Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the plot of "Phantom of the Opera". I will be editing this story for grammar and such, so expect a repost of old chapters.

Fallen Angels Chap. 1

It was the Christmas season of 1875 and Christine was delighted to have returned to Paris. Shortly after they had fled the underground labyrinth of the Opera house, Christine and Raoul had been married. They had taken a few years hiatus in France's countryside. Raoul had believed Christine needed time away from the decadent setting of Paris and had absolutely forbid her from any singing performances. They had narrowly avoided the bloodshed that followed in the Paris Commune, the violence of which had taken the lives of Raoul's parents. Now they returned, due to their death, and Raoul's inheritance of both position and fortune. Both of them desperately hoped that old ghosts would remain at peace. Not that Christine would ever set foot on stage again, Raoul had claimed that it would not only be unseemly for a lady who was now a viscountess, but also was likely to be emotionally trying for her.

"Raoul is always so good to me, helping with decisions, guiding me in life." She wandered along the streets; her chestnut curls done up in the proper fashion for a noble lady, her dress one of the latest from a Royal London designer. She couldn't help but worry about Raoul. Ever since his parents died, he had been a little off. Christine herself knew what it was like to grieve, but her heart told her that Raoul's behavior had become unhealthy; he was too consumed by whatever thoughts plagued him. These thoughts had caused him to become indifferent and withdrawn at times. She did not want to dwell on bleak thoughts; she wanted to be excited by her return. As she shopped for the upcoming holiday, she wandered in a dreamy daze into the theatre district. Here the elite spent their evening during the proper season for it. The area boasted the new Opera National de Paris, just built, along with many theatres and ballets. Christine couldn't help but inspect the magnificent building, as she approached the doors a poster caught her attention. The poster stated that the Opera's prima ballerina was the world renowned Margaret Giry. "Meg" she whispered, as she gazed at the perfect, painted image of a the blonde girl, a few years older than Christine remembered. A pang of guilt crossed Christine's mind, she hadn't even thought of the Giry's during her return.

She had lost track of the two over the las few years, she knew they had been working for various establishments and had been forced to flee during the Commune. Their letter writing had always been guesswork because of Raoul's need to travel between estates, they were lucky to have letters reach each other. A visit to old friends would be in order, if Raoul would give his approval. Since they'd been married, Raoul had been trying to train Christine into the role of a Viscountess, and who she associated with was of particular interest to him. This she understood with patience, knowing that she had duties that might preclude pleasures she yearned after. She still couldn't see what he would have against the Giry's, they were old friends, and the Madame had aided them in their time of need and been like a mother to Christine.

After a short inspection of the impressive architecture of the new Opera house, Christine began her trek though the snowy streets of Paris, towards the manor her and Raoul now called home. No matter how many fine horses and carriages they owned, Christine still preferred her long dreamy walks. It was when her mind could wander and she could dream as she had when she was a young girl. Her childhood, even after her father's death, was filled with her own world, a world that has once included the Angel of Music. This was a world of daydream and pretend. Raoul did not care for her sometimes childish behavior, but never said much. The snow swirled around her; she loved the snow that fell in weather that was not too cold, more like fairy dust then frozen water. Lost in her dream world, Christine found herself humming a song from what seemed like another lifetime. The song surprised her and conjured before her the image of a man in a mask, an image she had so long tried to banish to the past. She stopped in her tracks, gazing as if he were before her now. The image changed to one of a broken man, lacking his mask, crying for the loss of his only love. She almost reached out to the pitiful hallucination. Shaking her head brought her quickly back to the moment. "Maybe it is even now too early to be back in this place. " She tried to quickly put this all from her mind as she saw that she was nearly home. She put on a face of calm and content, to not worry Raoul in this happy season.

As she approached the manor's gates, the sensation of no longer being alone washed over her. Not even bothering to look, she told herself no one was there; she had just spent to much time reminiscing. She walked through the gates and up to the front door without ever looking behind her. As she entered she pressed the fine presents she had purchased for Raoul against her chest. These small parcels contained the gifts Christine had agonized over picking out for a month. One was what had to be considered the finest pocket watch in all of Paris, engraved with Raoul's name and set with an impressive collection of gems; the other was a ring that exactly replicated a long lost family heirloom. Upon her entrance, Christine believed her husband to be in his study, going over whatever business needed his attention. This was his usual habit for the time of day. Smiling to herself at her success, she crept up the winding oak staircase to the second floor, towards the bedroom to hide Raoul's presents. Rounding the top of the stairs, she heard a faint giggle coming out of the master bedroom. As she drew nearer to the door the giggle became the distinct, obnoxiously squeaky giggle of their maid, Lizette. "Monsieur, you are an animal!" She exclaimed breathlessly as Christine cautiously approached the door. She listened at the door but could not bring herself to peer through the slight crack, a sense of betrayal and horror filling her mind. "Are you not worried that Madame may return soon?"

Raoul's voice responded to the maid's question. "You know how Madame is; she is in the habit of wandering for a long period of time. She will not return soon. We have all the time in the world." Raoul then laughed in delight at something Christine could not hear, she knew only that he sounded more joyous than he had with her lately, more like the old Raoul. It stung her to here him refer to her as the "Madame", like she had been an unwanted marriage via contract. His voice rang out from the bedroom once again. "Come here my little Lizzy, there are many needs I have for you."

The simpering, idiot girl giggled again. "Oh Raoul, you are so good to me. " It was strange to Christine how in this moment of pain she could focus on the small details of the house she had begun to call home. She took in the fine blue of the upstairs hallway, the delicate glass lamps that were molded into the walls, the dark stained doors of the many bedrooms that she had hoped one day would be filled with children, friends and family. "That day that may never come now." She chocked back the tears and sobs that would give away the fact that she eavesdropped on the couple. "How can he do this to me? How can he betray me? Haven't I been a wonderful, loving, obedient wife? Haven't I given him everything, done everything for him he asked, and more?" Gathering her courage, she brought herself to look through the tiny crack. Peering in, she saw Raoul, completely nude, lovingly undressing Lizzy's generous form. He was gently undoing the girl's corset. Her long black hair was unwound and cascaded to her waist; her bright brown eyes were alight with desire for the Viscount. Completely disgraced, Christine turned to walk away, feeling unloved and moreover unwanted. She would return when the illicit lovers were finished. As she reached the top of the stairs she glanced down to the packages in her arms. The packages had once been so important, now they had been all but forgotten. A rage burst forth in Christine, as she thought about the month she had spent attempting to find the right presents for her much beloved husband, and how he had chosen to repay her. "He will not get away with this betrayal. " Turning sharply back in the opposite direction, she charged the bedroom door, kicking it wide open to reveal Raoul and Lizzy. She hurled the two packages across the room and into the wall, most assuredly breaking the pocket watch. Lizzy let out a terrible scream as though death itself had entered t he door, Raoul stared dumbly, and Christine calmly made her way to the two of them, her eyes burning like an demon who had just been insulted. The girl quickly scraped up her clothes in a lame attempt to cover herself before her Madame, Raoul continued to stare. "Get out of here, you shameless little harlot." Christine spoke though gritted teeth. Lizzy hurried to obey, dashing out still mostly naked. "How long?" She asked of her husband in a voice that belied nothing of her inner turmoil.

"For awhile now." He responded as if to the question of some trifling matter, such as how long an opera had been running at the theatre. "How could you Raoul? Haven't I been everything you ever wanted? How could you betray our love?"

"Christine you must not allow this to bother you so much, it is not a betrayal." He approached her, putting his hands on her shoulders. He had not even the shame enough to attempt to cover his nudity. "I love you no less, but you must understand, sometimes a man has a need that his wife cannot fulfill. Please understand this Christine."

"No." She backed away from him, the tears beginning to fill her eyes, her barriers breaking down. "It has all been nothing but a lie." She turned to flee him then, to flee the house, the affair, the hurt, the confusion, everything. Raoul stopped by quickly grabbing her arm hard enough to cause her to wince. He pulled her back towards him and spun her around at the same time so that she faced him. He grabbed her other arm, and dug his fingers into both of them hard enough to cause her to wince. She faced him and saw that his face was contorted with fury, it was the first time that Christine had known a fear of him. Now she found herself face to face with the ghost of a scene from long ago, and she was more afraid than she had been when the Phantom was unleashing his fury at her. Raoul scared her more than the Opera ghost ever could of, because of the hate that seemed to cover him, replacing him with a man she did not know. "Christine, you are my wife, mine. You will do as I say and understand my needs as a man."

"Raoul, you're hurting me." She managed to gasp out through the tears that were now rapidly falling. "Please let go." She looked up into his eyes, silently pleading with him. Raoul hesitantly released his grip on her. "There's a good girl. Now go downstairs and I shall be down in a moment." He spoke to her in the irritating tone one would take with a child. it made her blood boil. "You bastard." Christine shook her head in a vague manner, not really a yes or no, and silently left the room. Reaching the top of the stairs, she yelled behind her, "And I shall not be returning", loud enough for the servants to hear. She quickly ran down the stairs and back out into the Parisian winter.

She drew her cloak around her, and pulled the hood up, to protect herself from still falling snow and the breeze that continually grew colder. She darted through the roads, traversing her path back to the heart of the city. She needed desperately to confide in someone, to share this pain that threatened to shatter her. She instinctually began to look for Madame Giry, she had been the closest thing Christine had ever had to mother, and Meg had been her only sibling. She set her course to the Opera house where Meg worked, her only hope of finding them in the vast metropolis. She walked not seeing where it was she went; dead to the world, bumping in to passerbys and mumbling excuses. She at last reached the great temple to song and strode through the doors, which were not at all locked. She drew in a deep breath as a wave of nostalgia passed over her, and an opera house of old superimposed itself on the one she currently stood in. She almost see Carllota strutting about the lobby, waiting for her carriage to pull up to the door, or the managers standing at the top of the stairs, reading the ghost's letters, or her and Meg as children dancing through the lobby and playing games with the cleaning ladies. She forgot all else as she breathed in the air of the place, it felt like a true homecoming. She was calmed for the moment as she boldly began exploring the seemingly deserted opera house. She walked into the theatre portion of the building using the regular guests' entrance. She made her way to one of the luxury boxes where she stood staring at the stage, her heart fluttering inside of her. She almost hated to admit she had missed the stage. She had been performing since she was very young, and to not be doing so now seemed foreign to her. Finally, someone came out of the shadows and approached her as she stood there dreaming and reminiscing. "Madame, is there something I can do for you?" His words brought her out of her reverie and back to the cruel reality at hand. She stared at the squat man in a suit, wondering where exactly he had come from. "Yes, I am looking for Madame Margolise Giry. Do you know where she and her daughter reside?"

He looked at her for a moment, as though trying to remember where it was that he had seen her. Giving up on her identity he answered question. "No, Madame, I'm not sure where their house is. I know that they reside in a house within the city. They are both employed here, so you are welcome to come back looking for them. The managers might be able to tell you where they live, but none of the higher ups are here today." Christine's hope of finding someone who could give her solace and help her cope was shattered. She gave the man a dismal look as she tried desperately to plot what she should do next. "Is something wrong Madame? Could I help you in any other way?" "Not unless you can turn back time."

"No, thank you for the information though." With that she headed back into the streets. For hours Christine wound her way through the streets clogged with mud and the snow that still fell continuously on the city. She made her way in and out of districts, up and down boulevards, and over bridges. She walked over the area within a mile of the theatre and began moving outward, no longer really looking for the Girys, but instead simply trying to escape what had transpired. Cold and alone, not willing to return to Raoul, she continued to wander and cry softly. The streets became an incoherent maze, she no longer knew nor cared where it was she walked. Her mind haunted her with images and thoughts as she journeyed through the city. After hours of her endless walking, just as darkness began to fall, she found herself somehow at the cemetery where her father's tomb was. Numbly, she pushed aside the wrought iron gates and entered. She searched for the long neglected tomb, perhaps the only place where she could feel comforted. On the far side of the great layout of tombs and graves, she finally reached her goal. There she reached the elegant marble tomb bearing the name Daae. She slowly began to ascend the steps to reach the entrance to the tomb, only to collapse halfway up. Exhausted, Christine pulled herself into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around herself. She was cold, tired, lonely, and more miserable than she had ever been, she soon began weeping. Once again, she was nothing more than a lost wandering child. Her sobs deepened. "Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll just die here and now, end this lifetime of pain." So, deep was Christine's misery that she could not hear the footsteps that had quietly followed at a distance through the snow covered graves. She did not hear as the same steps approached her now, with her head down and tears running down her cheeks. She had turned her back to the side of the monument, facing the center of the steps; her watcher silently ascended the stairs towards her. She heard not as he placed his firm hands on her shoulders, the scent of his cologne filling the air around her, in an attempt to comfort her, instead she fainted out of fright and sheer exhaustion.

A light peeked through the window in the bedroom where Christine lay, rousing her back to life. She was warm and comfortable, and at first she hoped the terrible memories were nothing more than a nightmare. As she opened her eyes, the unfamiliarity of the room in which she lay quickly betrayed the opposite case. She glanced down at herself beneath the quilt which covered her and blushed; she wore only her undergarments, minus the tight corset. Her gazed drifted over the room. It was small, with a dresser, a vanity, and a closet, plus the bed in which she slept, all of a very fine make. It seemed to lack any sort of personal touches, leading her to believe she was in someone's guest bedroom. A smell of breakfast cooking began to waft up through house, making her both hungry, and a little more curious of her host. Pushing the covers back, she rose from the bed. It was then her attention was turned to the small bedside table she had somehow missed in her earlier surveillance of the room. Christine drew in a sharp breath, not willing to believe what it was that rested on the table before her eyes. Her finger reached out gently to a vase to caress the red rose that was there within, a red rose with a ribbon of black satin tied into a bow on the stem. A fine piece of stationary lay folded next to the small vase. Her heart nearly stopped as she gingerly picked up the note, the scent of a man's cologne clung to it, a scent Christine remembered from the night before, and not surprisingly, from years before that. "So nice a scent, I never really took notice of it, but I remember it now." She quickly unfolded the note and read: "Your guardian Angel still resides in Paris." Just one simple sentence and Christine felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. "He's still taking care of me. Just like when I was a child." She couldn't believe that a man she had so terribly betrayed would come to her rescue yet again. She burned with embarassment thinking of the sight she must have been when he had found her. "How long had he been watching me? God, am I with him now?" Inside she felt a strange mingling of fear and excitement at her thought. No matter where she was, it was time to greet her host. She located her dress hanging from one of the bedposts and quickly put it on, not bothering to put the corset back on. Then quietly padded downstairs.

A happy surprise awaited Christine downstairs, Meg Giry was crossing through the livingroom towards the kitchen. She spotted Christine on the stairs and ran to throw her arms around her. "You're finally awake." Meg's face revealed her delight at seeing her friend for the first time in years. "We've much to talk about, but you must eat first, breakfast has just been served." Meg was beaming at her, unaware of her friend's inner turmoil. Christine had no answer to her exuberance, instead she just allowed herself to be led to the brightly lit dining room of the handsome and rather well furnished home. Madame Giry was already seated and the maid had begun serving the meal. Meg had Christine seated across from her and the conversation began in earnest. Christine lost herself in Meg's story of how her and her mother became employed at the new Opera house and howt hey had risen to the lofty height of such a house, a couple of servants, and nice carriage. As she listened, she forgot most of yesterday and absobed herself in Meg's happiness. Both her and her mother worked at the opera still, Meg the star of its ballet, her mother a teacher of its younger students and an assistant director. They both earned fairly good salaries. Meg even had a young beau, one Henri Frances, opera tenor and hopeless romantic. The mention of happy romance made Christine's heart ache. Meg turned to her then, "And what of you Christine, what have your days been like."

The tears of yesterday found their way back to her eyes, as her fork clattered to her plate. "Until yesterday I lived in a perfect world." She made her best effort to talk without sobbing as both Girys left their seats to be near her, Meg reaching out to clasp her hand. "Raoul and I have just returned to Paris, and I have come to find he has been unfaithful. I saw it with my own eyes." Her tears flowed silently as she took a moment to choke back the loud sobs that threatened her again. "He was absolutely terrible about it, so mean. Not at all like the Raoul I know, like he's become a different person entirely." Meg clasped her hand even tighter as Madame Giry stroked her hair. "I had no idea, Christine. We thought you had simply passed out while visting your father's grave." They both styed close to her, waiting for tears to let up. "I don't know what I shall do now. How am I supposed to face something like this?" She turned to the Madame now, who had been the only like a mother she had ever known.

She responded, knowing the query had been put to her. "My dear you have three choices: You may forget all of this and return to Raoul and live out your life as if nothing had ever happened, you may ask Raoul to be penitent and you will forgive him because you love him, or you can walk away from the entire situation, decide that not even your love can help you forgive him and eventually a divorce will follow. The choice only you can make though." She absorbed this slowly, trying to see through her pain to the right choice. "What if I want to love him and forgive him, but I don't think he's going the be apologetic? He said he didn't believe he was wrong." She wanted to forgive him, she wanted their old life back. "Give him time, and an oppurtunity, if you are willing to wait. Sometimes it takes time to believe youself to be wrong. Until then, you are more then welcome to stay with us. Now you must have a warm bath and clean clothes, Meg will lend you one of her dresses." Christine found that by this time her tears had dried up, at least for the moment being. She was escorted upstairs by Madame Giry and into Meg's room to pick out a dress as the maid drew her a bath. As they stood at the wardrobe, sifting through Meg's vast collection of winter dresses, Christine drew in her courage and put the question that had been in the back of her mind since she had woken to her. "How is it that I came to be here last night? I know the last place I was at was my father's grave. I know there was someone else there as well." At first there was no answer expcept a stony silence and then a very hesistant. "He brought you here." Christine of course needed no explination of who, he, was. She had known all along, only seeking this answer for an ultimate conformation. The Madame continued, "He told me could not leave you where it was that he had found you. He also said he had no wish to speak to you, if you are grateful, I may convey it to him the next time we encounter one another. He left you a small token to let you know it was him." Oddly, she was hurt bit hurt by him not even waiting to see if she was okay. "I found the rose and note, but I wanted to know for sure. Do you see him often?" The Madame's eyes widened, "Once in awhile, he may stop in, or I may see him in passing, but we do not keep regular contact." Christine let out a nervous sort a laugh. "It's funny, I suppose I should be afraid of him, but I no longer am. Convey my thanks if you should see him again." She was then off to the bath, being told it would grow cold. Madame Giry almost laughd to herself, Christine was still wound in a love triangle she wasn't even consciously aware of. "The solution should play out better than any opera's climax, if the bastard who calls himself a Viscount hasn't destroyed her." She fumed against Raoul, hurting the girl who had been her second daughter, she wished Christine would have chose different than to give him a second chance. She headed bakc downstairs to Meg and a day full of pondering the situation of a girl who was losing everything all over again.