Disclaimer: Me, own Phantom of the Opera? I'm sorry, but if you actually thought that I did, that's really quite sad. ;) Feedback: Please! *Raoul's POV* I hated the feeling of inaction that came over me as I sat in my study; anxiously awaiting the arrival of the three fools I had hired for the second time. Surely, I had done my best; it was clear that I alone was no match for the Phantom in any contest of strength or agility. I felt, however, that my life had spun out of my control; that I had become dependent on the easiest and most base forms of reaching my goals. It was thoroughly disheartening, and completely intolerable that I, a Vicomte, needed to hire drunks to do my bidding. Christine didn't want me; that was clear. Still, I didn't care, for I was intent on making her mine. That one goal filled me, and pushed my doubts aside. It was simply a matter of principle now. Insolent girl and her notions of grandeur; her dreams of angels that stalk the night. How na�ve, how childish, she could be! And yet. . .how beautiful, how intriguing; her voice called to me through the sin and the vice I was mired in. Her song was the one thing that still made me feel free, unbidden by what I had become. Sometimes, in the silence, I could hear her; calling, pleading, begging me to come to her. It was all an illusion of course, nothing more than some sweet folly played across my mind's weary stage. Still, I couldn't shake the fantasy; the song and the face of the woman I loved. I assured myself constantly, that when she came, she would realize the error in her ways. She would love me and learn to be my Christine again; she would happily be my wife and bear my children. She would be mine, and mine alone. A dream? Maybe. . . A beautiful one that surpassed every reality I had yet known. When they came, they came in fear. I could sense it on them, read it plainly on their dirty faces. Of course, I couldn't blame them for their apprehension: they had come without Christine. I decided, for once, to give them the benefit of the doubt, if only momentarily. "Well?" I asked simply, standing up and walking towards them. The lead man stepped forward and began to speak. "When we arrived, Vicomte, no one was there in the house by the lake so, I decided to force them out of the cellars." "How?" I asked, calming slightly. "We burned the house. It's a complete loss," he said simply, with a sick grin spreading across his face. "I see," I said, processing this new information, and the new situation it produced. "We are returning to watch the entrance, Vicomte," he said, motioning for the two men to begin to leave my study, "we will watch for your fianc� and the fiend; he shall not find fate so generous this time." "See that he doesn't," I said turning from them and clasping my hands, "When they return, I want you to get my fianc� away from that monster and see that he is never able to harm her again." "Of course, Vicomte," he said, and with that the three of them stalked out of my home and into the streets where resolution would surely follow them. I smiled, my doubts effaced. Victory, no matter what the price, kept it's own virtues that defied all vice. I was not the offending party, merely the victim, and in victory, sweet victory, I would find my rewards. *Christine's POV* As I stepped out of the carriage, I stood in awe. The park stretched before me in a seemingly endless blur of color spread upon a foundation of lush greens. A twisted wrought iron fence surrounded the perimeter - sealing of the utopia within from the stone and steel of the city proper. I had never before seen this place, nor did I recognize the surrounding area, but it seemed the kind of place that the world had passed by, in spite of all its charm and grace. It seemed the kind of place that Erik would feel most at home in. I heard the carriage door close behind me, and the horse's footsteps as it pulled away. "It's beautiful," I stammered, not knowing what else I could say at that moment. "Indeed," came the hushed reply as Erik took my arm and led me towards the entrance. The blue silk of the dress I had chosen flowed freely behind me as I walked with him, the opalescent stones in the necklace I was wearing cast beams of reflected moonlight into the crisp night air. I felt almost free, unbound my man or nature, with nothing to keep my feet on the ground except for my love for Erik. We approached a garden of odd plants, vibrant and exotic in their color and shape. Erik led me to a bench, and motioned for me to sit. *Erik's POV* Christine sat down on the bench, looking every ounce the goddess taking her natural place in paradise. She sat there, mixed emotions -confusion, awe, wonder, and, yes, even love- in her eyes as she meditatively absorbed her surroundings. She looked at me, and, I knew the time had come. "Christine," I began, my own nervousness shocking me as I sat beside her, "You may be wondering why I've brought you to a park in a formal gown in the middle of the night." "Well. . ." she said, glancing up at me playfully, "maybe just a little." I laughed slightly, and my nervousness faded slightly. "I do have my reasons, I assure you," I said, looking at the ground to avoid eye contact, "I am not completely mad, contrary to popular belief." I heard her giggle for a moment, but I kept looking down. It didn't take her long to figure out that I had something of import to tell her. "I know this place is informal, and I know that you must be a little confused, but, I have my motives. You see, it is the occasion itself which is singular." "I see," she said, looking at me intently, her brow furrowing with what must have been thought and conjecture. It was really quite adorable; her sitting in such pontification, perplexed and exquisitely beautiful. I simply had to smile at the sight. "Yes," I said finally, taking her hand in mine, "for you see, tonight is very unique." "It is?" She asked, smiling slightly; almost incredulously. "Indeed," I said, standing up. She motioned to follow suit, and I placed my hand on her shoulder to stop her. "I believe," I said, kneeling before her on one knee, "it is traditional that you be seated for this, my dear." Her eyes grew wide, and she leaned forward quickly in a frenzy of uncertain and uncommitted movements, quietly, almost inaudibly, she whispered, "Oh my God. . ." To be continued. . . |
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