Hey everyone, this is my first phanfic, so please… be gentle…

Chapter 1

A dull echoing silence had long since fallen over the de Chagny household. The Vicomte's chest rose slowly in sleep, his arm flung carelessly over his young bride. Christina lay squashed beneath the heavy limb. She knew it must be well past midnight yet sleep avoided her: the hot unwelcome breath of her sleeping husband irritated her neck, his crushing arm was mashing her breasts against her chest and his snores were entirely repulsive. Moving quietly she slid from the overbearing marital bed, found her robe and gratefully stepped out of the room. How she loathed this mansion. She had always imagined that she would be immensely proud to be the mistress of such a magnificent house, but she felt only melancholy here. She had heard the whispers of the servants; she saw the unfriendly glares of Raoul's snobbish family. Tip-toeing down the grand staircase she made her way to the library, picked up a book by one of her now beloved Bronte's and relaxed into the comfortable sofa. She stared at the words on the page but did not read them. I truly must be the most ungrateful child in the world, she mused. I have married aristocracy, I have more splendid gowns that even la Carlotta at the height of her fame could imagine, and yet… Forcing her mind shut against herself she delved into the book with enthusiasm knowing that the sad and lonely Bronte's would not lie to her, in this book there would be no happy endings… happy, happy endings.

"Christine," a load, laughing voice awoke her rudely. "You silly girl you always sneak off here as if you had been refused permission, why you insist on reading in the dead of night when it is your own library is beyond me!"

Ah dear, simple Raoul I imagine a great many things are beyond you, she thought. "Good morning my dear." Noting his travelling attire she enquired, "Are you going somewhere?"

"Back to Paris," he said tightly, the tension in the room immediately thickened as both readied themselves for an argument.

"You may go to Paris but I may not?" Christina tried to force her voice to be light and nonchalant but anger coursed through her.

"You shall not set foot outside this town Christine I have told you,"he snapped. Seeing the anger mingled with hurt in her eyes he softened, "I am sorry, but you know that the stage is not the place for a Vicomtess. It simply isn't done."

Silence stretched between them, for once he found himself wishing that she would shout or scream at him, anything rather than ignore him. "I shall be back in two days time."

The continuing silence incensed him, their problems were all her fault anyway, how dare she sit there in her silence judgement and condemnation of him. Spitefully he addressed her as he moved to the door, "Perhaps some quiet rest would be beneficial to your health, Christine."

As the door slammed Christine felt tears come to her eyes immediately. My health. My damned health. She knew all too well what that comment meant. During their three year marriage, not once had Christine conceived the heir that the de Chagny's so desperately wanted. They had never broached the topic in conversation, but Christine was only too aware of where the blame lay. He blamed her, but then, she blamed herself too. Raoul's mother had taken great delight in informing Christine over dinner, in rather a severe lapse of etiquette, that the male line of de Chagny's had always been considered particularly virile, Philippe himself had produced seven children, four of them boys, always the more desirable sex to a powerful family Christine though wryly. Christine had smiled politely, ignored the inferred slight on herself as an unworthy wife and informed the guests that she would be retiring early that night. Yes, children were the one thing Raoul wanted more than anything from Christine, and she remained unable to provide them for him.

Discarding the book Christine rose from her makeshift bed on the sofa and summoned a maid to her accompany her to her room to dress. Without Raoul's watching and seemingly always disapproving eye on her she decided to travel to the music shop in town, she was not permitted to sing anymore (it appeared that even singing in private was not done by a Vicomtess) but what man did not want an accomplished pianist as a wife? With her musical training Christine had acquired the skill fairly quickly but today found herself both short on music and needed the skills of a piano tuner.

The music shop was situated in the town square, it was a small shop but every nook was crammed with perfectly crafted instruments and volume upon volume of diverse scores, Christine browsed idly for a while before selecting Vivaldi, clutching the precious papers to her chest she wandered over to the piano M. de Jere had displayed. "Sir, "she gestured coquettishly. "May I…?"

M. de Jere smiled, at least three time a week the young Vicomtess would enter his shop begging new acquisitions from him and always practising furiously on the piano before deciding, her devotion to music and her growing skill were impressive and endearing to him. Having lost a daughter roughly her age a year ago he felt very fond of the young pianist. "Of course my dear."

Removing her gloves and carefully placing them on the polished hood of the piano Christine seated herself, arranged the music and began to play. The melody washed over her, the music seemed a little beyond her usual level but she managed quite admirably. So absorbed was she that she failed completely to hear the tinkling of the shop bell signifying the entrance of another customer. She had just finished the piece and was gathering the sheets when the leisurely applause of the man behind her caused Christine to swivel on the stool. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Angel…" she breathed

Eek… scared author here! Just wanted to warn you all that I do not accept flames. I really hope you enjoyed that and if anyone has any positive feedback I would love to hear it. Please forgive any lapses in grammar/spelling as I am working without my BETA for the moment, love Pasque XXX