144Original Author's Note - 8/7/2015: Welcome to my latest piece of fanfiction! I would like to start off by saying that I own neither the story of the Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the song lyrics/titles that I am utilizing for this piece. I hope everyone will enjoy this, and I'd like to once again express my appreciation for those that read and review. I encourage everyone to be honest in their commentary, because every little bit of criticism helps, believe me! Finally, the title for this chapter is based on lyrics from the song "Drowning Lessons" by My Chemical Romance. That said, I'll let y'all be on your way with this. Enjoy!
Updated Author's Note - 8/6/2021: Hello, all! After many years of reflection and going back and forth about this undertaking, I've finally decided to fully revise "Eternity" to correct mistakes, update passages (especially early ones) for improvement, and to remove some components that I mistakenly incorporated initially but later learned were offensive, for which I truly apologize. That said, I'm looking forward to sharing this story once again, this time much more polished, and I hope everyone that read it before will enjoy the changes, and that anyone that's stopping by for the first time will find this to be a good read as well. As before, the usual disclaimer: I still do not own the storylines/characters in The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the song lyrics/titles used for chapters. Finally, the title for this chapter comes from the song "Never Too Late" by Three Days Grace. Please review and let me know what you think, and most importantly, enjoy!
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Chapter 1 - The Time We've Lost
Christine
Tonight's storm had been utterly chaotic ever since it had passed the distant countryside horizon to settle directly overhead, but within the span of the last hour or so, the snowfall had eased into a gentle casting of glittering white flakes, and nothing more threatening.
The atmosphere was peaceful, in many respects, so serene that in any other setting, I might have actually felt calm and contented merely by sitting alongside my towering bedroom window and watching it unfold. God only knows that I had done so countless times before, somewhere in a past that now seemed entirely removed from and foreign to my existence as it had become. And as such, to watch the snow drifting silently down onto the vast grounds of Raoul's familial estate below my too-generous accommodations left me with an unease that I couldn't bring myself to dismiss any longer. I was thoroughly exhausted from so many attempts. Such a feeling was not uncommon recently - everything, life as I knew it, as I had formerly expected it to be, had since been rendered unquestionably wrong. The world around me didn't reflect the turmoil in the deepest parts of me; rather, it mocked it as intensely as my thoughts had bitten at my heart during these long weeks. Buried in my mind was the notion that I didn't deserve this placidity, and, more significantly, that I just didn't want anything to do with it or this place and everything it represented, either. That notion constantly fought to have an audience with conscious consideration, and that night, it finally prevailed once and for all.
When Erik had given me that last rose, it had been snowing as well. The sudden flash of memory, his shadowy and imposing form collapsing as his heart was torn into pieces, came back to me unbidden, yet I did nothing to cast it off or hide from it. Not this time. Keeping images of that man at bay for any length of time had proven impossible, and I simply didn't have the strength left to try anymore, nor did I want to. There was no denying that I missed him terribly, that I was still irrevocably drawn to him in spite of everything that unfolded between us; that much, I could admit to myself, and had I known then that offering that rose would be his last sincere token of affection toward me - not something borne of desperation and given in a moment of anguish and resentment - I would never have discarded it as carelessly I had. If only I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have kissed Raoul in front of him, wouldn't have declared a love that I simply didn't comprehend, and I wouldn't have let that small flower out of my shaking hands as I fled the rooftop of the theatre. Erik had destroyed it in his grief, I'd come to learn later; all I have left of it are the petals I'd found broken in the snow, an ode manifesting our shared betrayal and remorse forever contrasting with the white ground in my mind's eye, as if they were the very drops of blood from the heart that I had ripped from his chest.
That night was similar to tonight in appearance only, the sharp regret that I experienced in these moments of quiet solitude a cruel reminder of what I once had thought to be bliss.
I've since realized it wasn't necessarily that, not entirely. It was a fleeting thing instead, masking what I had felt all along but was too young, too fearful to acknowledge, allowing myself to remain a child too naïve to be accountable for my decisions, or to speak for myself sooner when doing so was imperative. That had been the path of least resistance, or so I had believed, but taking it had been a resounding mistake. And with that understanding, it abruptly struck me just how much had happened to me - to each of us - in a relatively short amount of time. We had gone so long leading our lives separately, but hearing Erik's gentle voice that first lonely evening, recognizing Raoul after so many years apart - it had all occurred in a rush for which I was wholly unprepared. My actions had tortured the men I cared for in the wake of our lives' convergences. But then, were they so fair to me in return? I thought briefly, before quickly responding to myself that no, no they were not. Not by half. No one was without blame, and I sighed, wishing for an instant that none of us had ever crossed paths at all. How I wished that none of us had fallen in love. It was far simpler to daydream about idyllic romances with Meg and the other girls in the corps de ballet than to actually live through my heart's awakening.
It had been several weeks since the disaster at the Opera Populaire - several weeks since the night of the ill-fated Don Juan Triumphant premier when, driven by a misplaced sense of revenge and justice and terror, I had set into motion the final act of an affair that had left us all ruined, shattered in our own ways. During these weeks, I supposed that I should have spent my time moving on from those horrors, persevering against them with my fiancée at the forefront of my priorities all the while, and only him, forgetting in turn the voice that still haunted my dreams and that last look of mingled love and heartbreak in its owner's shining amber eyes; I should have been planning my elaborate wedding with great joy and innocent anticipation. Yet, I continued to see Erik in the darkness of each night, continued to feel my hand in his, the hesitance of his lips against my own that had unwittingly ignited something essential - something primal - deeply within me, and all thoughts of Raoul de Chagny and the life we were planning to build together would immediately seem to me as more of a burden than a blessing.
Guilt always instantly, even forcefully followed the thought of our relationship as a burden, but in the end, I could not deny my feelings any longer, as conflicting as they were. The very idea of Erik was stronger than that guilt, left me lost in awe, in fear and longing - too many unanswered questions, too many ignored pleas for hope surrounded him in my mind, and in turn, I wanted nothing more than to just say what must be said and accept whatever he would level at me in return. I needed it - if I was perfectly honest with myself, I needed him, and that truth left me wary, to be sure, yet oddly resolved. This wasn't the first time that thought had come to me as if from nowhere; my heart often whispered what I should do, what I wanted to do. Tonight, however, it was screaming, begging me to finally see the light. I could not marry Raoul - the certainty was startling, but I knew that now more than ever - and I had to see Erik, even if doing so turned out to be the conclusion of our short-lived romantic tale. If I found myself an old maid with only my memories of his eyes boring into my soul, loving me without restraint and devastated that I could not yet return that love, then I was determined to take that fate if it meant having the chance to see him one last time.
Compelled by emotions that I did not yet entirely comprehend, by a need for redemption and understanding, I knew that if I did not do this, then I would come to regret it. Truly, it wasn't fair to any of us to lead the life of a liar, even if the lies were only to one's own heart. But it also went further than that; if I chose to stay with Raoul, my disservice would be not only to myself, but to him, my oldest and dearest friend - it would be a disservice to Erik to continue to deny a love that has always been in the wings. In these weeks of reflection, all of this I could say without a doubt. My near-constant wrenching and tumultuous thoughts had steadily unwound themselves into clarity; that night, I knew what I had to do.
~~oOo~~
The past could not be changed, and there was no use in whiling my time away in hopelessness, grasping for something that simply would not and could not ever exist. I couldn't take back or alter what had happened, but I could move forward. For all our sakes, I had to be the one to take that first shaking step. In that spirit, the midnight hours inspired passion, but the rising sun encouraged pragmatism. Beyond the dawning of mounting realizations from the previous evening, I had my future to consider as well, and I had done so carefully.
There would be no music - not professionally, at any rate - with a marriage to Raoul, a marriage into nobility; it was a painful void in the wake of promise. Whatever dreams I had once entertained, however wistfully, about taking the stage and allowing my voice to reach heights as-yet unseen past my few recent successes, those dreams would never be met as a vicomtesse. The chance to fulfill my capabilities would be rendered nonexistent in Raoul's household. And more, I wasn't born for his class, for his life; rather, even the barest idea of servants and strict social protocols and a seemingly endless flow of parties and engagements edged with bowing and scraping filled me with dread and disgust. Where other women from humble backgrounds like mine might have delighted in the grandeur that loomed ahead of me, I felt utterly suffocated by it. I hadn't considered any of those realities when Raoul had proposed, when I shortsightedly accepted his request for my hand, but as time went on, the gravity of what I had agreed to was not lost upon me. I didn't want to sign my life away to his family, to spend my days in a gilded cage, but knowing that my decisions would no longer be under my control upon exchanging our wedding vows, a cage was what it would be nonetheless.
Steeling myself to what was sure to be an unfavorable response at best, I expressed my feelings and my concerns to Raoul as clearly as I was able when we were together again the following morning. He and I sat facing each other in one of the property's many gardens while we spoke, our rendezvous isolated from his home and the prying eyes of his disapproving family. No one but us had ventured out that far in the hours since the snowfall ceased, and the untouched landscape was bright all around us, glinting off of the hills rolling gracefully into the distance, the clusters of benches and fountains covered in white as if nestled under blankets for the remainder of the winter. Altogether, it was beautiful, if not a bit rigid in the artifice of manicured lawns and flowerbeds, yet it still gave me courage to be in that environment - courage that was sorely sought after. I needed all the strength I could find in order to break off our engagement, and to my immense relief, the cold air and startlingly blue sky seemed to say that everything would be right again once I was done - a new start was within my sight.
Raoul, unsurprisingly, seemed to be in shock after I had given my explanation. He had sensed my tension at the outset of our conversation, but had not commented on it, choosing instead to listen respectfully all the while, wisely abandoning his former habit of dismissing me with words of comfort that served little purpose at solving anything concrete. But while I was grateful that he had learned from his mistakes, I could plainly see that he was almost angry then, and certainly disappointed. Of course he was - he only knew Erik as the central figure in so many tragedies, one that wrought madness and death and destruction in pursuit of his objectives with no consideration for the consequences. Raoul knew The Phantom, whereas I knew The Angel long before the two entities were discovered to be one in the same; I knew Erik, insomuch as he would permit me to know him, a protector and a mentor and, somewhere beneath the bravado, simply a man. But Raoul had faced his murderous rage, and thus, his perspective differed dramatically from mine; I didn't mean to diminish his trauma, but it was difficult to convey to him that the danger was no longer present, and so, thinking quickly, I wound back to another vein of the discussion to make my stance final.
"The heart of the matter is that I can't marry you," I murmured in response to his abject disbelief, "I won't, and I don't say that to be cruel, but it wouldn't be fair to any of us."
"But still...you're seriously considering going back to him?"
"Only to speak to him."
"Then why not just do that? Seek him out, say your piece, and be done with it. I wouldn't stop you," he added in a rush, his tone placating, "I'd want to go along to ensure your safety, but if this is troubling you, I wouldn't hold it against you, or stop you from saying what you need. Then you could come home and we can finally lay this ordeal to rest."
I shook my head in dismay, "It's so much more than that, though. I love you, but not in the way you need me to, not in the way you deserve. I love you as I would love any dear friend, someone I've known and cherished as long as you. But I don't love you in the way that a wife should love a husband. You deserve that life, not a lie."
"But how can you be so sure? After all we've been through...Perhaps we only need to postpone the wedding. You especially have had a horrible shock, I fear that we've overwhelmed you. I just...Christine, are you sure you know what you're saying?" he asked gently.
"I am. I know I just told you that I've been feeling many conflicting emotions, but of this I am quite certain. Postponing the wedding would only be delaying the inevitable. We'd marry, yes, but we would grow to resent one another. Our love wouldn't be sincere."
"My love for you is sincere."
"Now it is, yes, I know that. I believe you. But with time, when I cannot prove to love you completely, your love will falter. You and I are only human, we can't live lies and expect to get through to the end unscathed. I will not do that to you."
He looked at me sadly when I had lapsed into silence once more, but I knew then, in the scope of that expression, that my words had finally settled in his mind - in his heart. Perhaps he had known that we were incompatible all along, or perhaps he was simply too much of a gentleman to try and influence my path when I had approached him with such conviction. Either way, in those moments, he accepted the fact that I was breaking ties with him for good - he accepted the fact that, even if my desire to speak to Erik ultimately yielded no meaningful results, Raoul and I would remain apart, that our union was no longer a possibility. I felt guilt once more at seeing this wound reflected in his eyes, but it had to be done. I meant everything that I'd said, and in telling him the truth and leaving no room for doubts, I was reminded that I was doing the right thing. He was a kind, honorable man, and he did deserve better than half a heart. If I could give him the chance to find that with time, then these instances of pain would be worthwhile. It hadn't been easy for me to part us romantically, not in the least, because I did hold genuine affection toward my friend, but in that sadness there was the comforting knowledge that he would be given a fair chance in life, something we should all be so fortunate to find.
"It hurts to see this end," he whispered solemnly.
"I know it does, darling...I know. I'm so sorry."
He shook his head, offering graciously, "You don't need to be sorry. I promise. Just know that I do love you. There's nothing I regret in having known you."
Tears welled in my eyes at his words; I knew that they came from a place of sincerity, rather than acting as a ploy to make me reconsider, and I was overcome by my appreciation for him all over again, "You'll never know how much that means to me," I sighed, "I hope you know that I feel the same."
"I suppose everything happens for a reason."
"I suppose so."
He nodded, then asked after a pause, "Are you sure you will be safe? Seeing him?"
"He would never hurt me. As fearful as I was before, I'm sure of that now."
"And if he rejects you?"
"Raoul, I'm not seeking to have him take me in. I only need to see him. I told you that."
"I'm just afraid. If he won't even speak to you, what will you do then?"
"I'll have to carry on, and content myself with the fact that I tried."
"I see," he sighed, "Well, please know this. You are always welcome here."
Taking his hands tightly in my own, I said firmly, "Thank you, Raoul. For everything."
~~oOo~~
Meg's eyes widened so comically when she opened the door to me, I might have laughed had my overlying circumstances not been so complicated. I knew that it was a shock for her to see me then, to have me appear in Paris without so much as sending a note to declare my plans for arrival beforehand. That had been an oversight in my haste to make a clean and prompt break from Raoul, but at any rate, Meg and I had hardly gotten to visit with one another since I had gone away to the de Chagny estate as it stood - since we had all fled from the fire at the opera house. Abruptly thrust from the home in the theatre that they had known for years, the Girys had reestablished themselves in a small, yet tidy flat several miles from the wreckage, as so many other displaced employees and cast members had done. As-yet, no one knew exactly what would become of the theatre, whether there were plans in place to reopen and start anew, so in the meantime, those that had lived and worked there were at a standstill, waiting with varying degrees of optimism - or lack thereof - for what came next.
Weeks ago, Meg had outlined as much to me during the one and only occasion that we had been in the same room since Don Juan Triumphant, when she and Madame Giry had made the journey to Raoul's home in the countryside to look in on me, to ensure that I was settling well with my fiancée. At that point, I hadn't been ready to admit to myself, let alone to others, that I wasn't settling well at all, that I was beginning to question my decision to marry Raoul, and so I had simply smiled politely, assured them that I was healing from my ordeal in the cellars beneath the opera house, and that I was looking forward to a bright and peaceful future as the new vicomtesse. They had taken their leave shortly after that strained discussion - our words and demeanors overshadowed by everything we had experienced, both together and apart - but otherwise, there had been no physical contact between myself and the mother and daughter that had taken me in and loved me as one of their own. Raoul's family, though outwardly cordial to their guests within their presence, had stated under no uncertain terms later that the Girys were beneath them - merely performers, they'd declared with barely-concealed upturned noses - and that I ought not make a habit of inviting them henceforth.
It was a crushing blow at the time; Raoul had been humiliated, had apologized profusely, but, too overwhelmed to address the issue the very instant that it presented itself, I had resolved instead to find a way around the absurd, snobbish judgment of the elder de Chagnys. The company that I kept was none of their business, as far as I was concerned, but it had taken me far too long to bring matters into my own hands and fight back, and that foolish inaction was abundantly clear to me this afternoon, just days after I had closed my affairs with Raoul and left his home, as I faced Meg at her doorstep with no real idea of just how to begin making sense of everything that had transpired between breaking off with Raoul and this moment.
Rather, I simply stood in flustered silence as Meg - glancing at the valise I'd set down beside me and the small satchel draped over my shoulder - seemed to gather her own thoughts, opening the door completely and saying in a rush, "Oh, I've missed you! Please, come in."
We embraced tightly as soon as I collected my bag and entered the flat, but our reunion was quickly interrupted by Madame Giry calling out from another part of the home, before revealing herself only seconds later, "Christine? My dear, we weren't expecting you this afternoon. Has something happened?"
"I've left Raoul," I blurted out nervously, "I've broken our engagement."
Obviously taken aback, they both looked closely at me then, each so stunned at my sudden and unexpected admission that neither of them seemed capable of continuing to speak for the time being. Instead, maintaining that wordless exchange all the while, Madame Giry promptly led me into their sitting room, and it was only when she had taken my coat and relieved me of my baggage that she demanded further explanation in the stern, yet doting manner that I had grown to love after all the years I'd spent living under her guidance. In short order, I told her and Meg in great detail what I had told Raoul - but the reaction I received was quite different.
"Well…" Madame Giry began, measuring her words before saying bluntly, "I think it's foolish. Do you have any idea what you're doing? All that you're giving up to see this man?"
"Madame, please, I do understand the...difficult nature of the situation, but I couldn't lie to myself or Raoul anymore. It's just as I said, it wouldn't be fair to anyone involved."
She hummed in acknowledgement to that, but steered the discussion elsewhere for the moment, "And where did you plan to go after leaving Monsieur de Chagny?"
"I'll be seeking lodgings at a boarding house nearby, I know of quite a few with room to spare. I just wanted to speak with you first, to - "
" - Nonsense," she waved her hand dismissively, "You'll stay here."
I gasped, and went on haltingly, "Oh, no, please, I didn't presume - I mean, I would never wish to impose - "
" - It is no imposition, it is simply practical," she said firmly, then, with a gentle smile, "Besides, I would much prefer having you near again."
"We both would," Meg added, taking my hand carefully in hers, "It hasn't been the same for us without you,"
"Thank you," I murmured with a bow of my head, knowing that it was useless to argue - their minds were made up, and I knew better by then than to question Madame Giry's motherly authority or Meg's sincere affection.
"Of course," Madame Giry returned, but then, whatever warmth I felt at her extension of kindness withered into apprehensive despair when she continued, "Now, as for your other plans, I have to put my foot down. You cannot see Erik."
"That is not up to you," I responded with far more bravery than I felt.
She raised an eyebrow in defiance, "Is that so?"
Squaring my shoulders, I nodded with forced confidence, "Yes, Madame, that is so. I need to see him. It's important, and I know that you know where to find him."
"And what makes you say that?"
"You've always helped him in the past, I cannot believe that you'd abandon him now. You care for him, for his welfare."
"Christine - "
" - I'll find him with or without your help, Antoinette," I interrupted, daring to address her by her given name, a rare occurrence for her by anyone, let alone the formerly timid young woman that she had raised for the better part of that young woman's life. But it was imperative that she understand the gravity of what I was saying, of what I was requesting, and so the loss of formality was necessary. And, to my relief, it had appeared to have made the impact that I had hoped for; so, bolstered by this, I pressed on, "I'm going to find him, but without you, it'll take much longer, and I sense that time is not on my side. Is that correct?"
She sighed, "Yes. He means to leave France as soon as possible."
"So he is still in France? In Paris?"
"It doesn't matter where he is right now. This is a mistake."
"Why? Please, just tell me that much. Don't I deserve closure, at the very least?"
"What exactly makes you so desperate for it?"
I shook my head hopelessly, "I…I have to know that he's not evil."
"And what concern is that of yours, Christine?"
"Because, in all this time, I have realized just how much I care for him. I've realized that I love him, and that have for a very long time," I said softly - and in the wake of my words, Meg gasped, clearly not expecting me to lay my emotions bare so plainly, but I could not allow myself to be distracted by paying her any mind just then, so I just continued, "I have to know who it is that I fell in love with, to give it a chance."
"This is...impractical," Madame Giry said, "What would be practical would be to return to the vicomte, to agree to a secure marriage - "
" - A loveless marriage," I interjected pointedly, "A union that would be cruel to both of us. But that's irrelevant. Raoul and Erik have nothing to do with each other, I swear it, but I have to speak with Erik. I need to tell him where my heart lies."
There was a beat of silence, of keen consideration wherein I was sure I would be rebuffed once more - but then, "You won't be swayed on this?"
"No, I most certainly will not."
Madame Giry sighed again, looking defeated in the face of my stubbornness, but then offered me a knowing glance. Once I had said the words aloud, she seemed to understand my position immediately, as if she had known far longer than I had of all the feelings that I had just admitted to harboring. Perhaps, in her wisdom and experience, that was indeed the case. As such, at long last she agreed, albeit grudgingly, to take me out to the place to which Erik had fled, and had remained hidden in isolation ever since. We could not set out to it until long after nightfall - Madame Giry and Erik had decided, she'd noted by way of consolation, that she would only make the sporadic treks under the full cover of darkness to protect his whereabouts, and to conceal her link to the would-be ghost that was now a fugitive - and the wait for the time of our departure was nearly unbearable. The journey there, when it finally fell upon us, was fraught with as much anxiety, if not more so; but as the hours of the evening ticked away, I'd forced myself to remain calm solely with the notion that, soon enough, I would see the haunted man that had so thoroughly captured my mind and my soul.
Side-by-side in the small carriage that we had borrowed from a ferrier nearby, Madame Giry told me all that had happened to Erik in the time that had fallen away since our separation - she described to me the extent of her role in his life at present, limited though it was required to be, and what his next steps were anticipated to be now that his time at the opera house had come to a close. Then, hesitantly, she revealed to me that he was in a bad way, trying to numb himself with his work and his plans, yet sliding further and further into a black depression that she feared would end in his demise. My heart ached for him as I took in her words; his tragic life had taken on that much more darkness, and I knew that, while I wasn't entirely to blame, my involvement in it was deep. I wanted so badly to make amends as quickly as possible, to somehow reach him and pull him from the nightmare in which he now resided - but willing the carriage to do so didn't prove to make it move any faster, much to my incredible despair.