Spanish Angel (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 16

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

In case you're wondering, the operetta and Theater mentioned in this chapter were real. There is this amazing book out there called Dicken's Dictionary of Paris, 1882 which I HIGHLY RECOMMEND TO ANYONE WRITING FANFICS IN THAT ERA!!!!!!!!!!!! IT IS AN AMAZING RESOURCE. It has all sorts of stuff!!! Not just names of places and lists of prices but also tidbits of information involving the culture of the time. It's beautiful.

You can find it in Google Books. I don't know if there are any copies that can be bought. But, the online copy is good. I've been reading it off and on (informational reading can only be taken in in small doses). I shall be using it to write my fanfics from now on so my historical accuracy can increase (hopefully!).

Random question: if anyone knows the age of majority in France during the late 19th century, please let me know. GOOGLE IS FAILING ME (and I haven't found that in the book yet).

sarahlet2999

P.S. Don't kill me for this chapter.

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Chapter 16:

"Christine? Christine, are you awake?" The blonde Comte inquired as he slipped under the sheets beside his dozing wife. Blue eyes fluttering open, she yawned quietly before she snuggled into his shoulder.

"Yes. How long did I sleep?" She asked quietly, peering up at him through sleepy eyes.

"Several hours. It's nearly supper time." A small laugh teased the corners of her mouth as she entwined her pale fingers with his strong ones. He returned her quiet gesture of affection with a gentle hand squeeze before kissing her forehead gently. "Would you like a little walk by the ocean before we eat? Do you feel well enough?"

Christine's breath labored for a moment before she nodded, shifting in the small bed to sitting up.

"That would be nice. I'll waste away in this bed." A self-depreciating chuckle echoed between thin lips. "I look no better than him." After a year, Raoul found his bride referring to her angel more often and with less horror. Her mind had recovered, now her body had to follow.

"I'll fetch your cloak." He whispered as he slid from the bed and disappeared from the room. returning several moments later, he helped his unsteady bride from their bed and wrapped the cloak about her shoulders.

"Thank you, Raoul. Is the beach pretty right now?" He nodded and guided her out of their small villa on the shore and down a smooth rock path to the sandy shore.

"See, it's quite lovely." The weary girl nodded and leaned heavily on him as they ambled along, Christine pausing only once to remove her shoes to enjoy the sand between her toes. When they reached a flat boulder, Christine gestured for them to rest.

"This has been a nice holiday, Raoul. Thank you for bringing me here. I feel better almost every day. I'll soon be ready to return to Paris." Despite his wife's mentioning that cursed city nearly every day, Raoul had long ago determined that she would never go back, except perhaps to see her father's grave.

"I have been thinking, Christine, and...and perhaps it isn't wise for either of us to go back to Paris." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "We would do much better to stay away."

"No!" She gasped and clutched his lapels with all the strength her weak body could muster. "No! We must go back. I must bury his remains. I promised, Raoul. I fell ill and couldn't complete it. But, I must now I am better. He is long dead. We have nothing to worry about."