The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

December

Christine

"Christine, you were spectacular!"

It was Raoul, rushing through the door and into my arms, at last. We kissed in my dressing room, my heart overflowing with excitement. The triumph of the opera combined with the joy of embracing my betrothed once again, and suddenly all was right with the world.

"You have been bad, Raoul! Why didn't you come sooner? Had the manager not informed me, I wouldn't even know that you are there in the audience," I complained with the teasing glint in my eyes.

"Isn't this better? Being reunited after yet another brilliant premiere of yours? Just like that first..."

I stepped away.

"No Raoul, you forget yourself. Remember that I was taken from you that time. I don't wish to recreate that evening," I smiled tightly.

And somewhere deep inside of me, a treacherous voice whispered: Don't you? Don't you wish to sing for your Angel as well? Don't you wish to be entranced by his magic once again?

It was an immature wish of a girl who found secret underground passages romantic before she learned better. It was also my pride speaking, my desire to flaunt this success before the man who would be the strictest judge of my performance. Would he find it satisfying?

I should not be thinking about him.

"Raoul, where are you staying? Won't you come live with me?"

"We don't have Mrs. Bouvert to be your chaperone this time, my love. It was easy when we first met, but now the newspaper men follow your every move. My family..."

"Oh Raoul, I know, but... Let us marry then! Here, now, or soon. Let us marry at last."

Some anxiety propelled me. I did not wish to be alone. An uncomfortable expression clouded Raoul's face.

"My mother has our wedding half-organized already. In Paris. Just after the New Year's celebration. A real winter wedding, Little Lotte, just like you wanted," he spoke softly.

And suddenly it seemed too soon. It was absurd given that I was ready to get married tonight, but there was a world of difference between a private ceremony here and a formal one in France.

"Then we shall have a supper in the nicest Venetian restaurant, and afterwards, take me dancing somewhere," I spoke at last.

"Oh, you need not ask. Our reservation is ready."

We left the opera house and the rest of the night was as wonderful as ever. Exchanging tales, exchanging smiles. I had missed Raoul. He was safety and charm and comfort.

Much later, when I closed my eyes alone in a soft bed, dreams came easily to me, and if they were laced with dark memories, I was lucky enough not to remember them the next day.

***

Three weeks later 

All throughout the Titania's run, the production was nearly universally praised — one reporter was determined to criticize and slander me, but as Raoul had once said, that was best ignored. The gossip, at least, ceased.