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October 19, 1875
Orange, among other pastels, clumped together in a blurry configuration of colors and shapes, until she realized what she was looking at. His long and perfect face was burdened with such a worried intensity, that Christine felt bad for being in such critical condition.
She noticed Raoul's hand resting on top of her frail one.
" Christine, I'm so happy to see that you are awake. You had me terribly worried. I haven't seen you since the night that you disappeared! It's been four days now. What a horrible thing those highwaymen did to such an innocent thing like you!"
Christine suddenly realized that everything that she had undergone had been altered and reported as a fictionalized version of the real account. That, or she had finally woken up from one of the wildest dreams she had ever dreamt, and there was no Phantom after all, and her father hadn't died, and she was just an average ballet dancer performing in France, at least that is what she wished she could believe to be true.
"It's okay, Raoul, I'm okay."
"I wish you had gone with me Christine, or that you had asked me to come with you, I would have protected you from harm, I would have let them tear into me piece by piece before they would have ever laid a hand on you, darling girl."
Christine grinned knowing how utterly sincere her old friend was. He cared, and in that moment she knew she had to tell him the truth of it all, what happened, and who she had been with the night of her performance.
His hazel eyes encompassed her with an affectionate pity. She was sure she looked hideous with her newly wounded scalp and her puffy and severely bruised neck. There were still tiny shards of glass hiding under the vanity from the attack.
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Christine brushed her blonde hair back and spritzed Madame Giry's lavender perfume on herself. She hadn't paid much attention to the mirror until she caught a horrible figure lurking behind her in her reflection. It was him, Joseph Buquet, the scoundrel that had managed to weasel his way back amongst the theatre company. The memory of the attempted rape flooded back and she was immediately paralyzed with fear. Buquet had a foul grin plastered across his oily face, he stroked his long greasy braid of hair in a disturbing manner while waiting for her to react.
