Forget Me Not

Authors Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera….wow, my most boring authors note yet.

It had been five years. Five years since the tragedy of the opera house, five years since the wedding between Raoul and Christine Chagny. And in every day of those five years, there was not one that passed when Christine did not think of Erik. She tried to kill her memories of him with those of Raoul, but nothing would work. At first it was only the small things. At a masquerade ball, when a man in a white mask walked by, Christine's heart got heavy. She found herself humming a tune from Don Juan Triumphant and her eyes filled with tears. But five years was a long time to harbor secret struggles, and now everything she saw reminded her in some way of him. It was getting to be unbearable.

Raoul touched Christine's shiny brown curls and smiled sadly at her.
"I'm so sorry I have to go, Christine. But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I know you understand," he said, adoration in his eyes. "Three years isn't really that long, and we'll see each other before then, I promise."
"I suppose…" Christine said sadly. She tried to remind herself that this was all for the best. If Raoul went on this trip, it would mean a lot more money coming in, not like they needed it. But, if Raoul made more money, then perhaps they could finally begin a family together. She watched him depart, waving to him. She sighed bitterly as she entered their house.

Being married wasn't what she had expected. She ran a hand up the wall as she made her way up the stairs. She stopped half way, her hand on her wedding portrait. She smiled. Raoul had looked so handsome, and Christine had felt beautiful. That was only five years ago, yet it felt like an eternity. Everyone she loved had been there.

Including him.

She just saw his eyes in a crack in the wall. They were sad, one surrounded by a mask, both lined with tears. She had excused herself from the dinner table. She had smiled, thanked him for letting her go, and had gone off to dance. Christine sighed. Back then she hadn't realized how hard it would be to say goodbye to him.

She wandered into the master bedroom. Absent mindedly, she reached into the wardrobe and pulled out her wedding dress. She slipped it on. Looking at herself in the mirror, she turned around and watched her train spin like a white flame.
"Now presenting, the Victome de Chagny and his bride." She whispered. The last time she had heard those words, tremendous applause had followed. Even La Carlotta, who was invited in (Christine was ashamed to say) pure spite, had to fake a smile and a laugh as Raoul and Christine glided and waltzed across the ball room floor. But, Christine swore, there was also a voice. A lone, male voice. Everyone had looked around, no one sure who it belonged to. But she had known: "Christine, Christine…" The voice could sing no longer, the owner was overcome by sobs. Everyone, even Christine, soon forgot this and went back to eating, dancing, and wishing the couple well.

Christine collapsed on her bed. She grabbed a pillow and held it to her mouth, trying to stop herself from screaming. But nothing could make her feel better at this point. For the first time, she cried for Erik. Not because she was sad for him, but for a more selfish reason: because she never got to really say goodbye. She couldn't say she loved him. Not because she was married, but because she really didn't know. She held the pillow, squeezing it, trying to make herself feel better. She finally cried herself to sleep.

She woke several hours later, still clutching a pillow to her chest. It had been early in the morning when Raoul left, and was now mid day. She stared at the pouring rain through the window. It was going to be a long three years. After the wedding, Raoul had become such a man of his business. Christine couldn't remember the last night of romance they had shared. She stared at the ceiling, white like the colour of her now tear stained dress. It wasn't the type of fairy tale wedding Christine had hoped for. She had thought she'd be a mother by now, but she and Raoul hadn't even discussed the idea yet.

And yet, her thoughts couldn't drift long before they returned to Erik. Even after she escaped his labyrinth, the phantom of the opera house still owned her mind.

She had to see him. She had to say goodbye. Five years was just too long.

"To the Paris Opera House." She told the coachman. He gave her a look.
"Madame Chagny, surely you of all people remember the tragedy of five years ago?"
"To the ruins, monsieur." Christine said sharply. The coachman sneered at her and cracked his whip. Christine buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The coachman gave an uncomfortable cough as the cart began to move.
"Something troubling you, Madame?" he asked. Christine was surprised he gave a damn after her inexcusable rudeness.
"No, monsieur. I'm just fine, thank you."

The opera house loomed silent and forbidding over the dark streets. Christine walked in, her breath leaving her in a gasp. She knew that it had burned down, but was too busy escaping with Raoul to truly see the damage. It was so bad, Christine was surprised they hadn't rebuilt long ago. But the ruins stayed destroyed and abandoned on a street that was now deserted. The grand staircase, once so majestic, was now nothing but rubble. Christine climbed up it the best she could and began to make her way to her former dressing room.

It wasn't like she remembered it. The room once filled with candles was blackened and burnt. But, to her luck, the mirror was miraculously still there! She ran her hands over it, trying to figure out how Erik had pulled her through with such ease. Her eyes widened as she pulled back the camouflaged door. She walked through it carefully. The hall way seemed less impressive now. Once exciting and mysterious, it now felt dark and gloomy. She shrieked as a rat ran past her foot. She finally got to the stairs.

She froze. Before she could even begin to descend them, Erik's hands were around her neck. She smiled.

"It's been too long!" she cried in joy as she turned around to face him. But she was soon puzzled. Erik didn't look to happy to see her. He frowned and put his noose around her neck. She couldn't say a word, she was too shocked.
"Who are you, Madame," Erik said, tightening his rope. "To come to my home uninvited and unannounced?" He wore his mask, though Christine noted a long crack under the eye, showing a sliver of his deformed face.
"Stop, it's me," Christine cried, finally getting out words. She choked as the rope cut into her neck. " Christine Daae, er, Chagny!" Erik tightened his rope.
"I know not who you speak of," he said, fingering her curls and neck. "And it hurts me so to destroy something of such beauty." Christine flushed.
"Erik…"
Erik slowly lifted the rope from her neck. Christine fell to the ground, gasping and choking for breath, her neck bleeding.
"How do you know my name?" he asked her. He pulled her up roughly. She raised her hand to the level of her eye, preventing him from bringing down his noose once more.
"How do you know my name?" he asked again, screaming at her now, wide eyed. He shook her roughly.
"Why do you not remember me?" Christine asked. Erik dropped his ropes and glared at her. Who was this woman, and why did she claim to know him? Although her face, he had to admit, did look familiar, he had no recollection of her whatsoever.
"You're my angel of music, my tutor, my friend! Why do you act as if you do not know me when deep in your heart you know you do!" she cried out in frustration. Erik stared coldly at her.
"Madame," he said, letting go of her. "I know not why you insist on lying to me and bothering me. But it will do you good if you forget me and never return to this place."
And with that, he got onto his raft and sailed to his lair, leaving Christine only to watch.