I woke

I woke. The air was clean, crisp. A large thump in my surroundings jarred my eyes open. A sleeping Madame Giry greeted me.

The sky was a pale blue, the sun just barely risen behind the clouds, and I glanced around. A carriage. I am in a carriage. That’s right.

My memories rushed back to the night before.

After Raoul left, they were blurry, distorted. I believe I was in some stupor, a hole in my heart eaten by hate. Meg had stumbled out of the burning Operahouse just in time, as a large part of it collapsed. The crowd had dispersed gradually, tears of injured ballet girls and small children slowly dissipating. I had stood, my eyes glazed over on the flames, tears flooding my face.

I was simply numb. No expression on my face, save for the glass tears that trickled down my cheek. The sunrise made the sky turn the same colour as the blaze in front of me, and I suppose had an artist been there it would have made an interesting painting. The numb woman in hell.

We had stood together, Meg covering me in embrace, Madame Giry keeping a steady bony hand on my shoulder, until I could stand no more. Then I faintly remember drifting into a small carriage, Meg’s sobs softly next to me, the smell of smoke etching itself into my brain. I hoped to hear some sort of goodbye from Erik, but no whisper wished me a safe life.

Does he hate me now? Could he still possibly love me? He devoted himself to me, breathed for me only. Could he possibly replace that with disdain? I do not know, and I also have no idea what to wish for. His undying love, or his reclusive hate.

My home, my loves, my future. I had lost a lot that night. Too much.

I glanced around me. Meg was also asleep, her body curled up in a childish and rather unladylike position. Her soft yellow curls that normally fell gracefully around her face were stringy and limp. I realized then that I probably looked just as terrible, with deep hollows around my eyes, perhaps white lips. My mouth tasted horrible, and I guessed my breath would match. I felt ash on my face, but I didn’t dare wipe it off.

Madame Giry was her normal self, asleep, but I suppose at her age she always looks almost dead. A solitary tear rolled down my face, and I wondered where we were going. I doubt it was anywhere near the city, as we would have been there all night, and judging by the jerky and nauseating movements of our vehicle, we were not on a paved road. A quick glance outside confirmed my thoughts, as rolling fields with icy frost greeted me.

A soft moan replaced my thoughts, and Meg’s eyes slowly opened, squinting from the sudden daytime hour. ‘Mmm. Christine?’ She muttered, and held her head as she stretched her body straight. ‘I… Where are we, Christine?’

Her small question made another tear roll down my face, but I quickly wiped it away before her eyes adjusted to the light. ‘I do not know.’ My voice sounded awfully monotone. ‘I just woke here as well.’

‘Christine…’ A light forced her eyes wide open, and she clutched my Aminta costume I was still wearing. ‘Christine! I am so sorry! I could not… I… He was gone.’ I knew who she was speaking of. Erik. Even thinking his name caused pain in my heart.

‘No matter.’ I muttered, and pulled her gripping hands off of the dress, holding them in mine. ‘No one could control him.’ My words hurt me. After all, I could’ve controlled him. I could’ve stayed, gone anywhere with him. Persia if we had to, and I would have had him. But of course not. I had to choose the most two-faced man I’ve ever imagined to meet.

‘Christine, I’ve… I’ve found something you might like.’ My interest was piqued, to say the least. ‘H- Here.’ A small pale hand reached into the folds of her dress, and she pulled out a small white object. She reached out to me, offering his mask to me.

My hands instantly darted out, but they stopped short of it. I hesitated, my first reflex to never touch his mask, but I overcame it. ‘I believed you might like it.’ She mumbled, and with a small smile, she curled back into her ball and fell asleep instantly.

The cool leather was rough on the inside, and my fingers traced it. Over and over they danced across the surface of the heavenly and devilish mask, and I cried. He had worn it only hours before. I’d never paid any attention to what it felt like, until this moment, and I felt loved. Not by Meg, strangely, but by Erik. As if he planned to give me the mask through her, so that I would reach a signal.

A small rip revealed itself on an edge, and I cried harder, anger pressing in. If he had meant for me to have it, why could it not be perfect? Flawless? This miniscule crack was an insult, to say the least. As if his love was broken by the night’s events, as if it was my entire fault. Until it occurred to me that it was my fault. Everything was.

The heavy breathing of Madame Giry soothed me in my distress until they stopped. Fear gripped my heart as I leaned to her, across from me, until they started again. It was then I realized her fragility, her seniority. My god, she had been employed much later than most people in the Operahouse. She had seen more lives and deaths than I could imagine. What was life like when she was young? Did she ever love someone as much as I love Raoul and Erik? Did someone fight over her heart? Obviously they lost, as she was alone. As I think about it, I’ve never asked about her husband. Did she have a husband? She must’ve had someone at some point, at least, to give birth to Meg. Did she love them? What happened to him? I wonder.

Another thought occurred to me. Raoul had told me very little of Erik’s past, only that Madame Giry had been at the Operahouse longer than he had. I can’t imagine the House without him… I wonder what Madame Giry had thought when he first attacked someone. When someone first died, did she think it was an accident, or a petty robbery-crime as so many had? Or did she have a feeling about someone more sinister behind the attacks? After all, she couldn’t have had any idea that Erik was living at the House… could she? She is more aware than most people…

‘Miss?’ A loud knock greeted me, the first word since Meg was awake. I looked at the sun, much brighter now that I was paying attention. An hour must have passed. ‘Miss?’ The obnoxious English accent repeated itself.

I opened the small carriage door. A miniscule man stared at my obviously tired face as he twitched about. ‘Ello. We’ve arrived, Miss. If you could wake your fellow-’ his beady eyes traveled inside the cabin, glaring over Meg’s sunken face. ‘Your fellow travelers, I really don’t want to have that… pleasure.’

I smiled falsely. ‘Of course.’ I slammed the door shut in his mouse-like face, the loud noise, surprisingly, not waking Meg. My hand stroked the side of her face softly, the oil on my fingers leaving a streak through the ash still on her cheek. ‘Meg… Meg, darling…’

She moaned, and her large blue eyes stared into mine. ‘Christine…’

I smiled. ‘Yes, Meg, we’re here. You need to at least make it inside.’ I lifted up the small flap separating me from the outside world. This was the first time I saw that house. It was enormous, dark stains from the weather shaded the outside wood. Large icicles threatened me from the roof’s edge. Dead trees covered the lawn, and white bushes covered the first-floor windows. I glanced into the second-story windows, but I couldn’t see anything as burgundy curtains were closed behind the broken glass panes.

‘Mother?’ Meg gently nudged Madame Giry awake, and I couldn’t help but stare. I hadn’t ever seen it before, but Meg really had a wonderful relationship with her mother. She helped Giry sit up, and assisted all of her needs. I longed to do that to my own mother.

A few moments passed and Madame Giry assumed control, thanked me for waking Meg, and limped out of the cab. Meg followed with the cane, and I joined the trail with Erik’s mask hidden in the folds of my dress. I saw the cabby, named Ronald (A horrid name, in my opinion) dragging our bags rather roughly through the mud. Snowflakes made his unruly beard seem even more grey, and I looked away, realizing I had been criticizing his appearance.

Shame gripped my heart at what I had been thinking. What had I learned from Erik’s torment? I was treating this man as horribly as the others were treating their Phantom. This man could have a story of his own; he could really be a genius at heart.

I paused, turned around and shuffled back over to Ronald. ‘Hello, would you like me to help?’ I held out my hands, pointing slightly at our luggage.

He spat on the ground, turning his head away from me and muttered a small ‘No’. I’m almost positive he continued the thought with some rather vulgar expletives, but I shan’t repeat them. It would be rude to repeat someone’s rudeness.

‘All right then.’ I was determined to make this man crack. He was crude and smelled odd, but I hoped to somehow cheer him up. I sat on the edge of the cab, barely held up with my dress from the night before. ‘Ronald, your name was?’

He was silent, still attempting to get one of Madame Giry’s bags of assorted things from the back. How could she possibly have had enough time to get all of these items? Unless she’d had a suspicion of the blaze, it was a very strange coincidence that she’d packed away so many things… So easily accessible in need of a fast escape. As a matter of fact, where were my things from? I didn’t remember having anything packed. And Madame Giry couldn’t have possibly gotten so many things of her own and my own in such a short time. Her quarters had been on the other side of the Operahouse, mind you. I assumed when Meg escaped she also took some of my things. I silently reminded myself to thank her later. I hadn’t any idea what to do without a real outfit other than this costume… Which wasn’t exactly the most ladylike thing to wear in a time of distress, to say the least.

‘Ronald?’ I repeated. Oh, please, please let me make it up to you for judging your appearance… Let me do something right… I wiped off part of the perspiration from my forehead with the shawl I was still clutching. A second glance at the thin piece of fabric revealed some white ash had clung itself to it. Well, wonderful. I look like a pasty ghost with all this muck on my face, and I’m attempting to be nice to a very off-putting man. Of course he doesn’t want to talk to me. I look like a mess.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ His thick English accent butchered our noble French language. He grunted a few choice words, and finally managed to get the heavy bag off the carriage back. A splash of mud decorated his slacks as he slammed the fragile bag to the ground. ‘Sor’y!’ He belted out as a bit of murky water coloured the hem of my dress a dark brown.

Ronald knelt before my dress, his handkerchief whipping out to clean off the small bit of mud. ‘So, so sorry, ma’am.’ His apologetic voice was almost pitiful.

‘Don’t fret, Ronnie.’ I forced a smile. He was so overly cautious about this devil of a dress. He remained kneeling, rubbing his spit onto the dirty napkin. His eyes stayed downward, and then I realized he had yet to look me in the eye. Backing away a few metres, I pulled his chin towards my face. I looked into his deep emerald eyes.

He really didn’t seem so old, maybe only his late twenties. His age was hidden underneath what seemed to be years of hardship and stress. But his eyes... Oh, those bright and perky eyes showed how young he really was. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I patted his cheek playfully and bounded towards the bags. How were there so many? It still baffled me. I climbed onto the back and, looking back at Ronald, it was almost pitiful how he remained shocked in his kneeling position. I suppose I was a little too forward for this bitter man. ‘Would you like some help?’ I prodded, attempting to get him to move.

Coughing, he stood. He adjusted his meager excuse for a collar and strode over to me. ‘Please, ma’am. I’m fine. You don’t have to assist me.’ His broken French was almost amusing had his stare not been so deadly.

‘May I please help? I want to. I’ve been in that dreadful carriage all night. I ache. I need to stretch out these weary muscles.’ I motioned to my legs, and smiled. ‘Besides, you intrigue me. I want to talk to you.’ The final part was a bit of a lie, but nonetheless I said it. He did intrigue me, but I really didn’t want to talk to him. He was a very bitter person and that wasn’t something I needed to surround myself with. I pushed Erik and Raoul to the back of my mind and tried to relax. I knew Ronald was scrutinizing me just as much as I was analyzing him. And I didn’t want to ruin it.

He sighed. ‘Alright, miss. But I would prefer not to speak.’ I shrugged and stretched out over the bags, reaching for the outermost one. It was one of the many that Madame Giry seemed to conjure up out of her quarters. I roughly hunched over and grasped the edge of the bag, and almost dropped it into the mound of mud below. Shock held my body into itself, and my arms refused to move another centimetre.

A single red rose was tied to the bag, a black ribbon holding it in place. A closer look revealed a small phrase scribbled onto the soft petals. Each petal was covered in Cs, and ‘All I Ask Of You’ was gently preserved on their smooth surface. Erik’s handwriting. He had to have been gentle with the rose, as there wasn’t a single tear in their material.

Tears welled into my eyes yet again, and I pulled the rose free from the luggage, and placed it in the folds of my wilting dress. I pulled the bag free from the carriage and hunched over to the door of the cabin.

Instantly warmth enveloped me as I entered it. I hadn’t realized how wet I was until I felt the heat dancing around my icy skin. Meg was curled up on the couch in the corner, an occasional wheeze escaping from her collapsed figure. Madame Giry was in an opposite corner of the large entry room talking with a homely woman, her hands making soft gestures of thanks. She noticed me, a small thin-lipped smile reaching her face, and she limped over to me. The woman followed, her arms outstretched to hold me.

Even though I was soaking she held me, and rocked me back and forth. I awkwardly stood, frozen in place, my eyes darting to Madame Giry. She nodded approvingly, and my thin arms wrapped around the woman. ‘Dear, dear darling.’ Her deep, motherly voice cooed as she escaped the embrace. Her hands quickly went to work, removing the outer layers of my body that slapped to the floor when she let go of them.

Madame Giry introduced me to the kind lady. ‘Madame Pitu, this is Christine, as you probably knew.’ Her eyes danced with humour as Pitu’s large frame pushed against me. I tried to remain upright, and ignored her obesity. I do not have a problem with the obese. I’ve had to work with them, such as Piangi, God Rest His Soul. However, her breasts especially enjoyed pushing me around as she stripped me naked in the kitchen.

I wasn’t really paying any attention until I was nude. I shivered until a dry robe was pulled around me, and Pitu smiled. ‘How are you now? Still cold? Would you like some coffee?’ This woman was rather forward, but I enjoyed it. I nodded and felt peaceful as she catered to my needs. I shuffled back into the entry room and rested next to Meg, and listened to Pitu and Madame Giry banter back and forth. I sipped my coffee and let their dancing laughter lull me into a deep relaxed state. They joined Meg and I on the couches, Pitu loudly proclaiming to the world how proud she was of Meg for fighting through the flames, and excited she was that Madame Giry and I were there. She had heard of me, even though she lived far from the city.

Madame Giry laughed softly and leaned into her chair, a wince of effort flashing across her weary face. ‘I don’t think Miss Daae realized the extent of her fame.’ A flash of realization flashed across my face. I didn’t think I was that famous. I knew of the men who showered me with roses, but my name. My actual name had traveled, along with the tales of my voice. I wonder if people miles away had heard of my escape with the Phantom yet. Who would hear about the rumours? Would someone, somewhere, figure out what had happened? Truly happened?

‘Oh, yes, of course!’ Pitu’s voice boomed throughout the cabin. ‘I have heard of your voice, they say it is angelic. This summer I was going to make a trip to the city, just to hear you perform. Much better than last holiday, I’m sure. That Carlotta. I recall sitting in the back aisles and inserting the cotton in my ears just to block out her voice. It wasn’t horrible, just too elaborate.’ Her eyes glazed over as she rambled, and her chuckle woke Meg.

Meg’s eyes eased open and she moaned softly. ‘Mama…’ I didn’t know it then, but she was in pain. I believe she inhaled a lot of smoke from the fire. Her chest was hurting, and she clutched it as she sat up.

‘Come, dear. Would you like to rest in a bed?’ Madame Giry instantly stood and assisted Meg off of the stiff couch. Meg only groaned in reply to Madame Giry’s worried questions, and they exited our warm scene through the stairs. I smiled at the almost comedic way they left. Madame Giry did have a weak spot, after all. Her lovely daughter.

‘You know, I remember when Eugenie first gave birth to young Marguerite.’ Pitu chuckled, and settled further into the chair. ‘Just under two decades ago and I remember it clear as day. Eugenie was so beautiful. She positively glowed.’ I laughed with her, trying to imagine a glowing Madame Giry. I even tried to imagine a Madame Giry giving birth, holding Meg for the first time, everything.

‘If only I could have seen it.’ I smiled, and took another small sip of my coffee. It had grown lukewarm, and I grimaced softly, hiding it behind my cup.

‘Oh, yes. It was marvelous. And little Marguerite… When she cried for the first time it sounded like a chorus of little angels.’ Pitu’s eyes glazed over, deep in memory.

I sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but… How do you know Madame Giry?’

‘Who? Eugenie? Yes, we were both in the ballet at the Operahouse. But, as I grew into my woman’s body, my feet just couldn’t keep up. I lost my talent in pointe, and I refused to starve myself to keep a job.’ Shrugging, she drank a large gulp of her coffee. ‘So I moved out here, wed, gave birth to my lovely son Ronald, and that’s that.’ Her eyes flashed open. ‘Ronald. Where is Ronald?’

‘He was outside earlier. Helping with our luggage. Is he not inside yet?’ I stood, and followed the thundering woman towards the door as it flew open. The cold wind whipped across my face and I remained in the doorway. Ronald was leaned against the parked carriage, a cigarette leaning out of his thin mouth.

‘Mum? You worried?’ He laughed heartily at her expression and put his fag out. He lovingly slapped his arms around her neck and ushered her back into the house. ‘Come on, now. In the rooms, don’t freeze.’ Pitu laughed, and allowed her son to push her into the house. I moved aside from the doorway and smiled as they casually bantered throughout the room. This Ronald seemed so much more at ease around his mother. It was almost alien. My harsh impression of the man became shattered and fell to the cabin floor as I laughed along with them. Madame Giry entered the room and instantly fell into place with them, the normal stiffness and awkwardness that followed her aura around melting away in the warmth of the home.

After an hour of deep discussions of everything but the harsh reality of life, and jokes from everyone, I decided it was best for me to bathe. I felt odd with my ankles and wrists revealed to Ronald, but he didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t treat me with anything but kindness, and I couldn’t believe the same man had just coldly reacted to me just hours before. Pitu showed me to the bath, and Ronald helped the warm water into the tub. I thanked them all profusely, and as soon as the door was shut I let my chocolate curls fall limply to the edges of my face.

I tested the water, the steam rising on my weak legs. My toes tickled the calm surface of the clear water and I settled into it, my legs entering first as the rest of my body followed. A soft sigh escaped my lips. I instantly set to work with the soap, and my entire body was scrubbed clean in mere minutes. I closed my eyes, my hair clinging to my neck in bunches.

I glanced to the floor, the rose hidden inside of my fallen robe. Leaning out, I grasped it to my bare chest. I reread his handwriting, and deeply inhaled the scent of rose, my chin quivering in longing. Why do I love him so? He did nothing well to me. He screamed at me, possessed my life, impersonated my father. So why does the thought of him throw my emotions into Hell?

I love Raoul. I absolutely love him. He raised his hand against me, but what? Why do I persecute him for this? He was everything to me. Raoul fooled up once and I have the right to refuse him? Not at all. I rested my bare wrist over the edge of the tub, and left the rose outside of my warm sanctuary. I would go back to Raoul as soon as possible, and we would be happy.

He was a wonderful man. He was so amazingly perfect in every aspect. Correct?

This was a much shorter post than last time, a good 2K shorter.

But yeah this was just a filler chapter. xDDD

It's been a while since I worked on it... argh yeah. Please review. It's really bad at this point, I'm losing faith in it.

-B