Your Voice

Chapter 3

Christine

About three weeks later

"Congratulations, Viscountess, Viscount, you will be receiving your child soon," the doctor tells us, focusing his eyes particularly on me. My hands subconsciously went to my stomach. I felt Raoul's hand on my shoulder, and I did all I could to smile and keep myself from breaking down in tears. Would my child really be raised by a violent drunkard? I feared that it could be born with Erik's - the real father's- deformity, and then everyone will know. I prayed that it wouldn't have the Phantom's angular features, or dark hair, although those would make the child look beautiful.

"Well," Raoul gets up, "I shall be at the bar celebrating!" Before I can protest, he kisses me on the cheek and walks out the door.
"Raoul! Don't drink anymore!" I call after him, but he heads out anyway. Slightly embarrassed, I turned to the doctor, nodded politely and started off.

"Madame, could I have a word with you?" I stop in my tracks, halfway out the door. Oh no. He knows. Being a celebrity, this was bound to be the juiciest gossip to sell, and I could not let that happen. But trying not to seem suspicious, I go back in, shut the door and sat down.
"Y-yes?" I stammered in a feeble attempt to keep my cool, my fingers digging into my dress.
"I have Raoul's medical records, mademoiselle, and I know that he is unable to have children due to a certain condition. He doesn't know that. Neither did you." the doctor calmly tells me. Shocked, horrified, paralyzed by a mixture of regret and sadness, I stared into his eyes, my heart pounding in my chest. We both sat in silence, the doctor waiting to see my reaction, I at a loss for words. I took one deep breath and collapsed to the ground.

Erik

I handed the finished music to Madame Giry, who stood beside an animated Meg. They both headed off, squealing at the score. Madame Giry had found work for Meg and herself at a small-scale opera house, and I wrote the music. I no longer felt the notes flowing through my veins, the melody playing in my soul, my heart beating to the beautiful rhythm. The latest score was called 'Bathing Beauty', a lousy piece of noise. It was a catchy tune, but I wasn't caught up in this music; it was rubbish. The lyrics didn't make sense, the notes a boring sequence - I wrote whatever came into my mind. How could I ever write songs of tales of adventure, stories of tragedy and love without my angel of music?

Why, oh, why did I ever leave her. She came and found me. I woke with her in my arms, and I told myself I was not worthy of such a gorgeous piece of art, and fled. It broke my heart to do it, believe me, but with angry mobs still hunting me down and with my anger issues, I knew I had to go. She deserved someone better, someone without deaths on their conscience, someone sweet, someone beautiful...

Footsteps pounded on my steps, and for a moment, I weakly hoped that it would be Christine. A flushed Madame Giry ran to my side, a folded paper in her hand. I took it from her and judging by the horrified look on her face, I expected the worst. The headline read:
PARIS SONGBIRD EXPECTING A CHILD?

I didn't continue after that. My heart sank to my stomach - I felt empty. I never wanted children, no. To have them grow a hideous face such as mine? But I reminded myself that it was not my child. It was Raoul's. Admittedly, I think the child would be good-looking, and hopefully it sings just as well.