In those sweet idle weeks I almost believed it was over that she was truly mine. She seemed released, as if she was suddenly free. It was so peaceful and then he had to come back. She was so excited the night of the ball, hiding our engagement like a child. I was exasperated by her continued fear, her unwillingness to believe I could protect her from the monster in the dark. I wanted her to trust in me, to believe that I could be her knight in shining armor. I didn't understand, I am not sure I do even now.

Those weeks passed in quiet did not prepare me for returning her to the opera. I didn't want to relinquish her. I was terrified and when she walked out of my arms as if I was not there, to stand before him. Her eyes wide, ecstatic, and wild I knew it would be too easy to lose her to him. I was so certain he'd given us the perfect chance to ensnare him in his own trap.

I was a fool, so full of righteous certainty, I did not pause to think what we were doing to her. I was so sure she shared my revolution, certain she wanted to be freed. I didn't see that at least part of her longed for this enslavement to her Angelic master. That she craved his voice, it was vital to her.

Now I see so clearly, I see it in her eyes, eyes that brim with passion once more, and it was not me that put that look on her face. Not her future husband, no it was that deceiving devil. He seduced her from my side once more, right beneath my nose he took her.

The dressing room was empty, the echo of song long gone. It was cold, and stark even in its opulence. A rose set in a tiny vase on the dressing table, a rose like the one I had given her, but clearly not the same flower for this was of an even deeper red. In that moment I missed her, even knowing she would be returned, did not ease my fear. I could not help but wonder exactly who it was that would return. Would she be my little Lotte, or would she be someone I did not know?

I waited like a fool as the stage lights went down, the curtain was about to rise on the phantom's Don Juan. I was certain everything was in position, he would not escape our grasp this night, even if Christine did nothing more than simply sing he would come, as drawn by her as she was by him. I loathed it. I dreaded it, knowing that all one would have to do is look at her to know that her heart, her soul belonged to him, when they should have been mine.

She was his even when my ring dangling from her neck. His when I claimed her lips on the roof of the opera, it never occurred to me that what had driven her into my arms had not be desire and passion for me, but fear and uncertainty brought on by him. Hindsight offered a dangerously clear view of her actions, devoid of the a suitor's blinding passion I saw what I had done. She used me, used our history to comfort herself when she was too afraid to own the love she had for her Angel.

I wondered at the end of the night who would hold her heart. The seduction scene was about to start, Christine entered stage left singing sweetly. I watched curiously as a man clearly not Piangi entered stage right. His voice was the most extraordinary thing I had ever heard and I knew this was Christine's Angel and I knew I was lost. He was there, so close to her, if she knew it she gave no indication of fear, her eyes had glazed her face gone ecstatic. He drew her closer, his hands curling around hers, sweeping her into a passionate embrace. I was on my feet moving before I could even think what I meant to do.

Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction

Disclaimer:
Raoul, Christine and Erik belong firstly to Gaston Leroux and recently to Andrew Lloyd Webber