Alternate Reality

By Serena Kenobi

Summary: From the author who brought you 'The Parody of the Opera' comes a completely different Phanfic about two different couples. Christine Daae believes she's making the right choice by marrying Raoul. But when another, alternate version of Christine, and Erik, the Phantom, drop into her world, can the other Christine convince this Christine that Raoul is the wrong choice? Completely AU. EC, of course. As if I'd right anything else. And frankly, anything else is pretty much blasphemy.

Disclaimer: Me not own Phantom. You not sue me.

Paris, Apartment Suite, 1880

Christine Daae stared out her window as the rain pattered against it ceaselessly. Usually she didn't care for rainy days, but there were times when she needed a break from the overbearing sun, and rainy days could be so relaxing. Plus, they were fun days to shop as well.

At age sixteen, she was young, but incredibly mature for her age. She was rational, calm, and also beautiful. Her silky brown locks fell in front of her porcelain face, and her black lashes framed deep brown eyes. She was a small, delicate thing, but also stubborn and headstrong. And she didn't care that was, either. Most men of that era didn't like their women so feisty, but she didn't care about that, either.

Besides, she already had a man. One who would do anything for her. One who loved her more than his own life.

And she loved him to death.

"Finding the rain interesting?"

Christine grinned at the sound of her love's deep, sensual voice and turned her head slightly as to look at him. "Actually, yes."

The young man of twenty-four smiled, and, pushing dark locks of hair out of his face, moved quietly but quickly towards her. He was tall, lanky, but well muscled, and the hair that so often fell in his half-masked face was long. Not too long, but just long enough to be pulled back in a short ponytail. He sat beside her on the window seat and rested an arm on the windowsill, glancing out at the rain with his haunting blue-green eyes. There was a comfortable moment of silence, and then he said quietly, "I can understand your desire to look at the rain. It's peaceful. Repetitive. Monotonous."

"Just like you," Christine teased, flashing him a wicked grin.

His eyes flew to hers, and they locked gazes. Slowly, he smiled. "Cheeky," he accused, but his eyes were full of mirth and adoration.

Christine's breath caught. That adoration was for her, and for her alone. No one would take her place. She reached out with a slender hand and grabbed his larger one. "I love you, you know."

The smile left his face, and his throat constricted. He sharply drew in a breath as she traced the outline of his mask and then rested it on his darker, unmasked cheek. His eyes darkened. "And I love you, my angel." He snatched her hand and pressed it tightly against his cheek. "You are my life, Christine Daae."

"As you are mine, Erik Destler," she announced.

He leaned over and kissed her tenderly.

Christine couldn't imagine a place she'd rather be. She had a home in an extravagant Parisian apartment, an apartment that was right across from her beloved's, and right now, she was in her love's arms.

She was safe, loved, and happy.

Paris, De Chagny Mansion, 1880

Christine Daae stared out her window as the rain pattered against it ceaselessly. As the wind grew and howled, and thunder began to flash, they reminded her of her own inner feelings, a storm, just like outside. A tempest of emotions that wouldn't - couldn't go away, no matter how much she wanted them to.

At age sixteen, she was young. Young, innocent, and as delicate and sensitive as a newly blossomed rose. Some may have called her immature and helpless, and sometimes she did feel just like a baby, but how was that her fault? All her life had been brought up in blissful ignorance. She had had no idea of the real world until she had turned fifteen and became part of the main chorus. Even then, she had been sheltered.

But then she had met him. Her so-called Angel of Music. Or more commonly known as the Phantom of the Opera. He was everything opposite to her. He was dark, passionate, and commanding. But he was also intimidating and someone to be feared. He frightened her with his unknown world, his locked away secrets and passions that he revealed only to her.

She had never met anyone like him before. And she was confused.

But he was also a murderer. Joseph Buquet, the stagehand, was dead because of him.

She didn't know what to think anymore.

"Finding the rain interesting?"

Christine turned to see her childhood sweetheart, the dear and loving Raoul, standing in the doorway, his gaze understanding and cheerful. He was the reminder of her father's house by the sea, the innocence she had forgotten only a week ago at the Opera Populaire.

She loved him, but she wasn't sure how much. Maybe she would learn to love him more, as time passed. "Oh, not really," she said shyly. "It's all too turbulent for me." She straightened. "Is there something you wanted?"

Raoul shook his head and moved to sit beside her. "No, darling. I just wondered how you were doing. You went through quite an ordeal back there."

She nodded. "I know. Thank you for letting me stay with you."

"Do you like the house?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes! It's beautiful."

"Good," he smiled, obviously happy with her reply. "I only want your happiness, Christine. Anything you want, I'll give you. You need only ask."

Christine swallowed at his endearing, questioning gaze. "Just… hold me, Raoul." She leaned into his chest.

Raoul placed his arms around her. "Of course."

Deciding to forget the Phantom of the Opera and his horrible face and terrifying mannerisms for just a moment, Christine closed her eyes and held tighter to Raoul. She was safe now. Safe, and away from him. She was loved by a rich, handsome man, her own fairytale prince.

But she wasn't happy.

Ta-ta,

-Serena Kenobi aka OG In Training