and radish-like face, she remained collected all the way through the sea of dancers, till her hands met the wood of the bar. It was hardly better than the frenzy of the dance floor, laughing and cheering from the more than tipsy party-goers, but here it was also less likely to be trampled by swinging feet. She asked for a glass of water, the excuse of thirst not being a lie, and took a sip.

"No doubt about it. I've gone mad."

Christine jumped at the new voice beside her, very nearly choking on the room temperature liquid. At the sight of a familiar wry grin surrounded by wild, golden hair, she smiled.

"Oh? What has you so convinced?" The smile on her companion's face was that of a cheeky cat, and Christine leaned down as the smaller woman placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't say you heard this from me," she said as if sharing a secret. "I don't want people thinking me a gossip." A snort Christine couldn't help came at the humour of Meg being anything but a gossip.

"But if you would believe it," she continued, "I just caught sight of Christine Daaé dancing with a De Chagny. "

Christine moulded her smile into mock surprise.

"Goodness, are you sure?" The two shared a knowing glance before they looked out to the dance floor once more. "You know," Christine started, her friend's eyes looking back at her in question. "I too must be out of my right mind."

"And why's that?"

"I thought I saw that silly girl, Meg Giry, dancing with the eldest De Chagny just moments ago." With that the two burst into giddy laughter, looking out at the two brothers talking and laughing with fellow soldiers-to-be.

"Oh, Christine! Can you believe it? Us, dancing with the De Chagny's!" Meg swooned upon her shoulder causing another few laughs from the two.

It was truly unbelievable. Christine mentally thanked Madame Giry-if not for her, Christine would not have been at the market that wonderful afternoon. If she hadn't been to the market, sorting through bright red apples, she never would have bumped that hand she believed she would never see again. To her surprise, the sweet, witty young boy she had known as a child was just as sweet and witty. He was no longer a young boy, however, but a young man.

Now stood by the bar, a chattering Meg at her side, Christine locked eyes with her dear friend, his eyes lighting up as bright as his smile. A cold pit weighed itself in her stomach.

"The way he's been all over you- well, I wouldn't be surprised if he asked for your hand, here tonight, Christine...Christine?"

Christine was too focused on fighting the heavy lump in her throat, the stinging of her eyes. It was truly cruel, so soon after getting him back he was to leave her again; leave for something so terrible. How could they be celebrating? At that moment, Christine couldn't bear another second of it.