A/N (slightly altered)

Here is the repaired version of this chapter due to misspellings etc, my apologies it was my very first fic on this place, so I wasn't sure what to do. So if I make mistakes in future chapters, please be patient; I will correct it.

AHH! I screwed up line breaks again! Sorry guys!

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Ch 1

"Christine… There are no words for the shame I feel."

Every word he spoke was an icicle, cold and dagger-sharp into her heart as she sat ramrod straight with a tightened jaw staring blankly back at Raoul. Behind him was a woman with a scrubbed face and hands holding a babe who could not have been more than 3 weeks. The woman was shy and uncertain. Raoul hesitated before taking a step toward Christine.

"The nights were…" he began. Christine found her voice but it was not her own. It was gravelly and monotone.

"Were you with her when you told me you loved me? Did you go to her that very night?" Raoul's face looked pained.

"Christine please,"

"Did you? Do not lie to me Raoul de Chagny." He put his face in his hands. Christine hated him for his weakness.

"Yes,"

"And did you tell her that you loved her as well?" She looked sharply at the woman with the child who cast her eyes down. "Did you?"

"It were but lover's talk," The maid said quietly. Christine slowly rose to her feet, tears standing in her eyes.

"And this babe…" She said evenly. "This bastard de Chagny. Does he have a name?"

The woman found the strength to mutter "His name is Girard, my lady." Christine gave a small applause of feigned delight. She walked with bouncing step to her fiancé, looking him straight into his eyes.

"Ah. And shall this Girard live under our roof? Paid for by your purse and tended by a loving nursemaid? Shall our children share the same ground that this child born of lust will walk upon?"

"No," Raoul said, gaining a bit of courage, his eyes proving his belief that he had found a scrap of rag to cover part of his sin. "He will live in the village. Not with our children."

"Our children," Christine spat. "And what of them? What of the abundant little purebloods we will have. Tell me Raoul, how many OTHER Halflings are there running about the village?"

"You were locked away in the Opera house," Raoul cried desperately. "The nights were cold and I longed for you and-" he gestured helplessly toward the maid who rocked the child. "She was warm and pretty and willing. I had no idea…"

"You had no idea," Christine mimicked. "You had no idea." With a slash of her arm a crystal vase fell to the floor and smashed spreading a sea of wet, white roses at her feet. She took a step toward her future husband, crushing the stems and blossoms underfoot. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with her voice.

"You told me that you loved me," She screamed in rage and agony. "You told me you belonged to me and that you would shelter me and save me and be with me always." Her face was soaked in tears. "Your vows were my rock, my means for survival knowing that one man in the world loved me completely and honorably… And that man told me nothing but lies!"

Raoul knelt down to be on Christine's level. He put his hand gently on her arm. "That's not true,"

"Don't touch me," She cried and yanked her arm away as if he had burned her. She stood up and towered over Raoul, her sadness and anger hardening her eyes to tiny beads of hate. "I was haunted," she said. "And you drove away shadows only to bring a living nightmare into my life."

Raoul rose. "Christine…" And she held his gaze for a long moment as he stood helplessly, arms at his side.

"Goodbye, Raoul." She said coldly, and swept from the room.


"I don't like the mauve—it is unbecoming," Madam Giry said sharply to her daughter Meg, referring to a fabric choice they had made. The two swept from the dress shop arm in arm toward their boarding house.

"I like it," Meg said cheerfully, "It brings out your eyes," Madam Giry scoffed and raised her eyes to heaven.

"My daughter you have such fanciful ideas for an old woman."

"Not so old," Meg replied. They paused before the door and the mother held her child's chin in her hand briefly.

She smiled. "You will miss this place, when we return to Paris-"

Meg frowned and shook her head lightly sending her golden curls trembling. "No. There has been nothing for us here but smoke and debtors." She glanced down the narrow, cobbled streets and the grimy shadows of people wandering from their factories and into their sorry little hovels. The nearbly Petit Patisserie stood with its shingle swaying creakily in the blustery afternoon.

"There is no harm in a factory town," Madam Giry said gently, looking inter her daughters eyes which still warily watched the streets.

"There is no health either. I shall be glad to be dancing again." A young man emerged from the bakery and began to soap down the small windows. Meg watched him crouch and clean the grit from the crevices. He was broad shouldered with tousled brown hair. He glanced up the road to where Meg was standing and their eyes met suddenly. Both looked away, embarrassed.

Madam Giry's eyebrows rose slightly but she said only "You will miss him."

Meg shifted her weight to the other foot slowly; a nervous habit. "Jaques?" Her cheeks flushed slightly. "No. He is nothing,"

"Ah."

"Shall we go inside?" The two entered the small doorway, past their snoring landlord and up the narrow staircase to their room. Madam Giry put a slender hand in her pocket. She frowned slightly.

"My dear do you have the key?" Meg's eyes widened and she shook her head. Madam Giry sighed. "Very well," she crouched down to look for the spare key under the mat, but there was none there. The mother and daughter stared at each other in surprise and Meg cautiously tried the door. It was unlocked.

"Perhaps we forgot." Meg whispered but her mother shook her head sharply and with one great thrust threw the door open. A gray-cloaked figure stood at a narrow, dirty window. It turned immediately when it heard other in the room. Meg's jaw dropped.

"Christine!" She crossed the room in two strides to embrace her friend. She was cold and trembling. Madam Giry watched the two girls.

"I did not see your carriage," Christine looked up and wiped a wet cheek on her hand.

"There is no carriage. I sent it away," Madam Giry saw the misery in the young woman's eyes.

"Oh my dear," Christine broke from Meg to fall into the arms of the woman who had been like a mother to her.

"I couldn't keep it," She sobbed, fresh waves of misery descending onto her. "I took nothing with me. The carriage is his, my gowns are all his, this-" she clawed at her necklace sending a string of pearls flying and scattering like marbles about the room. "And these-" She yanked the diamonds from her ears and the rings off her fingers, the silver bracelet on her wrist and pushed them into Madam Giry's hands. "All his! All gifts from him. 'I love you, Little Lottie, I will protect you Christine, let me be your shelter you wandering child." She pulled the emerald broach from her gown, tearing the fabric. "And he betrayed me!" She screamed with misery and Madam Giry set the jewels down on the table as she rocked Christine back and forth like a child. She glanced at Meg and made a quick signal toward the direction of the liquor cabinet and Meg immediately brought a small bottle of laudanum and walked quickly into her room. "There, there," Madam Giry said gently.

"I have nowhere to go," Christine whispered, her voice shaking.

"Hush now, you are tired ma petite. Things will be better when you have rested."

"I want no rest,"

"Hush…"

Christine gradually quieted and Madam Giry led her into Meg's room where Meg was standing with the laudanum and a small crystal tumbler. Christine stood like a doll while Madam unlaced her dress and opened it for her to step out of, loosening the ties of her corset as Meg removed her shoes. Christine's eyes were blank and her skin was like ashes. Occasionally, a tear would roll down her cheek and splash onto the white fabric of her bodice.

"Oh, my dear," Meg said sadly to her friend, brushing away a flyaway strand of her brown curly hair. Christine fixed her blank, sad eyes upon her and the two held gaze.

"Come," Madam Giry said to the silent woman and led her by the hand into the cool, clean sheets. She poured a small amount of laudanum into the tumbler and held it to Christine's mouth. "Drink," she commanded. "It will calm you." Christine obediently began to gulp the opiate and soon her eyelids were drooping. Meg tucked the white sheets around her friend and watched her drift into sleep.

"Let us leave her," Madam Giry said quietly. "It will do no good to stay here, she will sleep the night through."

The door shut softly behind them.


The water was up to her knees as she walked toward him. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were wild. Those great blue eyes that pleaded and adored, that threatened and held the sadness of the earth in their sky-like gaze.

And that face—that monstrous face, the flesh mottled and deformed, skin planted in all the wrong directions, bumps of deformed bone making the shape of his eye socket irregular causing it to sag and the skin around it to pucker in. The hairless, raw flesh reached up past his forehead, extending his hairline to that of a balding old man. His eyes were wary and he stepped back slightly, as if he was almost afraid. She stepped toward him until she faced him. The terrible face held no horror for her as they stood so close. She could see tiny scars on his jaw line and she saw that his pupils were surrounded with hazel against the blue that scanned the remaining iris.

Being so close to him was dizzying and he watched her, uncertain and untrusting. As if in slow motion she brought the her hand to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in the rich black hair and brought his mouth down to meet hers.

She could feel his shock at the strange sensation. His mouth was first closed but gradually his lips parted and he began to follow her motions, learning as he went. He wrapped his arms a little too tightly around her waist and pulled her toward him as her kisses became a little harder as her desire rose and her head began to spin. The hypnotic allure of him filled her senses. He accidentally bit into her and she sensed the metallic flavor of her own blood mixed with the taste that was singular to Erik.

Her hands moved from his head to his cheekbones and she felt the smooth texture of his malformed skin beneath her touch and felt something hot and wet against her fingertips. Almost of its own accord her tongue slipped between his lips and he shuddered, and began experimenting with his own. The Phantom crushed her even closer to him and gave something like a cry against her mouth as she felt his chest catch. Against her own she could feel the rapid beating of his heart.

Then he pushed her away. His eyes were those of a wounded animal.

"Go," He cried, leaving her panting and her kiss-swollen mouth yearning for more. "I release you, forget everything you've seen."

"No," she said softly, although the Phantom could not hear her. Suddenly there was a sharp clicking sound and she whipped around only to see Raoul, suddenly free, cocking a pistol and taking careful aim—

There was a shot. The phantom collapsed, red blossoming from his shirt and spilling over the bare section of his chest.

"No!" Christine tried to scream but her voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. She ran toward the Phantom but could only run in slow motion. When she finally reached him she dragged his heavy head to her lap and he looked at her, his eyes hard and accusing.

"Do you see?" he hissed. He brought a blood-stained hand and pushed it against her throat, painting her lips with it and her face, every crimson touch fire; then reaching behind him to pull the cloth off a mirror. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, it was not Christine Daae that looked back at her, but a pagan demon. She screamed with pure sound now, and Raoul carried a baby out of the water.

"Look Christine," He said cheerfully. "Look at our little boy. Look what he can do-" The baby had the face of a wizened old man and it raised its skinny arms. Instantly, diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls and thousands of precious stones fell from the ceiling. They fell slowly but each one was razor sharp and Christine dragged Erik to shelter, being hit by gems as she fled, each one grazing her skin and causing her to bleed. Her blood sprang from the wounds and covered the phantom until he was completely red.

"Stop," she begged as Raoul walked jerkily. "Make it stop!"

Raoul smiled mindlessly at her. "But they are gifts," he insisted. "For my little Lottie! How I love my little Lottie!" He reached out to touch her with the same hand that held the pistol.

"NO!" Christine screamed. She sat up in a tangle of bed sheets, panting. It was dark. She ran trembling hands over her limbs and felt the skin uninjured and faultless, and there was no blood. She took a long shuddery breath.

Meg came running into the room.

"What is it?" She asked urgently. "Are you alright? I heard you scream!"

"Oh God," Christine panted to herself. "Oh God,"