Denial & Betrayal (A Phantom of the Opera fan fiction)

She ran.

She ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She didn't care that she wasn't wearing the correct shoes for her journey, nor that she only wore a night gown and a simple black cloak to cover herself with. The cool air pinked her cheeks and cooled her heated skin.

There was no moonlight to guide her in her trek; she used instinct and the dim streetlights, reflecting on the damp Parisian cobbles. Her speed decelerated as she neared her destination. The lamp lights never reached the dark alley way she found herself in and she was far too in thought to contemplate the dangers, a young girl like herself, could be in at this time of night.

She swiftly tapped the old, wooden door. Her heart pounded in anticipation and anxiety; every millisecond passing caused her heart rate even more. At long last, the door finally opened, much to her relief, and the dim light from inside the house extended to  silhouette the woman who opened the door. Her aging features were visible by the candle light she held.

"Madame Giry," the girl breathed as she began to compose herself from her arduous trek.

"Christine," Madame Giry whispered in exclaim. "Come inside, child." She gathered the girl in her arms and led her into the warm house. The older woman looked out front to see if there were any witnesses and when she saw nothing but blackness, she closed the door.

Madame Giry brought her into a small sitting area where a few old, dusty and obviously abandoned furniture items were situated in. Christine didn't have time to waste; she needed to speak with him. She had written to Madame earlier, begging for his whereabouts and now she had found herself in this place.

"Child, what were you thinking in coming here? You are to be married to the Vicomte in the morning!" she kept her voice low. "It is far too late at night. You could've put yourself in danger."

"Madame, please, I need to speak with him," she pleaded, almost breaking into tears. The Vicomte had little to do with her thoughts at that point.

The older woman could see the desperation in the girl's eyes. She saw the heavy guilt in Christine's eyes, sorrow that hadn't been seen since the death of her father. Then she remembered the pain her notorious old friend endured for the past year, wallowing in grief of his loss of his only chance of love. Madame Giry never expected this amount of heartbreak. With a defeated sigh, she conceded to the request.

Madame Giry handed off the small candle holder she held in her hand and then slid aside the Persian rug, revealing a trap door. The girl's eyes flew open and she almost chastised herself for doing so when she knew what to expect all along. The older woman bid her forward, then lifted the rope attached to the door and pulled. The creaking of the opening sped Christine's heart up and when a darkened staircase was revealed, she wanted nothing but to go back to the safe de Chagny manor. But she knew she needed to do this.

She started to feel nauseated as the reality of the situation dawned on her. She thought back to that night. It was hard to believe that it was a mere two months since the event. She saw his face. His distortion. It plagued her every night. She couldn't sleep and it was with one of those sleepless nights that brought her here. Those tears that she had caused, the pain searing across his face after their lips parted and the screams of the angry mob coming closer towards their desired destination. Guilt consumed her, ate her very soul, so much so that she found herself climbing down from the balcony at the de Chagny estate, running past the gates and entering the Giry's lodgings. Every part of her mind wanted her to run back to the estate.

With a deep breath, she ventured down the black abyss.

With tender steps, being cautious not to cause too much noise from the old, wooden steps, her anxiety only increased. She could see a muted, auburn glow in the short distance and it became evermore clear as she neared it. As she reached the last step, she nearly ran all the way back up when she saw an outline of a hunched figure in the corner.

The shadowed figure had heard the door to his lodgings open and heard the dainty footsteps, gently cascading down the stairs. He half expected it to be Antoinette Giry, bringing further nourishment that he would often toss aside; but nothing would've prepared him when he knew it was her. Every time the door opened, his heart would flutter with hope that it would be her coming down those stairs, but his heart tore every time it wasn't. He wanted to see her face, hear that ethereal voice of hers and even smell the heavenly scent she owned.

When the footsteps ceased, he waited. He waited for her to announce herself but he could sense the trepidation. He could see the outline of her face, even in the dark. He could see a lot better in the dark than most; the darkness was his only companion. Darkness never impaired him, never betrayed him, never left him.

He gasped at the sight of her; the faint light gave her beauty an eerie quality. Her once-chocolate curls turned auburn in the candlelight and gave her skin a golden tinge. She looked even more beautiful than the last time he laid eyes on her.

The gasp caught the girl's attention and she still couldn't fathom the reality she was in. Her heart almost broke in pieces as she heard the pained gasp and it took all of her might not to burst into guilt-filled tears.

And so, with a trembling breath, she called out, "Angel?"

He inwardly shuddered at sound of her voice, which continued to confirm that she was a tangible being here and not just one of his sick dreams.

"Christine?" his voice croaked out.