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

Red and White

"Nothing... I am sad to leave."

"I thought we agreed on this. Our train departs tomorrow. My family expects us back for Christmas. I waited so very long for this — for you. I gave you everything, every bit of freedom you needed, every delay you asked for. Don't ask for more, Christine, please."

"Raoul..." my voice cracked. "I love you, but I don't love your position in society and all the obligations it carries."

"What obligations? I am not even the heir. I only have estates to manage... I know you might be unused to that, given that your father was a musician who could roam wherever his music took him, but the rest of us live entirely different lives. And it is perfectly normal."

"Perhaps I take after my father, then," I snapped.

"No Christine. You need a family. And I can provide you with one. But I cannot live in a never-ending battle for your affections, a battle against this mad hunger that resides in you. You need to bury it somewhere deep where it can rest tamed, and release it when the circumstances allow it."

I stared at him. He simply didn't understand... Or was he perhaps right?

"Yes, of course, that would be wise. I just need some time."

"It's perfectly understandable, my love. After all, this production is the first one that made you into an absolute star of the piece, a prima donna in the fullest sense of the word. It is only understandable that it all went to your head," he spoke soothingly.

"That must be it."

"Come, let me tell you something! On my way here I happened to run into the composer, Dessler. It was quite extraordinary..." he paused in thought.

"Why? What did you tell him?"

"What? Nothing, merely complimented him, but he was in a hurry to attend to some urgent business, or so he told me."

"Did he mention anything about the performance?"

"Calm down, Christine. We merely exchanged two sentences, and he seemed to be satisfied with the production. What does it matter, anyway?"

"What does it matter, indeed, when my work here is done," I replied numbly.

I stared at the roses, distraught, when something in the red bouquet caught my attention: a small figurine of an angel playing the harp, partly hidden among the petals. It stood glued on a stick and it seemed that an entire bouquet was arranged around it.

And since Raoul mentioned my father earlier, my mind wandered to the tales of the Angel of Music that he used to tell me. Father believed in my gift and he wanted me to embrace it and celebrate it. Not to keep it on a leash.

"Our childhood memories are so perfect, my love," I spoke up, "but I'm afraid our life together wouldn't be."

"Christine! Where did that come from? Of course we would be happy."

I shook my head and wiped away the tears that gathered in my eyes.

"A life full of compromises would wear us out. It already does. Can't you feel it?"

"Of course I can, since I have been the one making allowances so far. Now, when it is finally time for you to give up something, you object. How is that supposed to make me feel? Christine, we're supposed to get married in ten days! What is this?"

"I don't know. It just is. It is me."

I sat down and buried my face in my hands, and Raoul joined me on the small sofa.

"I wish I could understand you better, and I wish I was as free to roam as I was two years ago," he said and gently kissed my temple.

"Oh Raoul, this is so sad."

"Christine, this is just your exhaustion speaking. I still want to marry you. I even feel duty bound, at this point, and after all this time..."

"You will be happier with someone else. You know that."

"You can't be serious!" he started, then saw my face and stopped. "Is this it, then?"

I nodded and smiled thinly.

"It was about time that I grace the gossip columns with another scandal, wasn't it?"

We both laughed humorlessly, but Raoul quickly sobered.

"It's all right if you have your doubts tonight, but tomorrow at noon, our train departs."

"Raoul! I am serious. I won't be there."

"If you don't come, I will consider our engagement dissolved. I will say so to my family."

"Oh, your family, Raoul! Your mother will hate me, if she took all that trouble with the wedding."

"Don't worry about that. No one asked her to prepare anything, so she has only herself to blame. Still, it won't be a very merry Christmas. Oh, we should have broken it off months ago. I should have seen this would happen," he muttered in frustration.

"Do you regret our time together, then?"

"Well we haven't been together much this autumn, have we?" he retorted, then stopped, took a deep breath and calmed himself before answering.

"Forgive me. No, I have no regrets. Only pain."

Sadness wrapped around me like a thick blanket, but at least the burden was lifted from my heart. Despite everything, I knew I made the right choice.

"Do you hate me?"

"Christine... I don't hate you. In some ways, I am not surprised. Perhaps you never fully belonged to me."

"Please don't be bitter, Raoul. Please, oh please, let us part as friends. Don't think that this is easy for me."

He pulled me up into a quick embrace.

"I know. I will miss you terribly, Christine. Will you write to me sometimes?"

"Of course."

"Good. Farewell then, my lovely Little Lotte."

"Farewell, my love. Travel safely, and... Try to think of me fondly, despite everything."

"You know I will."

Raoul's calm acceptance in the end had told me that deep down, he knew this was for the best. Our love itself was like a rose, the one that wilted away from the lack of care, or feeling, or simply because of our mismatched circumstances.

I was left alone, on my own, again. It was a high price to pay to follow my dreams, and now I wanted nothing more than to climb into my bed and sleep away the heartbreak and the tears.

Ignoring the festivities that took place throughout the Teatro, I sneaked outside with Sophie and we headed back home.