Phantom of the Opera 1. Prologue

Prologue

The candle light flickered dimly, casting large shadows against the walls of the bedroom. There was only one candelabra creating them, and it stood upon a small table in the center of the chamber.

It was at this table that a man was writing.

The candles' light cast the dimmest shadows of all across his face, making it glow as if he was a supernatural apparition or ghost. His eyes, one hidden behind the protection of a half-mask on his face, glowed like dying embers in a fireplace upon the sheet of paper he scrawled upon. He seemed wholly concentrated on his work, scarcely moving save for the hand he wrote with and scarcely breathing save for infrequent, somewhat determined sighs of impatience that escaped from his nostrils. As the night wore on he wrote on page after page without ceasing, until finally the wicks of all the candles in the candelabra melted down to nothing more than small pools of wax and the rays of the early morning sun shone through the bedroom windows.

It was then that the man at last set down the quill pen he'd been writing with and slowly began to examine his work in silence. He looked upon the pages in solemn wonder, as if he'd only just now become aware of what it was he'd written.

It was music.

Sheets and sheets of music.

With careful deliberation his eyes pored over every single note and measure of the composition, as if looking for some kind of error in its structure. But when his eyes reached the bottom of the last page of music, the man set the pages down slowly upon the table. Standing up from his chair, he went to stand at the window. The dawn was slowly coming up over the horizon of the forest in the distance. As it's orange light poured into the chamber, he murmured almost inaudibly to himself, "So at last it is finished, Christine…at last it is finished…"


	2. The Dancer

Three Months Earlier…

Christine smiled exuberantly, setting her bare feet down upon the dirt ground firmly as they finished the final movements in her dance. Though she was out of breath from having danced without stopping for the past 25 minutes, she'd never felt better. It was a beautiful spring day in the city of Paris, a day that had been perfect for drawing a substantial crowd to watch her dance. Days that were dreary, wet, or even humid had almost always proved to be injurious to the business she'd had of dancing for money in the squares of towns for the past 5 years. Days like today, that were perfect in both temperature and appearance, were far more beneficial. Little by little the people had come to watch the lovely dancer perform in the town square, entranced by the way her petite form and feet moved lively to the flute and mandolin music of the gypsies that traveled with her.

Though gypsy performers were constantly coming through the city of Paris to dance and tell fortunes for money and thus weren't particularly unique, the people nonetheless took a special interest in Christine. For after all, she herself was not of the gypsy race. No one, not even the gypsies that she traveled with were certain of where Christine came from. It was said that one day 10 years ago they had simply found her one day wandering along the shores of the sea, supposedly "looking for her scarf". Ever since then she'd been brought up by the women in the gypsies' caravan, and had been taught how to dance divinely by the late leader's widow "Madame" (her fortune-telling name) Antriella Giry, and her daughter Megara. It wasn't long before the girl had mastered the skill to perfection, surpassing even Megara's performance. Now she repaid the gypsies' kindness towards her by helping them to earn money by dancing in the towns they visited.

Today in particular a crowd quite larger than usual had gathered to watch Christine dance, and now that she had finished came forward in multitudes to throw copper and silver coins upon the mat she carried around with her. She flashed each and every one of them a grateful luminescent smile, ducking her head bashfully at the praise her male audience members heaped on her as their coins left their pouches. Though her dancing had been divine, a more obvious reason for the bountiful giving of the people was because of her stunning beauty.

Christine might have been just barely 18 years of age, but she had the body and face of a majestic goddess. Her skin, tanned by the days of dancing in the warm sun, was a fair bronze, flawless in complexion. Her hair was long and dark, streaked with golden highlights and came down to her waist. She had eyes whose hues resembled that of jade stones, teeth that sparkled like pearls, and lips that were round and pink like cherry blossoms. Though she considered the young men on the gypsy caravan as no more than brothers, they all had fallen deeply in love with her. Madame Giry had told them quite plainly when they'd asked her for Christine, that the choice of a husband would lie with Christine alone, and until that time came to say no more of it. Christine however, had no desire to marry, nor even have a lover or man she could hold in particular favor. Still innocent and untouched, she was oblivious to the look of desire that were plastered on the faces of the men she danced in front of. Instead of spending her spare time dreaming of a handsome prince that would come and carry her away, Christine would spend it on her knees in prayer to God and her dead father, begging them to send her an "Angel of Music". Though the gypsies didn't know what this Angel of Music was that she asked for, they never questioned her about it, choosing to let the girl have a part of her past that she kept for herself.

Now as the crowd began to disperse, Christine gathered the coins from the mat and walked over to where the beggars of the town sat near alleyways between the buildings and dropped the copper and silver money into their chipped cups and hats with a sympathetic smile and nod as murmurs of "God bless you, child" and "Many thanks, mademoiselle" came from the desolate beggars. When she walked back to where her companions waited for her, one of them, a middle-aged man with long, shiny black hair and a beard exclaimed, "Yet again, Christine? This will be the fifth time you've seen fit to throw away our earnings on homeless vagabonds in this city!"

"I don't think of it as throwing away our earnings Joseph, I like to think of it as helping others less fortunate than we are. Besides, aren't we somewhat homeless beggars ourselves?"

"Homeless we may be, but beggars we are not, my girl." The other man, this one called Aradon, said. "We make a living for ourselves without the help or pity of strangers."

"Well if we don't help the outcasts, then who will? And how can we expect to have the pity of others if we should ever need it in the future if we will not show it to those who need it now?"

As they walked together back towards the forest where the rest of the caravan was stationed, Joseph put a strong arm around her and held her at his side in a fatherly embrace, "Perhaps you should have stayed in Heaven as an angel rather than come down here to mingle with we gypsies, love, then you might have induced God to be merciful to this world's 'outcasts', as you call them!"

Christine laughed, "If I could induce God to be merciful to all the outcasts in this world I would, but I don't think I could ever convince him to let me be an angel!"

"With that smile, sweetheart, you could convince God to do anything." Aradon grinned down at her.

She laughed again and blushed as they approached the campfire several of the other gypsies were gathered around. At their appearance several greetings were shouted, and while Joseph and Aradon sat down at the fire with the others, Christine went on to Antriella's decorated wagon where she told fortunes in by day and lived in with Megara by night. When she entered the wagon, she breathed in the familiar scent of incense and spices that always hung in the air whenever Antriella was near. The various charms that hung from the wagon's ceiling and the potions that sat on its shelves were familiar to Christine as well. As a child she had always asked the kind clairvoyant what each and every one of their purposes were, only to be told that the secrets of astrology were only to be told to those with a gift for it. Though back then Christine had greatly coveted this gift, now that she had grown older she had lost her childish curiosity and turned to God for the answers to her prayers instead of potions, and looked upon Antriella's craft with kind indifference.

The old fortuneteller looked up immediately from where she sat at a small table when she stepped into the wagon. "Ah, Christine! You've been gone all day, child, today must have been quite profitable for you, no?"

Christine shrugged and smiled sheepishly as she sat down at the table with Antriella, "Yes it was, but…you see Madame…I…I actually--"

"You gave away the money again." Antriella stated simply with an amused smile.

"I suppose you didn't even have to read my mind. You're not angry with me, are you?" She asked reluctantly.

"I should say not, though this will have been the fifth time, no?" With a laugh, Antriella leaned back in her chair and said, "My child, I sometimes wonder how you intend to make your own way in this world if you continue in these great acts of benevolence. No man wants a pauper for a bride, no matter how beautiful she may be. You must begin to have more consideration for such things."

I don't see why, Madame. " Christine sighed. "Why should I have to make my own way in the world? Why, when I'm here with all of you?" A sudden look of sadness came over her face as she asked softly, "Is it because you do not wish me to stay?"

"Of course not, Christine, nothing could be farther from the truth! I look upon you as quite my own child along with Megara, and would be content to see you remain here for the rest of your days--were it not for the fact that I know that it is not what you truly desire."

"Oh but I do, Madame, I honestly do!" Christine exclaimed. "You and Meg, and Joseph and Aradon and the others are all I have ever really known. Just the thought of having to leave you makes my heart ache, I can't imagine why you'd think I'd ever want to leave! I have everything I'll ever need right here!"

"Yes, everything…except love."

"But you just said you love me the way you love Megara, and I love you and--"

"No, no, child, that is not the kind of love I am speaking of. I mean the love a woman feels for a man, and the love he feels for her in return. The kind of love that only enters our hearts once, if it ever comes to us all. The kind of love that makes a man and woman one with each other in heart, soul, body, and spirit."

The girl shook her head, "I never understand when I hear people speak of those things. How can a man and a woman be as one with each other in body, or in soul and spirit for that matter? They are not things that we can touch or see, so how can a woman give them to a man when she loves him?"

Antriella smiled at the look of bewilderment on Christine's face, "I'm sure you will find out one day, child." Reaching across the table she took her hand within her own gently, but suddenly started and tightened her grip. Looking down, she opened Christine's palm and gazed into it for a long moment in silence, a solemn look on her face. Finally, the fortuneteller nodded and said so quietly it sounded like she was speaking to herself, "Yes… yes you will most assuredly find out one day, Christine…one day _soon_…"

* * *

The orange flames of the bright fire flickered and cracked softly, giving off a warmth that spread through Christine's entire body. Leaning back from where she sat in front of it, she unfurled her legs to let her toes be warmed several inches away from the fire, sighing in relaxation and closing her eyes as they tingled at the sensation. 

It had been several hours since Antriella's unnerving foresight, hours that Christine had for the most part, spent alone in contemplation of what it could mean.

_"You will most assuredly find out one day, Christine…one day soon…"_

Find out what, how to love a man? Christine knew for certain that she had no desire to do that, much less give herself to one. What was so glorious about it, anyway? She'd heard the whispers of the other gypsy women as they spoke of their rendezvous' with the men, and even some with the men in the towns they traveled through. In every circumstance, the girls had all said that there had been pain and little pleasure in the act. How was that love? If that was what love truly was, then Christine wanted no part in it whatsoever.

"What's wrong this time?"

She turned at the sound of her best friend's voice, "What do you mean Meg?"

Megara Giry came over to where Christine sat before the fire and plopped down beside her saying, "I mean that there's obviously something wrong that's bothering you. I can tell because every time there is, you always purse your lips like this and stare at nothing!" The two burst into laughter as she tried to imitate the expression Christine had been making.

When her giggles had subsided, Christine shook her head and said, "I don't know what's wrong with me now, Meg, it's hard to explain."

"Is it about your father again?"

"No, no nothing like that. I suppose it's-it's just something your mother told me a little while ago."

Megara smiled playfully, "What, did she give you one of the prophecies of doom that she gives all the townspeople who come to visit her?" When Christine didn't answer, her expression turned serious as she asked, "Then what did she tell you, Christine?" After the brief retelling of the encounter had passed from Christine's lips, Megara shook her auburn-haired head and murmured, "So what do you think it means?"

"I don't know…I don't think I want to know either."

"Well, why not? It sounds to me like you're going to fall in love soon, what's so horrible about that? If anything you should be excited, as I would be if mother told _me_ something like that! All she said is in store for my future is a switching if I don't perfect every single step in the new dance I'm learning!" Megara said jokingly. But when she noticed Christine wasn't laughing with her this time, she sighed and said, "Well honestly, Christine, I don't see what's so bad about knowing you're going to fall in love, any other girl here would be ecstatic!"

"I wish it _had_ been any other girl here, Meg, because I just happen to be the one who isn't ecstatic. I've seen what they all call love, and I'd rather die than have it happen to me."

"Well it's easy for you to say, Christine, you're so beautiful, you'll always have the choice of changing your mind. While girls who look like me will have to take whatever we can get or risk being alone for the rest of our lives." She smiled somewhat wistfully.

"Don't say that Meg," Christine said, touching her friend's hand in encouragement, "You know very well that you're--"

"Plain." Megara finished for her with another wistful smile. "Please Christine, we're not children anymore so you really mustn't feel the need to lie to me anymore. I know that I may not be the ugliest thing on this earth, but when compared to you I am anything but the prettiest. My hair is wild and untamed, my nose far too long, my eyes too close together, and my figure is completely without shape or form. And you, well you know you are the exact opposite. It's little wonder that every man in this caravan and town desires you."

"I don't care about that, Meg--"

"Oh yes, I'd forgot, you're saving yourself for some sort of 'Angel of Music', no? Well, I do suppose an angel would make a far better lover than an ordinary man!"

Christine shook her head, "Don't say things like that Meg, it's sacrilegious."

Megara shrugged, "For you perhaps, but I myself believe in no God or Angel for that matter, who refuses to show himself."

"Then there wouldn't be much need for faith in the world, would there? God doesn't show himself because He wants us to trust in his existence regardless of what we see, and the Angel of Music hasn't shown himself to me because I am not worthy."

"Worthy? What do you mean, 'not worthy?'"

"I mean that he only reveals himself to those who are worthy enough to be in his presence."

"I see," Her friend said skeptically. "And just what must one do to warrant such an honor?"

"They must be true connoisseurs of music."

Megara laughed in incredulous amusement, "And you believe you _aren't_? Christine, that's ridiculous! You have one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard, it's almost as beautiful as you are, even if you choose to hardly let it be heard! How can you believe that you are not 'worthy' enough for this Angel? "

"Because I would have heard him by now if I was, Meg. All true artists of music do."

"Oh rubbish, who told you that?"

"My father."

Immediately silenced by the solemn look on Christine's face, Megara sighed, "Well, perhaps this Angel does exist…perhaps you just have yet to become…'worthy' enough to hear him. But you will, Christine, I know you will…and if you don't, well, you can always sing for the Ghost--he loves music!"

"The what?" Christine asked in bewilderment.

"The Ghost, the ghost that lives in the cathedral." Megara motioned towards the towers of the church that towered above the forest trees in front of them.

"In Notre Dame?"

"Why yes, I'm surprised you haven't heard of him before. We all know the story, even the priests who live there believe in him. They just never say so to the people because they don't want to be charged with heresy, but they know he exists just the same. He lives in the towers of the cathedral, he has for years now, walking around the halls and atop the roofs shrouded all in black, never coming out except at night. He's the one who rings the bells, he won't even let anyone else near them; some say that when the priests tried to hire an individual bell ringer, they found him hanging from the rafters of one of the towers with a note pinned to him that said a disaster beyond their imagination would occur if they ever attempted such a thing again."

"But why?"

"Because he loves the bells, he loves them and everything else that has to do with music. Joseph told me that a servant told him that a priest told him that he's seen the ghost hiding in the shadows of the chapels when the priests sing at Mass just so he could hear the hymns."

Christine was silent for a moment before she said slowly, "I don't know, Meg. It just sounds like a lot of gossip to me."

"You can call it that, but I'm telling you that Joseph will swear on his soul that the Ghost exists!"

"Well how would Joseph know anyway? _He's_ certainly never stepped foot in a church!"

"He didn't have to, Christine, he's seen him from outside. One night while he was walking by himself in the town square, Joseph looked up at Notre Dame and saw a figure swathed all in black standing in one of the outside crevices of the cathedral. He said that other than his silhouette the only thing he could distinguish about the Ghost was his eyes; they were like two glowing coals staring down at him in the night. I tell you, just the thought of it is enough to make my blood go cold!"

"Well not mine," Christine said indifferently as she stood up to walk away. "You and Joseph and everyone else here can shake in your boots about a silly old ghost story, but I prefer to believe in something actually worth believing in."

"Like God and an Angel of Music I suppose?" Megara asked sarcastically. "Give it up and face it, Christine; you've a better chance of meeting the Ghost than you do this silly old Angel out of a fairytale your father used to tell you."

Christine rolled her eyes and returned her friend's sarcastic remark with one of her own as she left, "Maybe…but perhaps I may get lucky and end up meeting both of them at the same time!"

* * *

It had been the very first time music had ever disturbed him 

From where he'd been sitting by the window of his cell tower writing, Erik remembered that he had heard the sounds of a merry mandolin and lute from outside in the square and was annoyed. The work he'd been doing had been of the utmost importance--a personal philosophy to the archdeacon on the disallowing of gypsies near the cathedral--when to his dismay, he'd found himself being disturbed by what could have only been the very people he was writing about.

_Damned gypsies. _Standing to his feet with an impatient sigh, Erik had thrown down his quill pen and went over to the tiny window to gaze down on the square. As he'd surmised, gypsies were performing there again, the circular crowd of people was enough to inform him of that. Like flitting moths to a flame, they always took pleasure in watching gypsies and other street performers in the square. And for what? To see a few measly little magic tricks? To hear annoying little ditties strummed out on guitars? In Erik's opinion if that was the people of Paris' idea of entertainment, it was little wonder that he isolated himself from them. But after several moments, the crowds had parted slightly to reveal what had so entranced them;

A dancing girl.

As he'd looked down on her, Erik surmised that she couldn't be more than 18 years of age, though her flushed cheeks and agility made her look about 16. At first glance, he'd thought she was nothing more than another one of the gypsy tarts who came to entertain crowds in the square regularly, but as he'd continued to watch her performance, Erik found himself feeling something different about this girl. First of all, her dance was not slow and seductive like the other gypsy women who performed. While their's were obviously pre-planned to arouse and seduce the male spectators in order to gain more money, hers was in a style that was light and somewhat playful. Her tiny feet flew up in the air in a merry rhythm, she twirled her body around in an exuberant way, and upon her face was an expression of pure jubilancy. And second, as she went on, Erik had then found himself having to reluctantly acknowledge a truth too evident to ignore; the girl was beautiful…very beautiful. Though she may have had the look of an innocent, the image of beauty that emanated from her face and form was exquisitely mature. The gracefulness of her movements while she danced was mesmerizing…almost---

But no.

He'd stopped himself right there, shaking himself out of the momentary stupor the girl had caused him to go in. Walking away from the window, Erik had chastised himself severely for allowing himself to be easily drawn in by so cheap a snare like any other lecherous man. Had he not known all of his life that the female species had been put upon the earth as a temptation for men to either succumb to or righteously deny? Hadn't he trained himself with the utmost discipline since his coming of age to ensure that the wanton form of the female didn't pass through his through his train of thoughts? Most importantly, hadn't he been born with something that would ensure he'd never have the opportunity to be enticed by a woman?

Something that ensured it even if he wanted to?

The answer to all of these questions was yes, so sitting back down at the small table in the cell, Erik took up his quill pen and resumed writing his dissertation.

But although he pursed his lips in what seemed to be irritation, without consciously realizing it, he had left the window open so as not to muffle the sound of the lovely dancer's music.


	3. The Dancer's Voice

Chapter 2

"No, Meg, I won't do it--don't even think about trying to ask me again!"

Christine walked away from her friend and towards the safety of her tent in the corner of camp, pushing back the flap swiftly and plopping down on her mat with a huff.

Megara was hard on her heels and followed her into the tent, "Oh Christine, why not? It isn't as though I'm asking you to do something you can't do; you have the voice of an angel--"

"Keep your voice down!" Christine exclaimed hurriedly. "I don't want anyone to hear you say something like that."

"What, are you afraid that they'll actually come in here and find out that it's the truth?" Meg sighed and rolled eyes, sitting down next to Christine on the pallet. "Look Christine, we've fought about this over and over again. Why don't you just say yes this time to put an end to it, if not to let every one know what a beautiful voice you have?"

"Because it's secret Meg, I'm keeping it secret for a reason--you know why."

"Oh for heaven's sake, will you forget about that Angel of Music?! This is the real world, Christine, not a fairy tale. You've just celebrated your eighteenth summer a little while ago, it's time to put away all the stories from your childhood and look ahead to things that actually exist."

"The Angel of Music _does_ exist, Meg," Christine insisted stubbornly. "Whether I ever see him or not, I'll still believe he exists until the day I die. And if you think that continuing to chide and criticize me for believing in him is going to make me sing while performing, you had better think again. Now for the last time, I've said I'm not going to sing for anyone but the Angel of Music, and I mean that--not anyone else, not ever, do you understand?"

Megara shook her head, "I understand, Christine, but…you've got to understand what I'm trying to tell you. I didn't just ask you to sing for no real reason this time, I asked because I--well, everyone else in this camp needs you to."

"What do you mean, what's wrong?"

"It's Mama, I heard her talking to Aradon last night, about our acts and tricks. Well it seems as though we aren't going to be allowed to do them any more."

"Why not?"

"I suppose that there's a priest who's been complaining against our being here. Aradon told Mama that he's trying to make us leave because he thinks our tricks and fortunetelling is blasphemous and shouldn't be so near Notre Dame cathedral--he says that we're witches."

"Witches? That's ridiculous!"

"I know it is," Megara nodded. "But nonetheless, soldiers told Aradon this morning that unless we put an end to Mama's readings and the magic illusions, we'll be chased out of town or even arrested. The only thing left for us to perform are our dances."

"Well that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

"The people here have seen all of the dances though, Christine. And with the regular amount of money that we'd usually make being taken away, we can't afford to risk not making the same amount. We need something new, something better; your voice."

"Oh Meg, I--I just don't know. You know that I'd do anything for you, or for Madame and Aradon and Joseph, but to ask me to sing so suddenly, without any kind of warning, it just makes me think that it won't do any good at all. What if I don't even have a good enough voice to make us as much money as we'll need? What if I'm so terrible I don't make us any money at all? I'd never be able to forgive myself."

"You know that won't happen Christine, you'll be wonderful. Just several moments of hearing you sing will be enough to make those townspeople empty their pouches of money. I'm certain of it."

Christine was silent for a long moment, then finally said hesitantly, "Well…as long as you're certain…as long as you promise not to be angry with me if I sing poorly…"

"We'll always be best friends, Christine--no matter what happens." Megara assured, then asked with poorly constrained excitement, "So does this mean that you'll do it?"

"Yes…yes, I suppose it does." Christine sighed, then laughed as her friend squealed and threw her arms around her.

"I knew you'd say yes, I just knew it!" Megara said. "Well, while you start getting ready, I'll go tell Mama--she'll be so relieved!" With that, Megara stood up and ran out of the tent.

When she was gone, Christine sighed again and went to the small chest that held her few gowns for dancing. Looking at the one that was on top--the one she always danced in--she began to take it out, then stopped. For some reason as she held it halfway up out of the chest, she found she didn't want to wear it. For although it was a very comfortable dress to dance in, for the first time she found herself actually noticing how unattractive it was. It was plain; simple blue cotton was its material, it had no ornamentation or embroidery on it, rather it was faded from the many hours it had been in the sun, the long, bell-like sleeves were thread bare at the elbows, the hem was frayed, and lately it had become somewhat tight around the areas of her chest and lower torso. No, today for some reason, her favorite dress held absolutely no appeal.

So then what to wear?

The green cotton dress had a tear in it across the waist from where she fallen last spring and the white one Madame had never finished sewing for her. After setting aside the unfinished dress, Christine froze at the last one that remained at the bottom of the chest.

The red dress.

She'd never dared to dance in this dress, she had never even tried it on before. All Christine could remember was a summer 2 years ago when Madame had begun to sew this glorious gown without a word or reason why. On the night she finished it, to both her and every other of the gypsy girls' astonishment, she'd given it to Christine, who at the time was nowhere near the size she'd have had to have been to fit it. But when she'd tried to protest against receiving so fine a gift, Antriella had merely given it to her anyway with the reason that 'There would be a day when she actually would want to wear it, and the day she did would change her destiny.' This prophecy was the only thing that had induced Christine to accept the dress, but up until now she'd forgotten about it. Now, as she looked at it in silence, she found that once again, the fortuneteller had been right; she _did_ want to wear the dress.

The fabric was impossibly smooth, softer than anything she'd ever felt before, the bodice was interwoven with gold thread criss-crossing down to the waist, the skirt was short and airy, cutting off at mid-calve--just the way Christine liked it, and the sleeves were short, cutting off across the shoulder from a v-neckline.

It certainly was daring, it would stand out and draw much attention--something she didn't usually like. But as she changed out of her regular white blouse and skirt and slipped into the beautiful dress, Christine could feel the change just wearing it was working on her. Running her hands down the form of her body, she was amazed at how perfectly the dress fit her contours, as if Antriella had known exactly what size she would be when she'd made the dress. Recalling the fortuneteller's words, Christine then thought about how she'd said that wearing this dress would change her destiny and felt somewhat unnerved. She wanted her life and destiny to stay the same, the way it had always seemed to be…but for some reason she wanted to wear this dress more.

With that settled in her mind, she put the other dresses back into the chest and shut it determinably. Next, she touched her hair and frowned. It was the way it always had been; wild and untamed. When she looked around for a brush and couldn't find one, Christine began to sigh in irritation, but stopped when she saw a pile of Megara's golden hair-coins in the corner. Deciding that those would do nicely, she immediately began to pin them in hair. Finally, she took several wrist and ankle bangles that her friend had left in her tent as well and slipped them on. Though she had no mirror, when she was finished, Christine was satisfied with what she had done with herself. True, it was not what she was used to--not at all, in fact--but then again, she wasn't doing this for herself. Madame, Aradon, and the others needed her voice today, and if that wasn't enough to earn them the money they needed, then perhaps just a little ornamentation would be. Of course, it wouldn't be a regular occurrence, she'd just keep dressing this way until they earned as much as they needed, or at least until they moved to another town. But until then, where was the wrong in her enjoying this change? She had no man to concern herself with looking beautiful for and no personal vanity to appease, so why not take pleasure in today? _After all,_ Christine thought to herself as she stepped out of her tent. _Madame may be right again;_ _today could change my destiny…_

* * *

Captain Raoul DeChagny yawned in utter boredom as he heard the roar of laughter from his subordinate soldiers as one of them finished the end of a bawdy joke. Though the pun was indeed, quite amusing, the handsome, young captain had seemingly lost all of his usual humor for such things. After spending 2 years in training for the royal army, and 2 more as a regular soldier working his way up in rank, Raoul now found that he was utterly and completely dissatisfied with life. From the time he was his entire existence had seemed to be ruled by a regimented, meticulous agenda that he'd had no control over whatsoever.

His parents, ever-ambitious and power-seeking, had sent him away from home at the age of 18 to work his way up through the ranks of the army as his older brother Philippe had. Philippe was now living somewhere in Marseilles as an official of the nobility, grotesquely rich and as arrogant as he'd ever been. But this had not been enough for Monsieur and Madame DeChagny, they were determined that Raoul should do even better than their oldest son, for although Philippe was rich, he was also greedy and was stingy in the occasional gifts of money he sent them and also did nothing to further advance their positions, 'being quite satisfied with his own situation in life',(as he'd said in his last letter 5 months ago). So the burden of escalating the entire DeChagny family to limitless wealth fell on young Raoul's shoulders. The first part of his parent's plan he had already completed in being made captain of Paris' army the previous month, the second part (the part he personally detested) was still in development. This centered around his betrothal and eventual marriage to the daughter of one of his father's distant cousins. Her name was Marie DeGondelaurier and like practically every other girl of the nobility, Raoul found her a complete bore. Though she was handsome enough, she had the irritatingly incessant habit of swooning whenever he paid her the slightest compliment or kissed her fingers in greeting or when taking his leave. Just the thought of having to endure such a marriage was enough to give him a headache. His occasional visits his parents instructed him to make to her house actually did, so to ease the tension he felt in both his body and his head, Raoul often frequented the many taverns around Paris, sometimes to drown his frustrations in a pint of ale, others to pleasure himself with the wenches that served the liquor to him. Usually these things proved to be temporary remedies to whatever problems he had, but as of late nothing seemed to help. From sunup to sundown Raoul felt miserable. In his mind he could feel that he was missing something, that the key to his happiness lay in something tangible, he just had no idea what it could be. So as he jostled along in the saddle on his white stallion, he sulked and stewed over the possibility that this thing would be forever hidden from him.

After they had gone a little ways further and approached the square, the streets became more crowded and difficult to get through. From where he sat on the mighty horse, Raoul could see a circle of people gathered at the center of the square. The music he heard coming from inside the center of the crowd immediately let him know what was causing this fuss; gypsies.

Though he himself usually had no qualms with the wild race, today he found himself becoming frustrated with the ruckus they always created, so turning around in his saddle, he shouted to his soldiers, "Soldiers, get these people out of the way! If anyone gives you any trouble, run them over."

As they hastened to do as he commanded, the crowds began to part, giving him a clearer view and hearing range of who was in the center of the circle. When he saw what it was, Raoul instantly jerked hard on the reins of his horse and froze.

In the center of the circle the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen was dancing and singing.

She was young, that much was obvious, the slightest trace of childish naivety was visible in her countenance, but other than that the woman emanated mature, exotic beauty. And her voice, oh heavens, her voice was the lightest, clearest sound he'd ever heard. It was just as beautiful as she was--it was _more_ beautiful than she was. It was unlike anything he'd ever heard before in his life. Looking at the spell-binding image of this angel singing and dancing--for that was truly what she looked and sounded like to him--Raoul could feel himself falling in love with her, something he never imagined would happen for him. And yet, here it was. Could this girl be the key to the happiness he'd searched for so long? Could she be the answer to his--

Raoul suddenly stopped himself in mid-thought and shook his head as if to shake out the wildly romantic thoughts that had been racing through his head. Had he lost his senses completely? What in God's name had come over him to cause him to start thinking about a common gypsy wench in that way? And how the blazes had he imagined himself to be falling in love with her? Why, just the thought of it now was enough to make him scoff incredulously. He, Captain Raoul DeChagny fall in love with a gypsy? Preposterous! He'd rather die than sink so low.

With that in mind, he immediately told his men to begin to clear the square completely, but paused again when his eyes passed over the gypsy girl.

She was now staring at him.

Though all around her the soldiers were pushing the people out of the way and towards the edge of the square, she had not moved. She was just silently standing still and looking up at him. An awed look was on her face; her eyes shone even brighter than when they did while she had been dancing, her cheeks were flushed pink, and her lips were parted. She looked like she was seeing a vision.

Raoul knew the look well--many women had it on their faces when they saw him--the only difference with this one was that he'd had the exact same look on his when he'd first seen her. Well, it was of little consequence. She was a gypsy and that was all there was to it. The closest she'd ever get to him was probably when and if she was arrested by him. _Or on a straw bed in The Red Dragon's upper room. _Raoul smiled to himself at the thought that had sprung into his mind and nudged his horse in its shins to urge it on and out of the now cleared square.

_Who knows, sweetheart, if you have the pluck, I have the potency. You and I might be seeing a lot more of each other in the future…_

* * *

Everything around him seemed to be dark. Though the cell he was in was lit by the sun streaming in from its single window, the only thing that seemed to exist for him now was darkness. His eyes stung, but it was not from the glare of the sunlight that he rarely ever saw. His ears were ringing, but it was not from the bells he rung every morning. It was from the sight of her dancing, it was from the sound of her voice--her heavenly, celestial, unearthly voice--just now. Both were unlike anything he'd ever seen or heard. Both were at this moment causing him the most wonderful pleasure and pain. Pleasure, because of their inexplicable beauty, and pain because of the evil snares of temptation he knew they were. And yet, to his horror, to his utter consternation, he found himself yearning for them, actually yearning to succumb to despicable feelings of desire that were stirring within him at the thought of her.

Her

How had he been able to be drawn in by the snare of her beauty so quickly, how when only yesterday he'd looked down at her in this cell with the indifference that was required? How could he curse her one minute, then adore her the nest? _How?_ It had to have been her voice. Looking back on the moment he'd heard her open her mouth and begin to sing, he trembled. Surely there wasn't an angel in God's heaven that had such a glorious instrument. He'd never heard a sound to equal it, not even in his beloved bells. As beautiful as the music they made was, it was nothing when put in comparison to her voice. That voice…that voice alone _was_ music, it was its very essence, its heart, its spirit. Her voice had to have been the reason why she was so beautiful, why her dance was so mesmerizing. No human being could possess such a voice without being more beautiful than Venus herself, without having more grace in her feet than the loveliest swan. Just the thought, the very memory of her tantalizing dance and song was enough to make his senses reel. He realized now that they had been dead, that he himself might as well have been dead since he'd gone half a lifetime without hearing her voice, without seeing her face. But now, oh now he felt alive, so _very_ alive. All of the scriptures he'd memorized, all of the philosophies he'd written, even all of the days he'd rung his bells had never done for him what listening to this girl for a mere minutes had.

He came to the conclusion that she was witch, an enchantress sent from Hell to torment him, to damn his soul to its fiery pits since he'd come so close to purging himself from its sins. Yes, since he'd devoted himself to God, Satan now planned to make him devoted to a witch in his service. He would twist and corrupt his meticulously structured celibacy into a beast more hideous than the deformed face he'd been born with.

He laughed bitterly at the irony of the idea; a priest with a face that belonged in Hell and a witch with a voice that belonged in Heaven. Created by God, but bound together by Satan. Damned for all eternity.

_So be it._


	4. Attack & Attachment

_A/N: Okay, I'm so sorry it's taken several days for me to post an update, and I apologize again that this chapter might not be so eventful, but there's more juicy stuff to come, I promise! You'll get a little something out of this one though, hope you enjoy it! _

Christine watched him ride away, then let out the breath she had been holding in ever since their eyes had met. She'd never seen anyone or anything like him in her entire life. Seeing him sit on his great white horse reminded her of the stories Madame used to tell of her of princes from faraway lands that rescued princesses from monstrous beasts. Yes, he must indeed have been a prince at the very least; the sun shining through his wavy golden hair and against his shiny suit of silver armor made him look like a king. She was certain that she would never meet anyone more handsome, majestic, interesting person in the world than this man, and as far she was concerned, she never wanted to.

As everyone around her scattered to clear the square, she felt a poke on her arm and Megara's voice in her ear, "Christine, didn't you hear what the soldiers said? Come on, let's go!"

Shaking her head momentarily, Christine asked, "What, what are you talking about, Meg?"

"What I just said Christine, the soldiers say we have to go, so come _on_!"

"No wait," Christine said, suddenly pulling on Megara's arm. "Did you see him, Meg? Didn't you see him sitting on that horse over there?"

"See who, what do you mean?"

"That soldier, of course, the one sitting on the white horse! He was so handsome, how could you _not _notice him?"

"Perhaps because he _was_ a soldier, Christine, we try to stay clear of them, remember? Now let's go--"

"No, no this one was different from all the other soldiers we've ever known. I could tell by just looking him…I could feel it…" Her voice took on the dreamy tone that had matched her face only a few moments ago as she smiled faintly.

Megara, in the meanwhile, looked at her in bewilderment, "Christine, what's come over you? You're talking about _a soldier_, a man who'd probably put you in jail if he could find a reason to! The way you're going on, one would almost think that you were in love with him!" When Christine didn't answer but only continued to stare at the place where the captain had sat atop his horse, Megara's face turned very serious. Taking Christine's hand firmly, she forcibly led her away to the alleyway between one of the buildings. Backing her up against the wall, she took hold of her upper arms and said, "Now listen Christine, listen to me very carefully. This man could never feel for you what you think you're feeling for him. The only thing he'd ever think you'd be good for is 5 minutes in a warm bed--nothing more, nothing less."

Christine only shook her head, "No…that isn't true, Meg, I know it isn't."

"It is. It's true about all men, but soldiers in particular. They have wandering hearts, Christine, they're not capable of loving anyone but themselves."

"You didn't see this soldier Meg, you didn't look into his eyes like I did. If you had, you wouldn't be saying things like that. He's different, I tell you, I don't know how he is exactly, but I just know that he is."

"But you don't, Christine, you _don't_ know him at all!"

"Not now perhaps, but I think I will…I can--"

"Just feel it?" Megara finished for her cynically, then shook her had and sighed irritably. "One day you'll find out Christine, one day you'll discover that life isn't just made up or ruled by feelings--it's ruled by facts, cold hard facts." With that, she left her standing against the wall to rejoin the other gypsies heading back to the forest.

Christine didn't even notice she had left. Still standing frozen against the wall, her mind was too full of the handsome soldier to think of anything else. Who was he? If only she could somehow find out, if only she could somehow see him again! If she could but know his name she would live on it for the rest of her life along with the memory of his face. His face. To her his face had seemed to shine like the sun that had just set in the distance. Thinking of it made her remember an old ancient air that Antriella had taught her long ago. As she started to wander into the forest, she began to sing it languorously,

_My love's not my own but the sun's_

_It's rays light my heart with a song_

_Shining through nights spent alone_

_Claiming my heart for it's own._

Just before she started to sing the second verse, Christine suddenly stopped and turned around swiftly. For some unknown reason she'd instantly had the premonition that she was being watched, followed even.

There was no one in sight.

For a long moment she stood in silence, as if waiting for the unknown pursuer to show themselves , but when no one emerged from the dark shadows of the forest, she slowly and cautiously continued to walk on.

_One day when the sun shines above_

_He'll carry me off to the sky_

_Giving me his golden love_

_Calling me his golden bride._

No sooner had the last words of the verse passed her lips, did a twig snap somewhere close by. Christine gasped and froze in her tracks, darting around anxiously in search of the origin of the noise. As she did so, her mind raced frantically for a reasonable explanation for what it was she feared. _Calm yourself Christine, this is a forest, where many creatures live. It'd be foolish to think that there was a person following you, who would actually think of doing such a thing on a night as dark as this in the first place?_ Having half-reassured herself, she swallowed the fears forming a lump in her throat and continued on, increasing the pace of her steps as she shakily sang,

_My head he'll adorn with a crown_

_A crown that is jeweled with the stars_

_To rival the beams from the moon_

_And twinkle with light that is----_

"Chris….._tine_….."

Upon hearing this, Christine immediately stopped in her song and broke into a swift run away from the haunting whisper that had sounded so close to her; so close and yet, so far. The forest she ran into may have been dark, but to her the voice that she was running from seemed to feel even darker, making her want to put as much distance between them as possible. After she had run for a good 5 or 6 yards, Christine stopped to catch her breath , certain she was now safe.

A hand suddenly closed around her arm.

Her scream was loud and shrill as she instantly struggled to free herself, but was cut short when she heard a familiar voice laugh through the darkness,

"Careful love, you wouldn't want to damage that beautiful voice of yours with a scream, now would you?"

Christine almost wept with relief, "Joseph? Oh thank God that it was _you_ all along! " Though she couldn't see his face in the dark of the forest, she still gave a look of playful reprimand as she said, "How could you toy with me in such a way? I hadn't believed you capable of so cruel a trick!"

"Trick? What do you mean, sweetheart, I only just came upon you a moment ago."

Still thinking that he was jesting, Christine asked skeptically, "Oh is that so? Then tell me, how do you explain that fearful whisper of yours, Monsieur Bouquet?"

"I wish I could Christine, but unfortunately I cannot, seeing that I made no whisper. As I said, I only just discovered you here."

"But then who was it that said…" Christine began, but finally just sighed in resignation, realizing that Joseph didn't know and probably never would know what she was talking about.

"Who was it that said what, sweetheart?"

"Nothing. No one, Joseph, I--I suppose I was just hearing things."

"Well being in a dark forest at night all alone will do that to you, come along and we'll get you home." As they walked, he whistled and said, "I think all I'll be hearing in my mind for a long time is your voice; the performance you put on today was quite a surprise."

"I actually surprised myself," She said shyly. "I'd never sang in front of anyone before…I didn't know if I'd be able to do it."

"Well you 'did it' all right, Antriella counted over 50 gold coins from today alone."

"50 gold coins?! But that's impossible, it's amazing!"

"That's your voice, love." Joseph smiled. "Just imagine how much more amazing it will be if you keep on singing; all of the people in Paris will give the way they did today just to hear your voice."

After saying nothing for a moment or two, Christine asked casually, "Joseph, how much longer do you suppose we'll stay in Paris?"

"Oh, it's hard to say. Under any other normal circumstance I'd say no more than several more weeks, but now that the people have fallen in love with your voice, who knows when we'll be leaving? Why, anxious to go already?"

"Oh no, no!" Thinking of the handsome soldier she'd seen that day, she evasively commented, "I suppose I was just wondering if the soldiers would raise any objection to my singing."

"The soldiers? Why would _they_ care about what you do? All they do is follow orders to arrest us, if those orders are never given they don't care if we're alive or dead!"

"Well, they did have the square cleared today, perhaps they'll do that any other time we try to perform."

"I wouldn't worry about that, Christine. As I just said, we're beneath the notice of most of them; they don't think we're worth the dirt under their feet, the bastards." He snorted resentfully.

"Oh." Christine said dejectedly.

Noticing her downcast expression, Joseph put his arm around her, "Here now, sweetheart, you're not letting yourself get upset over the arrogance of a few soldiers, are you?

"No, no of course not." She replied dully, but didn't make an effort to change the glum look on her face.

The two walked along for a few moments more in silence, Christine saddened by the harshness of Joseph's words and Joseph uncomfortable with the premonition that something was distressing her. Finally, he smiled encouragingly and said, "Well, if your singing wasn't enough to draw everyone's attention today, then the way you looked was; I don't think I've ever seen anyone look more lovely sweetheart, not even my wife Lolita, may God rest her soul."

"Thank you Joseph," Christine smiled wistfully. "It's a comfort to know that I at least looked beautiful to you."

"You've always looked beautiful to me, Christine." He said, his voice suddenly sounding soft and serious, but he recovered quickly so that she hardly noticed it by casually saying, "And to every other man in this caravan who's known you half your life. We might not have known a lot about you when we found you, but we always knew you'd grow up to be a beauty."

Christine didn't answer. She was too lost in thought to have heard Joseph's compliments or the brief look of earnest attraction in his eyes a moment before, too distressed over the thought of the handsome soldier. If what Joseph said was true, then she'd never be to him what he already was to her. She'd just be another common gypsy, the scum of the earth. The thought of this was enough to cause tears to spring to her eyes. _It can't be true, it just _can't _be! He loves me, I know he does, I saw it in his eyes! Oh why did we have to come to Paris in the first place, why did I want to come so badly? We should have just went on to another city like Meg said we should! Then I wouldn't have had to have seen him, then I'd still be happy and without a care in the world and--and---_

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Joseph asked concernedly.

"Y-yes, I'm fine. I suppose I just need to go to sleep, it's been a long day."

"Well then it's a good thing we're home then, isn't it?"

Looking up, she realized that they were now back at the gypsy encampment. As Christine surveyed the sight of the countless bonfires and tents before her, she felt a pang of guilt as a sudden feeling of disdain for them flashed through her mind. "Yes…well, goodnight, Joseph."

"Goodnight Christine. Sleep well, sweetheart."

As she entered the sanctuary of her own tent, Christine let the tears welling in her eyes spill over and roll down her cheeks slowly. Without bothering to wipe them away, she silently changed out of the lovely dress and into her simple white shift, then lay down on her mat that served for a bed. Pulling a warm blanket that Antriella had sewn for her over her body, Christine wished for the first time that she could change the way she was. She suddenly found herself resenting the tanned complexion of her skin, the midnight-black of her hair, and green in her eyes. The beautiful daughters of rich men didn't have any of those features; no, their skin was always a soft, creamy lily-white, their hair was fair and golden like summer wheat, and their eyes were tinted the softest of blues like the sky. She wished that her dresses didn't cut off at the calves of her legs, that they had embroidery and lace sewn into them, and that they could be made of silks and satins instead of regular cotton. She wished she hadn't always walked around barefoot, that she had fancy pins and combs to style her hair with, and that she could be slender instead of so developed in her chest and rear.

But more than anything, Christine wished she didn't live with the gypsies.

Oh it wasn't that she didn't love them anymore, that could never be true. All of them had been more loving than anyone else could have been to her. They'd given her a home, a family, friends, a love for dancing and singing, and happiness. But now…now that just didn't seem to be enough. One look into the soldier's eyes that day had been enough to let Christine know that there was more, so much more to life than moving from place to place, having to hunt for food, performing in the streets for money, and having to endure persecution from churches and nobles. It was no way to have to live, no _real_ way to have to live, anyway. She wanted to escape from it badly, so badly she was convinced she would have done just about anything to get away. She needed a change, something drastic that would change her life forever, and whatever that something was, with all of her heart, Christine wanted it to include the handsome soldier.

So closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of this fantasy and other impossible things.

* * *

Word spread far and wide throughout Paris about Christine's voice to the point that she and the other gypsy dancers performed several times in one day in the square by Notre Dame. The amount of money they collected doubled, then tripled along with the amount of people that came to see them. It soon came to the point where performances had to be carried on into the nighttime, during which audiences would go into the forest where Christine would dance slow and expressively while singing haunting airs by the flames of a large fire. It was these performances that were attended the most; the sight and sound of the girl entranced both men and women from the town--most of them came to see her every day, so great was their interest in her performances.

But Christine took no notice of this, she really didn't even care about her new popularity. She even went so far as to secretly hate it, for it had not brought the attentions of the one man she'd wanted to draw in; the soldier. She hadn't seen him since that first day in the square, and every day that passed in which he didn't come to see her dance again only made her more melancholy. The truth of Megara's and Joseph's words began to set in as the days went by, until finally Christine accepted them reluctantly. But this by no means affected her dancing, in anything it only helped contribute to the quality of her performance. For every time she danced Christine took to imagining that the handsome soldier really was there, in the crowds watching her. This drove her to dance with a passionate vigor and intensity that sometimes left her breathless by the time she was finished, then filled her with an even stronger disappointment when she remembered that it was all merely apart of her imagination. While the gypsies would gleefully count their earnings for the day after the people went home, she would usually just retreat to her tent to be alone and lament over the loss of the man she loved but didn't know in the slightest.

One night, about 2 weeks after she had first sang in the square, Christine finished dancing and felt so unhappy at the absence of the soldier that she stole away to be alone almost as soon as the crowds had departed back to the town. As she did so, she remembered Antriella's recent command for her to never stray from the campgrounds alone because of the danger of lustful men, and felt a twinge of guilt. But the desire to be free from her life, if only for several moments, was stronger than her will to obey and hence only made her even more determined to get away. It wasn't long before she reached the now empty, but moonlit square. As she stepped into it, Christine breathed out in awe of the beautiful full moon shining down on the city. Closing her eyes, she outstretched her arms to the sky and began to twirl around slowly, reveling in the rejuvenated feeling it filled her with. For the first time in days, she began to dance out of her own free will, a dance that required no song to be sung. Somehow in her mind she could hear it perfectly, as if someone was writing it for her as she went on moving her feet and body to it's rhythm. When at last the music in her mind died away, Christine slowly stilled her feet and lowered her arms down to her sides, opening her eyes once more.

The scream caught in her throat.

She was face to face with a ghost. At least that was the first thing that came to her mind when she saw it, but a better description for it would have a been a shadow. Yes, a shadow shrouded all in black with nothing but two golden eyes that gleamed from under the protection of a large hood. It were these eyes that caused the scream in her throat to freeze; the shadow's eyes were so frightening, so chilling that they seemed to sear and burn into her very soul. Their gaze was so intense that even though she Christine was terrified, she found she couldn't look away, much less move to flee. All she could do was peer into their depths in utter horror. Finally she felt the sting of an icy cold grip around her wrist that helped her find her voice once more. Without another thought, Christine opened her mouth and screamed with all of her might. In an instant she felt the icy sting of a hand clamped against her lips, almost suffocating and stifling her. In another moment the shadow was taking her away from the square with a grasp of superhuman strength. Even though she fought and twisted against it with all of her might, she couldn't even make it's grip falter. Just when she thought all hope was lost, she heard the shout of a man, "Halt, you there! Let that woman go!"

Almost immediately her body was dropped onto the cobblestone pavement like a sack of potatoes. Still too stunned and scared to move, Christine remained laying there motionless, save for quick unsteady inhalations of breath. In a few moments she felt a warm hand on her back, accompanied by a warm voice that asked, "Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle, are you hurt?"

Slowly lifting her head, Christine looked at her rescuer and froze. It was him. Though the darkness made his exact features hard to see, she was still certain that it was indeed her soldier from the day in the square. It had been _he_ who'd rescued her from whatever terrible fate that phantom had planned for her, _he _who was speaking to her now, _he_ who was looking down at her in concern with the clearest blue eyes she'd ever seen. Suddenly the rush of all the old feelings she'd tried so hard to harbor came flooding back into her, making her tremble as she quietly replied, "Yes…yes sir, I'm fine…thank you."

"Well unfortunately it seems as though your assailant has vanished into thin air, I can see no trace of him anywhere. But if you prefer, I shall go try to find him--"

"No!" She cried, grabbing his arm and suddenly feeling a surge of fear. "No please, don't leave me alone!"

" Shhh…very well mademoiselle, rest yourself easy," He soothed, stroking her hand. "I give you my solemn vow that I'll not stray from your side until I am sure you are safe." Taking hold of her waist and hand he helped her up to stand, then seeing her face clearly in the moonlight, exclaimed, "Ah, so it is you…the gypsy who sings like an angel…and looks like one as well."

Her heart soared at the compliment as she blushed and whispered, "You flatter me, sir."

The soldier flashed a charming grin, "Not at all…unless telling a simple truth can now be called flattery." After they'd stared at each other for several moments in silence, he took her hand and led her to where he'd left his horse. After climbing on himself, he extended his hand and helped her mount in front of him as well. Christine began to shiver at the feeling of his broad chest against her side. As the horse began to slowly trot towards the forest he asked, "So tell me mademoiselle, just what is a beautiful woman like you doing out on a night like this alone?"

"I wanted to see the moon…I was dancing under it."

"A star dancing under the stars, how befitting. And I suppose that was the cause for the sudden attack upon your person?"

She bit her lip to fight off the tears as she remembered the merciless, icy grip of the shadow-like figure, "Oh, that horrible thing! Why do men try to commit such horrible crimes?"

The soldier smiled and slightly tightened his hold on her waist, "Well in this particular situation it's not so difficult a crime to understand."

Understanding his meaning, Christine blushed again and gave him a smile of her own as she asked shyly, "What is your name?"

"Captain Raoul DeChagny, at your service, mademoiselle. And yours?"

"Christine."

"Christine. I like it…very much."

Her heart soared, then sank as the fire of the gypsy camp ahead came into view. Apparently the captain noticed this, for he asked, "Is there something wrong, mademoiselle Christine?"

Christine knew she shouldn't be so frank, but the desire to stay with the dashing soldier was so strong that she murmured all at once, "Don't take me back. Please."

"Why ever not?" When she didn't answer he asked, "Surely they don't treat you badly?"

"Oh no!"

"Then why don't you want to go to back?" She noticed that he smiled knowingly as he asked her this and wondered what on earth could be so funny to him when it was so obvious how upset she was. When she was still unable to answer him, Christine began to tremble as Raoul lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked it softly until it rested beneath her chin. As he began to bring her face to his, her heart pounded wildly. She was so unsure what to do or how to act, that she couldn't hold back a sudden gasp when his lips lightly brushed hers. It was this gasp that made him pull back and study her carefully, as if trying to determine something. Several moments passed before Raoul finally drew back and sighed with another smile, this one softer than the ones before "I think it would be far better for you if you were to go home now, mademoiselle. I'm sure your family is worried sick about you, and I don't think I would ever be able to forgive myself if you were to be…hurt tonight by something that's in my power to prevent."

"But sir I--"

She was cut off when he took her hand in his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it deeply, "Good night mademoiselle."

"Goodnight sir--"

"No, no, call me Raoul."

"Then goodnight…Raoul."

"I may expect to see you dancing in the streets again, yes?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then I shall look forward to it. Goodnight Christine."

With that, he got down from his horse, helped her down, then remounted. After flashing her another soft smile, he turned the stallion around and rode away. As she looked after him, Christine whispered, "So shall I, Raoul…so shall I."


	5. Angel of Music

_A/N: I'm sorry, I apologize profusely for taking so long to update, but the pressures of slaving away at a 20 page research paper have been bearing down on me harder than I could have imagined. Now that I've finished it, I've also finished a chapter for you guys. Thank you for being so patient, and enjoy it. Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own rights to Leroux or Hugo's work--wish I did, but I don't. _

_

* * *

_

He could still feel the weight of her body in his arms. He could still see into the depths of her jade green eyes with his own. He could still smell the intoxicating scent of her aroma in his nostrils. He could still hear her quick frantic breathing in his ears.

And he could still taste the hate he had for the boy who'd robbed him of it all.

Now back in his cell in Notre Dame, Erik clenched his hands into fists so tightly that his palms bled as he glowered over the loss of the gypsy to the imbecilic soldier. He'd been so close, so _very_ close to making the tormenting dream he'd been having of her into a euphoric reality. The girl had been utterly powerless in his hands; a resistant, but defenseless captive in his grasp that would have had no choice but to let him have his way with her, finally putting an end to the tormenting blaze that raged within his body. But alas, it had all been for naught; the gypsy had been taken from him—swept away in a "gallant" rescue by a soldier. The very thought of it was enough to make him want to vomit in revulsion and disdain.

Looking back on the whole ordeal, Erik was incredulous at how quickly everything had happened. He remembered stealing away from Notre Dame in the gloom of the night after waking from yet another dream of her, in need of the cold air to cool his body and passions. The smoke from the distant bonfire in the forest had been enough to let him know that she was dancing there again; many times in the last several days Erik had resisted the urge to go watch her for himself—he'd already followed her recklessly a few times before, he didn't want to risk her discovering him by trying it again, so with extreme will power he kept himself from going into the forest. But almost as soon as the decision had been made in his mind, the sudden appearance of the girl had made him freeze from where he stood in the shadows. To his delight she was completely alone and the full moon provided him with a perfect view of her. When she'd started dancing Erik had found himself becoming entranced once more, more entranced than he'd ever felt himself be by watching her dance . _If only she wasn't so **beautiful**…_He thought to himself wretchedly, remembering how his flesh had thrilled at the sight of her moving her body across the stone pavement. Almost without notice his mind had begun to compose a soft, haunting melody to the rhythm of her movements, and as the gypsy went on it seemed as though she could hear the music as well, as if she was just as moved as he was by the experience. Eventually as the music in his mind and the girl had went on dancing, Erik somehow became unaware of all reasons for restraint. The cool air of the night had done nothing for him, if anything his senses felt more aflame than ever, and slowly but surely his mind was becoming less and less conscious of the outside world. Everything around the gypsy seemed to fade away until it had completely vanished and all that remained was the vision of her dancing. The blood was rushing from his head down to the expanse of his body, filling him…chilling him…_killing_ him.

He had to have her.

In the next instant it'd seemed as though Erik's mind went completely blank. Almost as if he were possessed by some spirit, his feet had slowly taken steady, deliberate steps toward the gypsy until he was so close he could reach out and touch her. Patiently he'd waited until she finished the final steps in her dance, taking in every instant with relish. Then when she'd opened her eyes, he knew the time had come. The sensation of putting his cold, long fingers against her warm smooth skin sent a shiver down his spine, and being able to clamp them over her tender lips made him rigid with impatient desire. Her cries for help and struggles to free herself had no effect on him; she would be free when she allowed him to free himself of her spell—until then he would be as cold as an iceberg to any thoughts of mercy. Erik had nearly succeeded from dragging her out of sight when the shout of a man made him stop dead in his tracks. Looking over his shoulder venomously, he'd seen that it was a soldier. Though his desire for the girl was insatiable, he'd known that it wouldn't be strong enough to overcome the steel blade of a sword. So releasing his hold on her, Erik had swiftly and silently stolen away from the scene, safe from discovery, but angry and frustrated at the failure of his intent.

Well the next time failure wouldn't be an option.

This missed opportunity did nothing to discourage Erik, on the contrary, it only strengthened his resolve to get what he wanted…this time for good. So this boy wanted to take a course with him? Very well, he would be happy to oblige him. Brawn didn't always triumph over brains—Erik was going to prove it. Looking back on that night, he realized that though carrying off the girl might have been ultimately pleasurable, it would not have been _completely_ fulfilling. No, a different, far better approach was necessary. She was young and impressionable, like most girls of her age he was certain that she was naively innocent. It wouldn't take very much of anything to awe her. _That peacock of a soldier is full proof of that!_ Erik thought to himself in annoyance. All he had were looks, and though those were things that Erik most certainly didn't have, he nevertheless was determined to think of a way to more than amply make up for it. All he needed was time.

Time…and music.

* * *

The dance may have been over, but to Christine's amusement, she found that she could not keep the exuberance out of her feet. As the crowds cleared after viewing yet another one of her performances, she skipped through them anxiously, offering small smiles to the multitudes of comments and compliments directed towards her while all the while trying to get to the outside of the throng as fast as she could. When at last she did, a sigh of relief slipped through her lips as she realized she hadn't been too late;

Raoul.

He had come again, just like he'd said he would the day before. Though for the past two weeks he had come to see her dance in the square or forest, Christine couldn't help but feel a foreboding fear that each day he came would be his last, regardless of his promises that he would return. But she'd never been disappointed, from the beginning of her dances to their ends, Raoul had never failed to be there. He was faithfully true to his word. As she walked towards him, Christine smiled to herself,_ And Meg said that all soldiers were alike…she couldn't have been more wrong!_  
When she came to up to him, Raoul smiled and began to clap, "Bravo mademoiselle, well done!"

Returning his smile, she spread her skirt as she curtsied playfully, "Thank you captain, it's a pleasure to know that I've entertained you once more!"

"And it's a pleasure for me to know that I may come and be entertained," He returned with an even wider smile. Looking her over, he asked, "So is this a new dress you're wearing?"

Elated he had noticed, Christine nodded, "Yes, Antri--I mean, Madame has begun to teach me how to sew my own dresses. I believe I'm becoming quite a proficient at the art, no?"

"But of course, that shade of green matches those eyes of yours perfectly…perfectly and beautifully." Raoul sighed and looked at her with another pensive smile, as if he were deep in thought. "I must say Christine, you seem to become lovelier with every dance and song you perform…does that old woman teach you how to cast spells over men as well as how to sew?" Though she thought he was only joking, he murmured tenderly as if lost in his own reflections, "I wonder just what it is about you…what you do that makes me feel as though--"

"Christine?"

Both turned at the sound of Joseph's voice from behind them. At the look on his face, Christine blushed, but said to Raoul softly, "Goodbye, Raoul."

Before mounting his horse, he replied, "Until tomorrow, Christine."

Christine and Joseph watched him ride away, then stood quiet for several moments, waiting for the other to break the silence. Christine finally took it upon herself to do so, clearing her throat, she asked, "S-so how much money did we make today?"

"About the same as we've been collecting for the past few weeks." He answered shortly.

"Oh, well--well that's good isn't it?"

"Yes."

Ashamed by the accusing look in his eyes, Christine said, "Joseph please don't stare at me that way, it's unnerving." When he said nothing in reply, she tried, "It's not what you think…I'm not--we're not--that is to say, we haven't _done_ anything, I just enjoy…talking to him." She finished lamely. When Joseph still didn't respond, she asked meekly, "You do understand, don't you?"

He stared at her blankly for a long moment before curtly nodding, "Yes…yes Christine, I understand." With that he walked away.

Christine stared after him guiltily, a tight knot forming in her stomach as she felt the eyes of the other surrounding gypsies on her; apparently Joseph hadn't been the only one to witness her meeting with Raoul. But though she felt ashamed under their disapproval, nothing they could have said or done would have been enough to dissuade her from seeing Raoul--at this point that was more important than anything.

So in order to escape their scrutiny, Christine went to the only person who she felt sure would bring no condemnation; Antriella.

As she stepped into her guardian's wagon, Christine saw that the woman was deep in conversation with Aradon at the small table that was inside. When they became aware of her presence, Aradon stood up instantly and murmured something that Christine didn't hear before taking his leave. She felt a twinge of remorse when he left without saying a word to her, but subconsciously guessed at his reasoning, and merely chose to ignore it for now.

Once he was gone, Antriella turned her attention on Christine. Standing up, she gave her what appeared to be the smile Christine remembered and loved, but also noticed that it seemed to be somewhat strained and worried.

"There's my lovely little lark! Sit down, my dear, sit down. You must be tired after dancing for so long once again today."

"Not so very tired," Christine replied as she obeyed, plopping down on the stool in front of her with a sigh. "Just confused, I suppose."

"About?"

She hesitated before begin cautiously, "Madame, if everyone else here were to--to ignore me because of something I did that they thought was wrong, but I knew was right, would you…ignore me too?"

"Well, I suppose that all depends. If it were over something trivial, of course not. But if it were over something serious, say dalliance with a soldier, then I might find cause to be concerned."

Christine frowned and bent her head, "Aradon told you?"

Antriella shook her head, "He didn't have to tell me anything, Christine. I've known for quite some time that you've formed an…attachment to this soldier, I've known about it and I must say I'm disappointed in you because of it."

"Disappointed? Why, what for, I've done nothing wrong!"

"When I warned you against talking to strangers in the past I did it for a reason, Christine. The dangerous thing about strangers simply lies in their being just that: strangers. You know nothing about this man, nothing that should be ample enough reason for you to trust him anyway."

"I have _more_ than ample enough reason to trust him, Madame--he saved my life! Several weeks ago, when I was alone in the town square he saved me from being carried off by---"

"Yes, and you see what happened when you chose to disobey me then, what makes you so certain that the outcome will be in different in your disobeying me now? I've warned you about strange men, my dear, the only reason why I didn't warn you about soldiers is because of the simple fact that I had thought you wouldn't need to be told twice about such a thing. You've been here with us for over half of your life and you've seen how soldiers regard us gypsies, Christine. How is it you're allowing yourself to be so overwhelmed?"

"Because…because I love him, Madame…I feel as if I've fallen in love with him." She declared.

But Antriella didn't gasp in shock as she'd expected her to, she only sighed and shook her head saying, "You feel as if you've fallen in love with him…I see. And have you ever fallen in love before, Christine?"

"No."

"So how exactly do you suppose that you know what it feels like to fall in love?"

"I…I just…do."

"Yes…yes I figured as much." Antriella nodded with an imperious smile.

Christine pursed her lips and looked away in embarrassment. Antriella's knowing smile and patient words of wisdom were angering her for the first time, making her feel as if she was naïve and stupid instead of the woman she felt she was while being around Raoul.

As she wracked her mind for something to say to justify herself that wouldn't sound as foolish as she felt, Antriella commented, "You danced divinely today."

"Thank you."

"No doubt that too was for the sake of this man, no?" When Christine still didn't answer, she said, "Love is a wonderful thing Christine, but it can also be dangerous. Don't imagine for one moment that I or Joseph or anyone else is trying to stand in the way of your happiness--we just know the world better than you do, dear, and we don't want it to destroy that happiness for good. You may go now if you wish."

Christine hesitated, wanting to say something more in explanation to her foster mother, but found that no words would come, so merely stood up and left the wagon. When she entered her tent, she lit the lantern hanging from it's supports, then knelt down beside her mat, bowing her head reverently as she began to pray, "Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen." Once finished with the traditional prayer her father had taught her to pray, she moved on to speaking to him as she always did, "Father, today I feel so confused. I know I'm in love…I--I think Raoul loves me too, so then why does everyone else disapprove? I always thought that if I ever fell in love they would all be so happy for me, but now they say that I'm being foolish." She sighed, I wish you were here to tell me what I should do. Ever since you died, it's…it's just been so hard to stay strong by myself. I feel so alone…" Christine broke off as tears began to well in her eyes. Feeling ashamed and foolish as they fell, she whispered, "Father, why? _Why_ haven't you sent me the Angel of Music yet? I've worked so hard, I practice all the time at singing, and everyone I meet tells me I sing beautifully! What am I doing wrong? Is there any test I have yet to pass, any task I must complete to prove myself worthy? Why can't you just keep your promise? You promised me, you _promised_ you would send the Angel to me once you were in Heaven!" Here she burst into tears and threw herself down her mat, sobbing sorrowfully.

From outside of her tent a man cloaked in black twisted his malformed mouth into a malicious grin.

_If it's an angel you desire Christine, an angel you shall have…_

* * *

She awoke to the sensation of a cold breeze blowing against her skin. Sitting up, Christine drew her legs up to her chest and shivered. Looking through the slit of the tent she could see that it was now nighttime, but was puzzled by the chill of the air; it had been an extremely warm day earlier, now in her tent the breeze was almost ice cold. A glance upward made her realize that her lamp had long blew out, so finding a match, she started to light the wick in the lantern.

She was stopped by a song.

A song that was being sung on the wind by a voice so gentle, to Christine it seemed as though the two were actually one. It was a song that was more lovely than any of the ones she'd sang, but so simple that it wasn't long before she too began singing it's melody,

_If your voice is the moon then my heart is the sky_

_Wrapping it up 'til the day that I die_

_If your voice is the sand then my heart is the sea_

_Crashing upon it to bring it to me._

_If your face is the sun then my lips are the clouds_

_Floating upon it to seal as a vow_

_If your face is the earth then my lips are the rain_

_Falling down on it to weaken my pain._

_If your soul rests in Heaven then mine is there too_

_For my soul is not mine, but belongs now to you_

_If your soul aches in Hell then mine shall ache more_

_For it's your love alone that is worth burning for._

The voice that sang with her was unlike anything she'd ever heard before; it belonged to what sounded like a man, but had so celestial an air to it, could have possibly been human. As Christine sang on she noticed in awe that it vocalized and harmonized with hers perfectly, as if the two had been made to sing together. When at last it faded away after singing the mysterious song several times, she said nothing for along moment, then unable to stand the suspense any longer asked, "Please…please tell me who you are."

The voice replied back in a voice as smooth as it's singing, "Do you not recognize the voice of the Angel of Music, child?"

She gasped, her heart skipping a beat at how quickly her father had evidently been to answer her prayerful entreaties, "You…oh, it is you here at last…my father finally sent you to me…!"

"Yes, Christine," The voice replied, making her want to swoon at the knowledge of her name that secured her beliefs. "Your prayers have reached my ears and you are at last ready, ready for the gift that only I can give singers such as yourself." The Angel paused, then resumed carefully, "But there is a condition, a vow you must fulfill in order to receive it."

"What?!" She cried. What is it, I'll do anything, _anything _you command Angel, tell me what I must do and I swear on the soul of my father it will be done."

"You must devote yourself to me, Christine. You must devote yourself to music and nothing else. I will come to you many times in the future, but I cannot and I will not abide sharing the glory I will do in your voice with another. Do you understand my words?"

"Yes, yes I understand them perfectly. Is there anything else I must do?"

"Yes. Tell no one of what passes between us. The moment you do, is the moment I ascend back into Heaven, Christine, and will never return."

"I swear that I will be silent."

"Very well. Obey and revere me, child, and you will fly with the Angel of Music across a sky of song and live in the Heavens to sing for God himself. All you have to do is obey and believe."

"I believe…with all my heart I believe," She said truthfully, then started to ask, "But Angel, why can't I see--"

"You must sleep now, Christine." It interrupted her with a swiftness so smooth she hardly noticed it's haste. "Sleep now and dream of having the very world at your fingertips from the moment you open your mouth to sing--for that is what is in your future. Goodnight, child."

With that, she felt that the Angel was gone. Closing her eyes, Christine fell back against her mat and let out a long breath. She felt as if she had died and gone to Heaven. The Angel's voice had been so wonderful, absolutely unlike anything she'd ever heard. She was convinced that not even hers could equal it.

But as she obeyed it's command and settled down to sleep, Christine couldn't dispel a fear rooted deep within her that somehow remembered hearing his whisper before…


	6. Sacrifice For Secrets

_A/N: Ah, the freedoms of a week off from work! In being away I've been able to complete a nice update for all of you. Enjoy, and please don't forget to review after you read! - Jazzy_

* * *

"She left again." Joseph said solemnly as he came into Antriella's wagon on a dark, starry night.

Without turning around the clairvoyant sighed and shook her head, "That will be the fifth time this week, will it not?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded. "Every time she finishes dancing she runs off deep into the forest, and doesn't return till near dawn."

"You think it's to see the soldier." It was a more of a statement rather than a question.

"What else could it be about?!" He growled angrily, kicking at a stool before her little table. "I tell you Antriella, that girl is obsessed! She doesn't talk to any of us anymore--not even your daughter. All she does is sing and dance, then disappears for hours. She's taken to singing different songs when she performs, songs that sound as if they belonged in a church mass instead of in the streets. She doesn't eat with us at dinner anymore, she just goes to her tent to be alone. And whenever we try to ask what's the matter with her, she acts as if we're prying into her business and huffs off. I tell you that soldier has her bewitched, Antriella! She doesn't think we're worthy of her company anymore, that we're beneath her notice just because a fine and fancy captain has his eye on her--the ungrateful wench!" Joseph slammed his fist against the wall of the wagon angrily.

Antriella sighed and went to stand beside him. Placing her hand on his arm, she said gently, "Calm yourself. I don't think this anger of yours has anything to do with Christine being ungrateful, does it Joseph? I think it has something to do with a thing that's altogether deeper." When he didn't answer, she asked, "It's been many years since Lolita died, hasn't it? I remember when you first met her…you told me you thought she was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen in you life."

"And you told me that I would marry her one day."

"Yes, and you did, but do you remember what I told you right after that?"

Joseph nodded and replied almost reluctantly, "That I would marry Lolita…but one day I would meet a woman who I loved more." Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he looked away in what appeared to be shame.

Antriella nodded as well, then said, "There's no need to be ashamed Joseph; I've told no one that you're in love with Christine. I've known for quite some time that you are, and despite certain…age differences between the two of you, I'm not surprised. I confess, that if I had to make a choice for a husband for her to marry right now, it would be you."

"She'd never have me." He said plainly. "She wants the soldier."

"Yes, but…" Her voice trailed off as she stared off into space momentarily. Finally she sighed and shook her head.

Joseph looked at her expectantly. "What do you see?"

"Trouble. Trouble and…"

"And?"

Antriella waved her hand in nonchalance, "Never mind about it now, Joseph. Don't despair, Christine may yet come to her senses about this whole soldier business. Until she does, just be patient…and have faith."

He raised an eyebrow, "Faith? That coming from _you_?"

She shrugged and smiled kindly, "Even we old fortunetellers can afford to look to a higher power every once in a while. Goodnight Joseph."

"Goodnight Antriella." With that, he left.

When he was gone, Antriella sat down at her little table and shut her eyes with a heavy sigh. A pained expression came on her face as she murmured to herself, "Trouble and music, Joseph. I see trouble…and _music_…"

* * *

"You're not reaching the pinnacle of that measure yet."

Christine sighed and nodded guiltily, "I know, I know." She'd been there at the clearing in the forest for hours during her daily lesson with the Angel of Music, and for the first time was secretly wishing it was over.

For the past several weeks Christine had met every night with the Angel of Music to sing. When the lessons had first started they had been exhilarating and eventful for her, each one filled with something new for her to do and experiment with her voice. But lately the strain of the Angel's discipline had started to take it's toll on Christine. For instance, he demanded that immediately after every night performance she did that she go to a specified clearing in the forest. There he would critique her performance and tell her what and how to improve it for the next day. Sometimes their lessons would last well into the night and carry on close to dawn. If this happened to be the case, then the Angel would command her to sleep for the entire following day, regardless of what the gypsies said or tried to do about it. Her voice was everything, he'd keep telling her. Christine always agreed with him, but couldn't help but feel reluctant to do so at times. Most of the Angel's demands were causing her to alienate herself from her friends, sometimes in ways that she could fully tell made them feel angry and insulted. She didn't blame them; they were completely justified, but at the same time she just couldn't bring herself to disobey the Angel. The way Christine saw it, she'd prayed long and hard for the Angel of Music to be sent to her. Now that he was here, she had to do anything and everything to keep him--she couldn't allow any mortal cares or concerns to interfere with the sanctity of his will.

But the hardest burden of the Angel's demands was without a doubt the dramatically decreased time she'd had to spend and talk with Raoul. Before the Angel had come Christine had always had as much time as she wished to speak with the captain after she danced. Now that she had lessons after her performances, she was lucky if she even had the opportunity to get a glimpse of him in the crowds. Though at first she'd tried to ignore the pain it was causing her, the last several days of having to ignore him had nearly devastated her, thus making her lose her concentration in the time with the Angel.

Obviously he noticed this, for when she snapped back to reality and tried to re-sing the note, he stopped her and interjected, "_No! _No, you're not singing with your heart, you're singing with your head! You must allow the music to carry your mind off into a place where nothing else exists, Christine, where you may become so in tune to it that it fills your entire being. Now, sing it again."

She nodded in assent and opened her mouth to sing, forcibly trying to expel all thoughts of Raoul from out of her mind. _He's not the most important part of your life anymore, Christine,_ she thought to herself. This time when she sang the music, the Angel was pleased, for he didn't interrupt her once more, but instead let her finish the entire song.

When she was done, he said, "You are unfocused today--why?"

For some reason as she opened her mouth to answer, Christine chose not to reveal how and why she missed Raoul so much, some kind of instinct told her it would anger the Angel if she did. So instead, she said, "My friends. My friends and my family are displeased with me because of your--_our_ lessons. They think I'm--"

"Forget about what they think, Christine." The Angel said cavalierly. "Forget about everything they say or think about our lessons--they know nothing about music so their opinions mean nothing."

"They mean something to _me_," She replied with a small frown. "They're my family, they raised me. They've taught me everything---"

"Your father taught you the fundamentals of music. He was your family before you knew any of those gypsies existed." The Angel said, then paused and said a touch less harshly, "And he sent me to you, Christine. He sent me to you so that I would take you where no man has gone before in music. It is an indescribable honor which sometimes requires an indescribable sacrifice that you must be willing to make--even if it means turning your back on those you love. Do you understand?"

Sighing, she said truthfully, "Yes, yes I do, Angel. I was weak…forgive me. It won't happen again."

"You are forgiven, but in the future bear up against such weakness, Christine. Singing requires far more than strength in voice; more than anything it requires strength in will. Without it, your voice, no matter how strong, is worthless." The sounds of small birds twittering in the distance let Christine know how late, or rather, how early it was: she'd been out all night again. Apparently the Angel noticed this as well, for before he left, he said, "That will be all, then. You're not to sing or dance in this square today, stay in your tent and rest until our next lesson tonight."

"Very well."

On her way back to the camp, Christine let out an exasperated sigh. Joseph wouldn't be happy when he found out she wasn't singing again, neither would Madame for that matter. Without her performances they would only make half of what they'd made ever since she started singing.

_Well, it can't be helped._ She thought to herself resolutely, as she approached the camp. The Angel was the important commitment in her life now. His word was law, and if it wasn't his will for her to perform, then she couldn't perform--that was all there was to it.

The sight of her waiting tent was a welcome vision to her weary eyes, but as Christine started to step into it, she was stopped by Megara's voice, "There you are! Come on Christine, it's time to go!"

Briefly turning around, she replied, "I'm not going with you today, Meg."

"What? Oh no, no not again, Christine!" Megara snapped. "Don't you dare even think about staying here again---it's not fair to the rest of us and you know it!"

"You're right; I do, and I'm sorry. But I just can't sing today, Meg. You'll just have to do without me." With that she lifted the flap to her tent and went inside.

But Megara was hot on her heels. Marching into the tent, she put her hands on her hips and demanded, "It's that soldier again, isn't? That's what it's always been every time you say you can't come perform with us!"

Spinning around, Christine replied stonily, "That _isn't_ the reason Meg, and before you make such an insulting accusation you might try to make sure you know what you're talking about!"

"I _do_ know what I'm talking about, Christine. I know, and so does _everyone_ else, we all know about your secret trysts with your fine soldier!"

"This doesn't have anything to do with him---if you and everyone else weren't being so judgmental you would understand that."

"All we 'understand' is the sight of a young, beautiful girl disappearing into the forest at night then coming back in the morning looking so tired she can barely walk straight. What _else_ are we supposed to think about that, Christine?"

Blushing ashamedly, Christine turned around and sat down on her mat murmuring, "It's not what you think, Meg…I've done nothing wrong.."

"Then what _are_ you doing?" Megara pressed, now genuinely upset. Coming to kneel before her friend, she said, "You're my best friend, Christine; we've always said that there wasn't anything we couldn't tell each other. If it has nothing to do with the soldier, then just tell me what you do every night. "

She shook her head, "I can't."

"Why? Why not?"

"I just can't. You wouldn't understand why."

"What wouldn't _I_ understand?"

"You just wouldn't, Meg," Christine insisted irritably. "Believe me when I say that you wouldn't. Now please just go away and leave me alone!"

Meg flinched as if she'd been wounded, then stood to her feet without a word and walked to the flap of the tent to leave. But before she left, she said blankly, "You're right; if whatever you're doing is what's making you act this way, then maybe I _wouldn't_ understand it---I wouldn't understand it at all."

When she heard her leave, Christine felt tears well up in her eyes. Without bothering to wipe them away, she lay down and said, "I don't understand either, Meg…I don't understand this either…"


	7. All That Glitters

_A/N: Got another one coming your way...hope you enjoy it; read and review! - Jazzy_

* * *

"What don't you understand about our predicament, Raoul? Can I possibly make it any clearer to you?"

Raoul sighed petulantly and replied, "No sir, no clearer than you've been making it for the past few months." For several hours he had been in his parent's parlor listening to a conversation that he almost knew by heart, so often had he had it with them. And as always, it had just escalated into an argument.

His father, Gaston DeChagny ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and said, "Then why must you insist on being so obstinate? You know what state my finances are in, you know the money's gone!"

"Of course I do, sir--you remind me every time I'm here."

"I remind you every time you're here because you don't seem to perceive the gravity of the situation! My debts are being called in with every passing day, my home is mortgaged, and I'm losing credibility. The only thing that keeps us all from being dragged off to prison any day now is a good family name and your commission as Captain of the Guard here in Paris! Our reputation and freedom are hanging by a thread--do you understand me, by a thread!" Gaston shouted.

"Gaston dear, you really mustn't shout, you know how bad it is for your blood pressure." His wife, Blanche DeChagny soothed from her place on the adjacent sofa.

"I wouldn't have need to shout if your son would do his duty to his family!" Her husband retorted hotly.

"But Raoul _will_ do his duty by us, dear, what else _could_ he do?"

_Make my own decisions, live my own life for once,_ Raoul thought to himself in frustration.

Blanche put down the piece of embroidery she had been tranquilly working on and came to stand before her son, "Raoul darling, we know that it hasn't been easy these past few years for you. But surely you must know that your father and I only have your best interest at heart---"

"Oh mother please spare me those empty considerations, all of us know very well that your only interest is in how many jewels you'll have to pawn if father doesn't get more money!"

"I'll not tolerate your talking to your mother like that, Raoul, apologize at once!" Gaston warned.

Sighing, Raoul said, "Very well, I apologize ma'am. But with all due respect I find it most inconvenient to have to deal with this matter at the moment. Mademoiselle DeGondelaurier may be somewhat pleasing to look at, but put quite bluntly, spending merely a few moments in her company is like entertaining a preening peacock."

"Her mannerisms or appearance are of no importance," His father said. "Her abundant dowry, however, is. By marrying Marie DeGondelaurier you will secure the position and welfare of our family for good---something your brother obviously has no inclination for whatsoever."

"Philippe hasn't even the inclination to look after his own welfare." Raoul snorted in disgust.

"This is why you must marry Mademoiselle DeGondelaurier, so you will be able to _help_ your brother take care of himself." Blanche said, fondly thinking of her favorite child.

"Indeed." He said cynically.

Gaston sighed and came over to his son, putting his hand on his shoulder, "Listen to me, Raoul. You've been a good son to us; you've been dutiful, obedient, and honorable. We might not have always appreciated it the way we should have, but we do. All your mother and I are asking you to do is this final task. No, the lady might not be entirely agreeable, no, you might not love her, but all in all, what has love got to do with getting married? It is merely a joining together of men and women for the procreation of children, nothing more. And once that part of your duty is accomplished…well, the rest takes care of itself. So do we have an accord, may we depend on you, Raoul?"

Raoul set his jaw and looked away. All of his life he'd never been able to make one single decision on his own. Everything he did had been meticulously planned out for him without one word of his own input on the matter. The one thing he always thought he'd be able to decide was who and how he married, and it now seemed as though that too was to be decided for him. As he now seriously thought about the whole situation, he realized that he wouldn't have minded so greatly if it hadn't have been for the sudden appearance then disappearance of Christine.

Christine.

Raoul hardly knew how to describe his feelings for her; all he did know was that they were unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Ever since meeting the dancer, he had been able to think of little else. It wasn't just because of the fact that she was beautiful, it went far deeper than that, to something that Raoul didn't even understand. She was truly uniquely different from any other woman he'd ever known.

But now that for some reason she'd stopped dancing in the square, he never saw her anymore. In the beginning he'd merely been surprised, but now as time went on and she still continued to be absent, he was beginning to grow fatigued, and thought of her more than ever. Secretly he guessed that was the real reason why he was so reluctant to visit Marie DeGondelaurier, but also knew he could never reveal such a thing to his parents, so merely sighed and said in reply, "Do I really have a choice?"

Obviously this answer was good enough for his father who clapped his hands together and exclaimed, "Excellent! Now you had better be getting along to her house---we wrote to her family several days ago and said they could expect you today, so when you get there, be sure that you address her mother with the utmost…"

Raoul closed his eyes and sighed again, blocking out the rest of his father's meaningless admonitions and instructions. The only good thing he could imagine that would come out of his marriage to this DeGondelaurier peacock was the fact that he would be able to live a life free of his parents' infernal mouths.

A little while later he was being shown into the upper sitting room of the DeGondelaurier household, his stride after the servant slow and reluctant out of what he knew was in store for him. Letting out a deep breath and plastering on a fake smile, he stepped inside as the servant opened the door and announced his entrance, "Captain DeChagny, Madame."

When Raoul saw that the room not only contained Marie and her mother, but also various female friends and relatives, he immediately wished he hadn't come. To him there was nothing more aggravating than a room full of giggling young women. As he anticipated, the room was automatically filled with scattered titters and gasps when he entered and all of the bright, inquisitive eyes were glued on him as he strode over to where Marie's mother, Dame Louise sat nearest to the door. Kneeling down, he gallantly lifted her pudgy hand to his mouth and kissed it, saying, "Good day, Madame DeGondelaurier."

He inwardly gagged when she dramatically exclaimed, "Why Captain DeChagny, what an unexpected surprise! We had no idea you'd be gracing us with your presence!"

Knowing exactly how to play his part, Raoul smiled charmingly and replied, "Oh no Madame, it is I who am graced and surprised; I never imagined that upon visiting your home I would be met with such a bountiful display of beauty." This elicited a great many sighs from the women who all looked upon him with an even more enraptured expression than before.

Dame Louise nodded and smiled in approval, but pointedly said, "Indeed, but surely you must think that _one_ display of beauty is far more pleasing than the rest, no?"

"But of course," He said, immediately catching the point and shifted his attention to where Marie sat by the window. As he walked to her, Raoul suavely said, "For though there may be a great many stars in the sky by night, none can quite compare to the shine of the sun by day." Now standing before Marie, he bent down on one knee and kissed her petite fingers.

Though every other woman in the room was by now completely captivated, she was surprisingly still calm and collected and merely said in reply to his compliment, "Good morning, Captain DeChagny."

Looking up over her knuckles, he replied, "A happy meeting, Mademoiselle DeGondelaurier."

Marie raised an eyebrow skeptically, "So 'happy' that you've neglected to make it for 2 entire months since our last one, captain?"

Surprised by this newfound boldness and lack of the usual awe she had of him, Raoul thought hastily and replied, "Alas, my lady, you've foiled my poorly-concealed plan; I thought that if I spent enough time away from you I would be able to suppress the sorrow I feel daily as a result of our prolonged engagement. Unable to bear such an impossible task, I decided this morning to hasten back to your side where I and my heart belong…if of course they are still welcome."

This elaborate pretext seemed to break right through Marie's defenses as her pink lips spread into a pleased, shining smile. When Raoul offered her his hand to rise and go speak privately in another part of the room, she immediately acquiesced, fully aware of and reveling in the attentive stares of her companions on the two of them. Looking up at him with an enraptured gaze, Marie asked softly, "Oh Raoul…why, _why_ haven't you come to see me in so long?"

Trying his hardest to maintain a straight countenance, Raoul replied, "Were you not listening a moment ago, my lady?"

"Yes, yes I was, but I've missed you so, Raoul! I _live_ for the days that you come to visit!"

_I live for the days that I don't._ "As do I, my dear."

Pursing her lips into a childish pout, she said, "Oh, why must our marriage date still be so far off? Why, when I want to be your wife _now_?"

_Because **I** don't want a self-absorbed child for a wife._ "All good things require the right amount of time and patience, my lady."

"Oh I know, that's what mother keeps telling me. But sometimes I think she just doesn't understand--she doesn't know how much we love each other, I think if she ever did she might change her mind about prolonging our engagement."

"To be sure." _The old dame would change her mind about the entire marriage if she knew just how much I 'love' you, my sweet little Parisian!_ "So tell me my dear, just what have you been busying yourself with in my absence?"

"We've started a new tapestry," Marie gestured to a billowing piece of fabric hanging in a corner adjacent to the one they were standing in. "It's of Neptune's Grotto; what do you think of our progress so far? My corner is on the bottom right edge."

Observing in hidden amusement the shoddy embroidery on the section that she showed him, Raoul thought quickly again and replied, "I can only say that I envy Neptune the touch of your fair hands." Taking up her hand in his own, he kissed it lightly again with a smile.

Before Marie could reply, they were interrupted by the cry of one of her cousins, Jacqueline, back by the window, "Oh come quickly everyone, the gypsy is dancing in the square again!"

_Christine._ Raoul's heart started beating faster at the very mention of her name, but nevertheless he strove to keep a calm expression on his face as everyone in the room save for him and Marie ran to the wide window in haste.

"A lot of fuss over a mere gypsy girl, is it not?" Marie snorted nonchalantly.

"Oh yes, yes quite." Raoul said absently.

"But isn't she the gypsy that you saved several weeks ago, Captain DeChagny?" One of the ladies asked him curiously, not taking her eyes away from the square below. "I feel certain I've heard that you saved one that looked like her from being carried off."

"She might be, it was dark and I don't believe I caught a clear glimpse of her."

"Then why don't you go to the window to find out for sure?" Marie asked suddenly, her voice once more tight and imperious.

Half amused and half surprised by the girl's sudden and uncalled-for suspicion, Raoul shrugged and walked with Marie over to the window to join the others in looking out of the window. It was indeed Christine, looking even more beautiful than he had remembered as she danced and sang a jubilant air in the midst of a large crowd.

As they all watched her in silence for a long moment, Jacqueline finally sighed, "She dances and sings so divinely!"

"Hmph, I myself can't see anything special about her--she's no different than any of the other gypsy riff-raff that comes to Paris." Marie said.

"But you haven't told us yet Captain DeChagny, is she or is she not the gypsy you saved?" Jacqueline pressed.

"She is indeed, mademoiselle."

This caused a great commotion amongst the women as they all began to speak at once,

"Is it really?"

"Then you know her?"

"What's she's like?"

"Did you have to fight?"

As Raoul smiled at their inquisitiveness, he noticed that his betrothed's hand in his own had tightened in what felt like anger. Deciding to put an arising conflict to rest, he said, "Ladies, I assure you it was the merest nothing; just an ordinary rescue that lasted no longer than several moments. The whole ordeal was so uneventful that I cannot even fabricate an interesting enough story to tell you."

"So why don't we ask the victim herself?" Marie suggested, a glint in her blue eyes. "Perhaps _she_ may enlighten us since you seem regard it as so 'uneventful'. Go, call and summon her up here so she may tell us the tale."

Before Raoul had the opportunity to invent yet another excuse, he was overtaken by the assenting exclamations of Marie's companions, all of them almost begging him to do as she asked. So against his better judgment, he found himself leaning over the sill of the window and calling down below, "Little one, little one dancing in the square!" When she looked up, he silently cursed, but nevertheless smiled and asked, "Do you remember me, my girl?" Her joyous smile and nod were so lovely, that Raoul couldn't hold back a wider smile of his own as he continued, "Ah, excellent! Then might you perhaps, join us up here for but a few moments of your time?"

Though at first she began to nod, for some reason Christine seemed to suddenly stop herself short to consider her answer, and for a moment, to his relief, Raoul was sure she was going to refuse. But finally she bit her lip and said over the noise of the clearing crowd, "Yes…yes I'm coming." With that she made her way to the front door of the house, hesitated at the threshold, then stepped inside.

As they waited for her to come up, Marie sniffed, "Well…this should certainly be interesting."

For the first time since he'd met her, Raoul couldn't agree more with what his fiancé had said.

* * *

As she climbed the stairs of the first real house she had ever been in, Christine didn't know whether her legs were shaking out of elation or fear. Though moments ago in the square when Raoul had called down to her, her mind had told her to stay where she was, the call of her heart had been stronger and commanded her to go. Now as she did so, her mind was racing with what all of the possibilities of the consequences of her action could be---the consequences that the Angel of Music had told her would surely come if she disobeyed him. 

As she had continued to make excellent progress in her lessons, it soon began to seem to Christine that the Angel was growing more and more…well, almost possessive of her; possessive of her time, her voice, even her actions. He always demanded to know how and what she intended to do with each of them in his absence. Sometimes if what she said displeased him he would blatantly command her to change it without offering any explanation or reason for his interference. If she seemed to show the slightest hint of objection to his mandates, the Angel would coolly offer her the choice between the lessons with him or her other 'worldly' commitments. This method never failed to work its magic on Christine, who still persisted in her belief that the Angel of Music came before any and everything else in her life. Though her relationship with Megara, Joseph, and the other gypsies still continued to suffer because of it, she nevertheless continued to do all she was commanded to do. But it was when the subject of Raoul somehow arose in the time they spent together that Christine momentarily seemed to suspect that something was amiss with the Angel.

It had been a rather cold night, and Christine had arrived at the clearing in the woods about ten minutes later than she was supposed to because of a disturbing dream she'd had about Raoul. As a result she was in a more emotionally fragile state than usual and literally had knots twisting in her stomach at the thought of what the Angel would say about her tardiness. Almost as soon as she'd sat down, Christine cringed when she heard his voice say, "Apparently music has become a second priority in your life as of late."

"No…no, please don't think that. I just--I just…"

"Speak."

"I had a nightmare before I came; it made me sleep later than usual."

"About?"

She had hesitated, inwardly debating on whether to tell him of the feelings she had for the soldier or not. Finally her conscience got the best of her and in the next few moments she had been telling the Angel all. When she finished, she'd been surprised to hear him be silent for a long time, so silent that she thought he had gone. "Angel?"

At last he had spoken, "You are never to see this soldier again, Christine. Is that clear?"

Her heart dropped at the mere thought, "Never…_see_ him again? Why?"

"Of all of the hindrances to music that you tell me of, he seems to be the worst. In order to maintain your focus on it, you will stay away from him."

"But--but I _can't_--"

"Are you _arguing_ with me, Christine?" The Angel's velvet voice had instantly turned as hard as steel. When she was so frightened that she remained quiet he'd repeated sharply, "Are you?"

"No."

"Then you will obey my command and stay clear from this man, do you understand me?"

Christine had swallowed away the lump of tears that was in her throat and whispered almost inaudibly, "Yes."

But when Raoul had called down to her all thoughts of the Angel's commands, the threat in his tone of voice, and her promise to him had vanished from her mind and hadn't reappeared until she was actually climbing the stairs to the grand house. Everything had changed so quickly, looking back on it, Christine hardly knew how it had happened. Despite the fact that her voice had now excelled to a height she'd never dreamed was possible, she didn't feel the way she thought she would. She felt as if her life, the way it had been before she'd ever heard from the Angel, was slowly but surely slipping away and being replaced with one that was becoming less and less about her and more about him. It was all so frightening…so out of control.

_Maybe this was a bad idea to begin with, _She thought to herself._ Maybe I should have just stayed out in the square and away from Raoul like the Angel told me to---_

"May I help you?"

She was jarred out of her second thoughts by the voice of a servant just outside the door of what was obviously the room Raoul had called to her from. Turning to him, Christine stuttered, "I--I was just coming up to--to see Ra--uh, the captain. He--he called me and told me to come up."

The servant nodded and looked her over skeptically, "I see…well, just wait here, girl. I'll…announce you." With that, he opened the door and went inside the room.

As she stood in the hallway waiting patiently, she heard him say stiffly, "A uh…gypsy girl, Madame."

A cool voice replied, "Send her in, Matthews."

"Very good, ma'am." The servant came back out in the hall and gestured for her to go inside, "You may go in." When she hesitated, he repeated, "_Now_ girl, don't keep the mistress waiting!"

Christine nodded and immediately stepped inside the room, gulping hard as the door shut behind her. For a moment she thought she'd gone into the wrong house; the room was filled with women. But as her eyes surveyed the entire expanse of the chamber, they finally came to rest on Raoul, standing in the corner. Seeing him brought back the rush of feelings she'd tried so hard to suppress and made her feel as though she loved him even more. Christine was so enraptured at the sight of the handsome captain that at first she took no notice of the question of a rather heavy-set woman sitting near to where she stood until it was repeated, "I said Captain DeChagny saved you from being carried off, did he not, girl?"

Turning to the woman briefly, Christine replied, "Yes, yes he did." After which she immediately refocused her attention on Raoul. He was staring at her as well, but for some reason with a somewhat uncomfortable expression on his face, as if he almost didn't want her to be here. Feeling very unnerved at this thought, she began to say something to him, but was cut off by the voice of the woman standing next to him,

"Well, it's certainly lost on me why anyone would want to carry her off in the first place, Raoul." Her voice was light and condescending, and she held her head up in looking at Christine as if she was looking at an insect by her feet. "I thought she was supposed to have been a great beauty, not some girl who's…not bad-looking, but most definitely not worth committing a crime for."

Christine noticed the woman for the first time and winced. She was beautiful. Everything about her fit into the image of what Christine had wanted to resemble and be herself. But the look in her eyes and tone of voice was so cold…so hard. And then there was the thing she'd just said about her; though Christine hadn't understood it in it's entirety, she could somehow feel the cruelty of its intent.

Thankfully Raoul came to her rescue, "Don't be so callous, my dear Marie. You're likely to hurt the poor girl's feelings." Coming over to where she stood, Raoul smiled kindly and gestured to a chair nearby. "Sit down, please."

Returning his smile, Christine sat down, surprised and amazed at the cushioned seat of the chair under her.

"So how have you been since our last meeting, lovely one? No more attacks upon your person, I hope?"

She shook her head, "Oh no, I've been quite well."

"You dance in the square with the other gypsies?"

She knit her brow in slight confusion. Why was he being so formal? "Y-yes, I still do." A thought suddenly struck her; perhaps it was because he hadn't seen her dancing in so long! Yes, that must have been it, he had missed her and wasn't sure if he could still be as close to her as before! "Only I haven't been dancing lately, I've been busy with--"

"Well we certainly didn't call you up to hear about that," The heavy-set woman said in a bored tone. "What else can you do to entertain us, girl?"

Christine was bewildered, "W-what?"

"Don't be so dense, it's what you gypsies do for a living; singing, dancing, reading fortunes, and other such nonsense. Which do you intend to do?"

"Well I--"

"You dance and sing, don't you?" One of the women asked her. When she nodded, she said, "Then why don't you do that?"

"Well, because I--I--"

A mocking laugh from the woman at Raoul's side made her heart begin to pound, "It's rather hard to believe that she can sing so divinely if she can't even spit out a single sentence, is it not, mother?"

The pudgy woman nodded and tittered, "Indeed, my darling. If all gypsies are like this, I wonder at how those spectators down there can have so keen an interest in them--unless paying pennies to see stupidity is now à la mode!" This elicited a great laugh from all of the women in the room, causing Christine's face to burn with shame.

Raoul noticed and said gently, "Here now little one, don't be frightened. They mean you no--"

"And what, pray, could _she_ have to be frightened of?" The one called Marie asked shrilly. "By the way you say that one would almost think that _we_ were the barbarians and _she_ was the lady!"

As the company erupted into laughter again, Christine attempted to defend herself, "I'm not afraid--"

"Well you certainly _should_ be from being so ill-dressed!" The fair-haired beauty retorted back in what was obviously mock-sympathy. "I declare, I would rather drop dead than be seen in such attire!"

This comment seemed to send some hidden signal for the rest of the women in the room to swoop down on Christine with rapid-fire insults as if they were hawks descending on a defenseless mouse;

"Oh quite right, look at how her neck and chest are so exposed!"

"Her legs as well!"

"They're as tan as copper; the poor thing has burnt to a crisp by the sun!"

"Her hair is as thick as a bush, gypsy girl why don't you try running a brush through that mane sometime?"

"Oh Diane, you know very well by looking at it at that no brush could tame _that_ atrocity of tresses! It would break in two at the first tug!"

"And those hands--my stable boy has less calluses!"

"What _have_ you been doing with them, my dear?"

"One can only imagine…"

"And mother only look at her _feet_!"

"I've haven't seen so much dust on anything before in my life!"

"We'll have to tell Matthews to have the carpet beaten _hard_ tonight--who knows how much dirt she's rubbed into it by just standing there?"

"And I would have that chair she's sitting on removed immediately Louise, her dress is probably just as filthy!"

Though all of these insults, Christine sat motionless, her face flushed and her eyes welling with tears that she refused to let fall. As she listened to them go on, she finally felt she was beginning to understand the expression Antriella always told her Megara;

_All that glitters is not gold._

These women who were insulting her weren't great ladies; they were nothing but sharp-tongued, vicious, conniving harpies. It didn't matter that they were dressed in the finest clothing, that they were beautiful, or that they lived in a grand house. Underneath all of those adornments their true selves were ugly and distorted, and if that was what the world viewed as being great, then Christine decided that she wanted no part in it. At that moment the only thing she wanted was what seemed to be the farthest from her:

Raoul.

Though her eyes hadn't left him for a moment since she'd entered the room, as his female companions were slighting Christine his gaze had remained averted to the ground. He looked as if wanted nothing more than to be gone from the room, but he still said nothing. As she stared at him, Christine used her own eyes to try to implore him to look at her, if only to hold his gaze for a few moments. When at last he did look up at her, she smiled at him sadly as if to say, "It's all right" in reply to the apology in his eyes. _Just being here with you is enough for me, Raoul._ She thought wistfully as they stared at each other in silence.

Shrugging his shoulders he finally said to her, "Pay them no mind, little one. For though you may indeed be somewhat different in your choice of dress, it is of little consequence when put next to the loveliness of your charms."

Christine couldn't hold back a wide smile of satisfaction at his compliment, "Thank you, Raoul." She whispered softly.

But it hadn't been soft enough for Marie not to hear, "'_Raoul'?_" Her expression changed from being merely mocking to poorly-concealed fury. "Did you hear that, mother? The gypsy girl imagines herself to be so familiar with Captain DeChagny that she believes she can call him by his name!"

"How abominable!" Her mother assented, seeming to be just as flustered as her daughter. "Didn't anyone teach you to have the proper respect for those above your station, girl? Or are you so great a heathen that you don't even know how to stay in your proper place?"

"She probably thinks that her knowledge in sorcery puts her on a grander scale than the rest of her vermin race!" Marie said contemptuously. "I've heard that the old woman who reads fortunes instructs her in the art of conjuring!"

"If she did, I'd cast a spell that would make you mute, you harpy." Christine finally mumbled to herself angrily, her eyes averted to the ground.

But this only made the situation worse. Upon hearing her mumble something inaudibly, Marie shrieked, "The ugly little witch is casting a spell on me! Mother, mother _help_!" With that she fainted dead away.

Louise immediately went to the side of her daughter along with the other alarmed women. Fanning Marie, she turned back to Christine and snapped viciously, "Be gone from this house, sorceress! And take your witchcraft with you---if anything happens to my daughter I'll have you arrested and flogged!" Bearing the girl up with the help of the other women, she went into an adjoining room, leaving Christine and Raoul by themselves.

Not daring to look at Raoul again, Christine made her way to the door she'd come through and began the long descent down the winding stairs. But almost as soon as she'd stepped out of the house, she heard him call her name, "Christine wait!"

Instantly turning around, she waited for him to come to her, then said, "Yes Raoul?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry for what happened in there; they had no right to treat you that way."

"It isn't important." She said meekly.

He sighed and shook his head, then finally asked, "Where have you been? Why haven't I seen you dancing in the square until today?"

"I--I can't tell you….it's a secret."

"I see. A secret that is so important that you cannot tell me?"

"Raoul, please…please don't ask me anything else…just know that I--that I…"

"Yes?"

"I've missed you." She finished lamely. Looking up at him, Christine saw the expression in his eyes and wished with all of her might that she'd told the truth. Unable to stand anymore, she looked back down and murmured, "Good-bye," before turning on her heel and walking away. As she walked back towards the forest and looked up at the sky, Christine saw the sun beginning to go down over the horizon. Swallowing hard, she increased the pace of her steps and thought to herself, _Please be merciful, Angel…forgive me…and be merciful…_


	8. Pining Punishment & Answered Appeals

_A/N: The problem with the document manager is what has prevented me from updating, readers. I apologize. But really it doesn't seem to have mattered because despite the fact that a lot of people have viewed the last update, not alot of people have reveiwed it. This of course, I realize is completely up to all of you, but if you can I would greatly appreciate it if you did review. It helps and encourages me to continue in the story, not to mention gives me your input on how I should continue to suit your interests._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Leroux or Hugo's characters or plots in any way--unless somehow I can come up with 20,000 francs..._

* * *

Grimacing as he saw Christine rush into the house in haste, Erik shook his head in both frustration and cynicism. 

The girl obviously thought his mercy knew no limits.

Like most small children, she must have imagined that after deliberately disobeying the commands of those in authority over her, all that would be required to soothe their indignation would be a sweet smile and apology.

Well also like most children, Christine would have quite another thing coming to her.

Erik wasn't used to being disobeyed; in the few circumstances that he had actually corresponded his commands to the priests in Notre Dame concerning his privacy regulations, he had expected and received absolute submission. The fear of arousing any superstitions from the people had been too high a risk for the vicars to take, and thus they had followed his instructions to the letter. But Christine, for all of her religious virtue, was obviously not a priest. Though she may have had the face and body of woman, at heart she was still a child, a child who sometimes needed to see and feel a tangible piece of evidence to maintain her faith…

Of course, while he didn't intend for her direct sin of disobedience to go unpunished, Erik also understood how important wholly controlling Christine's emotions was now. Though he did not know what exactly had passed between her and the soldier in the house, he did know that in actually choosing to see him, it meant she cared more for the boy than he had at first imagined.

In knowing this, he resolved to take drastic action.

Despite the fact that she had never again brought up the subject of seeing him since he'd stopped her the first time, Erik had nevertheless been able to tell that it was something she'd still wanted very much. In actually allowing her to do so he realized he would be taking a risk beyond belief, but somehow knew that it was the only way, no matter what the outcome.

He smiled cynically; an angel with a devil indeed!

_So be it._

_

* * *

"_Christine? Christine wake up, come on now sweetheart, wake up and look at me." Joseph lightly shook the shoulder of the young dancer laid out on the mat in her tent. After holding his breath for a long moment, he sighed in relief as her long eye lashes fluttered then finally opened to reveal her jade green eyes. "There you are! You gave us all quite a fright, you know." 

Looking up absently, Christine whispered, "How long have I been laying here?"

"For about a week. When Meg told us you wouldn't come out 6 days ago we thought you were just sore at us again, but when you didn't come out at all yesterday or the day before to even eat, we started to think you might be sick." Ringing out a cloth from a wooden bowl filled with water, he wiped at her forehead softly.

"Well…am I?"

Joseph shook his head, "No, just a little weak, sweetheart. We've got to put more meat on those bones of yours, that's all. How else will those little feet be able to dance again, not to mention that voice of yours? Even if you don't want to perform anymore, we can't have it being ruined---that would be a slight to God Himself, having an angel who couldn't sing!"

The compliment was lost on Christine who immediately gasped the moment Joseph had said the word angel. Suddenly a whirlwind of memories came rushing back to her, painfully reminding her of the entire reason she'd shut herself up in this tent in the first place.

The Angel.

When she'd gone to have her lesson in the forest the night she'd gone up to see Raoul, the Angel of Music had not been there. Though she had stayed up the entire night, he had not come---nor on the next night, or the night after that, or the night after that. For an entire week Christine had gone to the clearing every night and prayed, wept, and begged the Angel to appear. She'd repented desperately, swearing to him that she'd never disobey him again, but to no avail. Her prayers had fallen on none but the wind's ears and had gone unanswered. Finally, when she'd given up hope of ever hearing from him again, she had enclosed herself in her tent in despair, refusing to eat, sleep, or even come out. She just cried; silently during the day so that the gypsies wouldn't hear her, but openly sobbing at night in hope that the Angel might.

He hadn't.

This thought only made a fresh pool of tears well up in her eyes, but Christine bit her lip, refusing to let them fall for Joseph to see. Though she could feel the tenderness in the way he was taking care of her, secretly Christine just wanted to tell him to go away, to leave her alone so she could continue mourning and feeling sorry for herself. "Did Madame tell you to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Come take care of me this way."

"Of course not, Christine. I'm surprised you'd even ask such a thing."

"Well you yourself said I'm not sick, so after making sure I was all right, why would you stay and do this? Why do you care so much?"

Joseph put down the cloth with a sigh and looked at her, asking softly, "You don't know Christine, you _truly_ don't know?"

"Don't know what?" She asked impatiently, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under this unfamiliar gaze of his.

He didn't reply for a long moment. With a touch so light that she hardly even felt it, Joseph traced his fingers against the side of her face, trailing down to the center of her throat.

Jerking away instinctively, Christine exclaimed, "Joseph stop it! What's wrong with you, what are you doing?"

In an instant, the look in his eyes vanished and he was once more himself. Shaking his head, he hastily said, "Forgive me, sweetheart. Sometimes I…I suppose I just see a little of my Lolita in you, and I forget that she's gone."

Still somewhat suspicious, she replied, "It's all right. But--but could you leave for a while, Joseph---I want to be alone now, I have a lot on my mind."

Joseph's eyes hardened as he said blankly, "You can be alone till kingdom come, sweetheart---but it's not going to bring him back."

Looking up quickly, Christine asked, "It's not going to bring _who_ back? Who did you mean when you said that, Joseph?"

"Angels can't bring devils close to God, Christine---no matter how sweet they sing. You'd do better to start remembering that while pining after your soldier." That being said, he stood to his feet and left the tent.

Though she was stung by his words, she was also relieved at their being pointed at her relationship with Raoul rather than with the Angel. _The relationships I **had** with the Angel and Raoul, anyway._ Sighing, Christine threw off the blankets that Joseph had put over her; for some reason she felt like she was stifling. She knew it could probably be contributed to the fact that she'd been in her tent for the past week, and thus resolved to get some fresh air, if only to feel the wind against her body again.

Standing up on her somewhat unsteady feet, she cautiously lifted back the tent flap to make sure that no one was in close seeing range. After watching several gypsies pass by for a moment or two, Christine became satisfied that she would be seen by no one in briefly stealing away. In no time at all she was running through the forest, deeply inhaling the night air in gulps. As she felt it fill her lungs and rejuvenate her body, she wondered how on earth she could have stayed cooped up in a small tent for an entire week, how when there was so much to take in through nature itself. For some reason, on this particular night her senses seemed to be more alive to everything around her than they usually were. The sounds she heard were sharper, the things she saw were more visible, the ones she felt seemed more tangible, even the very air she breathed seemed changed in some dramatic way. _What could be different?_ She thought to herself.

Before Christine knew it, she looked around and suddenly realized that she was standing in the clearing where she'd had her lessons with the Angel.

_How did I end up here?_

Though her instincts at first told her to flee away from this place, Christine found that she couldn't leave. The atmosphere of this place too, seemed to have changed somehow. As she looked up at the moon, she shivered; she'd never seen it look clearer or close before. Almost like the night when she'd almost been---

_If your voice is the moon then my heart is the sky_

_Wrapping it up 'til the day that I die…_

Christine gasped as the sound of the Angel of Music's voice rippled through the cool air of the clearing. He had returned, at last he had heard her prayers and forgiven her! For a long moment her heart raced so quickly that at first she didn't realize the silence after the verse of the haunting song meant that the Angel was waiting for her to finish it. But finally, Christine managed to open her mouth and softly sing back,

_If your voice is the sand then my heart is the sea_

_Crashing upon it to bring it to me._

The two voices continued singing the slow melody together; each singing one verse, then waiting for the other to answer back. In Christine's mind this one duet was more beautiful than any other songs she'd sung during her lessons--singing with the Angel made it more beautiful. When at last their voices came to the end of the song and the last note had passed her lips, Christine had tears streaming down her cheeks. Without fear or hesitation, she said, "Reveal yourself to me, Angel, let me see your face."

The Angel's voice was soft, but commanding, "Arise Christine." When she did so, he said, "Close your eyes."

The instant her upper lashes came to rest upon her lower ones, Christine felt her hand being gripped by smooth, gloved fingers. The hold was light, but somehow so firm that she knew she wouldn't be allowed to let go even if she wanted to. But when the darkness behind her eyelids began to put her in such unbearable suspense that she started to open her eyes, the Angel's voice immediately stopped her,

"Keep your eyes closed. Follow me."

"But how will I---"

"Let music be your guide, Christine. Listen to it and let it, not your eyes be the instrument of your vision." That being said, she heard his voice once more begin to sing the song then slowly lead her to take a step forward. Her first few paces were somewhat unsteady and halted, as the darkness made her confidence waver. But eventually as the Angel continued to lead her on, the footsteps became less uncertain and more firm. The music he told her to listen to did indeed seem to give Christine a vision that her eyes had not, a vision that caused her to not only see, but feel things she'd never felt before. There seemed to be something hidden within the press of the Angel's fingers on her hand and in the tone of his voice, something drawing her away from the light of day and into the darkness of night.

And with it, the strings of her heart.


	9. Broken Promises

_A/N: It's been forever and a day since I've updated this fic and let me say to any of my readers who may have wondered what the heck happened, I'm so sorry. I suppose I just got sidetracked with the everyday routine of life and got a serious case of writer's block. Luckily I think my creative juices are back for good, and hope that's evident in this update. I'm also hoping that in updating now I'll gain some new readers, so please if you're new to my fic, I know it's still in the beginning, but bear with me: it'll be worth the wait! _

_Disclaimer: Don't own Leroux. Not a bit of his stuff. Wish I did, but hey, that's life._

* * *

How much longer and where the Angel continued to lead Christine, she didn't know. Somehow it seemed as though it didn't matter, for some reason the thought never occurred to her to even be the slightest bit concerned or afraid of him. The magnetic sensation of his hand over hers was hypnotizing her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, and although by doing what he'd said her eyes remained shut, she felt as though the bond and connection that was between the two of them was enough to be her vision. It had guided her through all of the tears, prayers, and wishes of her life up to this point, so would undoubtedly be enough to help her follow him to wherever he wanted to lead her. 

For several more minutes she followed the Angel; based on the texture of the ground beneath her Christine could feel the two of them first leave the forest, then come to a place where there were cobblestones, then finally enter a place were the floor beneath was smooth and flat. When she'd walked several paces in this place, her steps halted when she heard the Angel say, "There are stairs here, child. You must climb."

_Stairs? Stairs to where, to what? _Christine's mind was soaring with questions for him, but her heart told her nothing more than to simply trust the Angel and climb the stairs. After briefly pausing she cautiously lifted her foot to search for the first one, then when it came down upon it, lifted herself up onto the first stair, all the while holding onto the Angel's hand tightly. For what Christine counted to be somewhere around 30 stairs they climbed, until at last, her feet came down on the smooth, flat floor again.

Slowly, the Angel loosened his hold on her hand and lowered it, saying softly, "Welcome Christine."

Swallowing hard, she implored, "Angel, let me open my eyes now. Let me see you face to face…please."

"Very well then, open your eyes and see your heart's desire, child."

As soon as the words passed his lips, Christine's heart began to hammer wildly. For some reason, though her curiosity was maddening, she couldn't instantly bring herself to look at him. It seemed as though her entire life had been in wait of this moment, this one moment in which she would get to see the source of all her prayers and beliefs. It hardly seemed possible, much less fathomable, and yet here it was standing before her! All that remained for her to do was to merely open her eyes, and she would finally behold the Angel of Music.

_Oh Father…_ She inwardly prayed. _Thank you…thank you so much for sending the Angel to me…_

"Don't be afraid, child. There is nothing to harm you here."

"I'm not afraid, Angel." She replied steadily.

"Then open your eyes."

After taking one last deep breath, Christine readied herself, then obeyed without another thought.

* * *

It was a man. 

Though the room Christine was standing in was dimly lit, she could still make out in the shadows that standing before her was a flesh and blood man. Since his body was shrouded in what appeared to be a long, black cloak, his face was the only thing she could see. The man had dark hair that went down to the base of his neck, it's wisps shadowing parts of his cheeks and forehead. He was taller than her--not quite as towering as Raoul--but tall enough for her to have to look up to see him. He also had piercing, sharp eyes that though upon first glance in the dark appeared to be gold, now seemed to have many tints of color in their depths.

But perhaps, the most interesting part of the man was the mask he wore on the right side of his face.

Dumbfounded, Christine was at a complete loss for words for several moments while she took in this man's appearance, until finally she managed to stammer, "W-who are you? Where is the voice, where is the Angel?"

"It is I, Christine." The man replied. "I am the voice of the Angel of Music--I am he."

"But…but you can't be…" She murmured insistently. "Not when you're just a…just a---"

"A man? Yes, as you can see, I am a man who has taught you, guided you, and looked after you these past weeks better than any Angel could have---but am still a man just the same."

_A man…just a man after all…just a **man**…_

After all of her hoping, praying, and wishing it had all come to nothing but the realization that she really had been as foolish as Meg and all of the other gypsies thought she was in believing in the Angel of Music. He'd never existed, not for her at least, not for her father. He'd been wrong, and worst of all, hadn't even known it himself while he was alive. The promise he'd made to send the Angel to her had been in vain, worthless, and meaningless.

A lump began to form in Christine's throat and tears stung the back of her eyes at this thought. Though she longed to ask more of this mysterious man she now realized she never knew to begin with, the words just wouldn't come. In the midst of her crushing disappointment and shock, all that emerged from her lips were a torrent of sobs, first starting out as slow tears then escalating into full-fledged sobs. Covering her face with her hands, she sunk down to the floor in misery, her heart breaking with every tear that fell.

Almost instantly, she felt a hand rest upon her head, and the man's voice above her saying almost soothingly, "No. No please don't cry, my child. Forgive my deception, but you mustn't weep before me…I can't bear your tears."

Pulling away in fear, Christine whispered through her tears, "Don't touch me! I-I don't even know who you are."

"My name is Erik and you are in no danger here with me, that is all you need know."

After repeating the name herself, she shook her head and asked, "But why, why have you brought me here if you're not the Angel of Music? Who are you really, and what do you want from me?"

Erik looked down upon her for long time in silence, as if he were contemplating his reply. Being under the scrutiny of his piercing gaze made Christine uneasy until he finally answered, "What I want from you for now, Christine, is to be able to teach you the importance of music in your life. I want to imbed it's principles, it's essence into your very being so that's it's apart of you. When we met in the forest I couldn't do this because of the chance that such a thing would be intruded upon and ruined, but here…" Looking around the room, he continued, "Here I can teach you everything without any kind of hindrance."

Christine was now not only frightened, but also bewildered. This man called Erik seemed to be speaking in riddles she didn't understand. What difference could music possibly make to either of them now? "What is there to teach me now, why is there even a need for me to know anything more of music? It's brought me nothing---"

"Silence!" Erik suddenly spun around and hissed shortly, causing her to jump. Inhaling slowly, he began again "Forgive me, Christine, but I never again want to hear anything like that come out of your mouth again. You may not yet understand all that music is for you in your life, but I can promise you that you will. The word 'nothing' is not a word that appears in its' vocabulary. You will discover this and many other things in time as well."

Hearing the way Erik spoke to her was slowly causing Christine's fear to ebb away into anger. Back when she'd believed him to be the Angel of Music, she'd been willing to comply with all of his commands and wishes. But now that she'd discovered he'd been no more than a mere man, indignation and defiance from her hurt was beginning to surface at being treated so insensitively.

And then there was that mask.

For some reason, the more Christine looked at the mask Erik wore on his face, the more angry and annoyed she became. To her it seemed to symbolize a part of him that was still deceiving her, still holding back a vital truth of his existence---a truth she wanted and was now determined to know. Wiping away the drying tears from her cheeks, she looked up at him steadily and asked, "I don't want to discover anything yet---not until you take off your mask."

His visible eyebrow lifted in what appeared to be surprise that she would ask such a thing as he replied, "That is, unfortunately, the only thing you could ask of me that I cannot grant, Christine. Please be so kind as to never ask it again."

_Why should I be so kind as to do __**anything**__ for you?_ She angrily asked in her mind. _Why when you've done nothing but hurt and make a fool of me?!_

Apparently reading the expression on her face, Erik continued, "Now I understand that you may be upset, but I promise you that with time, that will pass as well. If you need time alone to collect yourself, I'll leave you for now and will return."

With that, he turned to leave, but not before she stopped him by calling out, "Wait! Please, tell me…where am I?"

A small smile slightly turned up the corners of Erik's lips as he replied, "In the very heart of music here in Paris: Notre Dame."

"The church?"

"It's bell tower, yes."

At the thought of being so close to home, Christine's hopes rose and immediately began formulating a plan in her mind on how and when to escape. Her instincts told her she should try to take action to get away from this man as soon as possible, but another part of her from deep within wouldn't be satisfied with leaving, not just yet anyway.

Not until she'd seen what was under his mask.

So trying to sound as natural as she could manage, Christine looked up at Erik and asked, "Well… before you go, would you please help me stand up?"

Nodding, "Certainly," he came back over to where she sat and extended his arm down for Christine to hold onto. Placing her right hand on the arm, she slowly and steadily stood to her feet. Without a second thought she reached out with her left hand and snatched off the black mask.

In the next instant she was screaming.


End file.
