Alright, after a three month hiatus from my other story, I have returned to writing. This just kind of popped into my head. Anyway, this is just the prologue, please review and tell me what you think. Thanks and enjoy!

You Were All That Mattered
Prologue

"Are you alright Christine? You seem a little tired. Are you feeling well?"

Christine turned away from the window to face her concerned husband. Where she had once been a beautiful young prima donna, she was now a shell of that former self. Her skin was pale; her long curls pushed back into a messy chignon. She was dreadfully skinny. There were dark circles under her eyes and her lips formed a thin line of weariness and exhaustion. The sparkle in her eyes was no more. She looked to be a woman in her late twenties, not the girl of eighteen that she was.

"Yes, of course, Raoul. I'm fine," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"Alright, Little Lotte. I'll leave you alone to rest. Would you like Cècile to bring you up a cup of tea?"

"No thank you, please, just go…" she trailed off as she turned to stare out the window again.

He left, his head hung in defeat.

It had been one year ago today…

A whole year since she had left her Angel of Music an alone and broken man. Guilt and sorrow wracked her mind daily, willing her never to forget her mistake. And a mistake it had been. She realized that now, although it was much too late. She was married and now a vicomtess, living in a world she neither belonged to nor wanted to be in. She had been so confused that night below the Opera, and when her Angel had yelled at her to go, she took the easy way out and listened to him. In all her confusion and naivety, she had allowed Raoul to be the rescuer, though in actuality she had rescued him from his demise, and whisk her off to the safety of his grand mansion and fancy lifestyle. She had allowed him to set a quick wedding date, thinking that it would exorcise her ghosts. But it hadn't. She realized now that it was her Angel of Music that she really loved. Her wedding night only proved it. He had been tender, akin to his personality and temperament. And although she cared for Raoul, it was more of a sisterly love than dark passion she felt for her former tutor. And now it was too late.

She had been mildly content in the first few months of her marriage. As the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny, they attended many soirees weekly. She was able to exercise some power as a new mistress of the household, though since she had become sickly and weak she was mostly secluded to her room.

It had been the fourth month of their marriage when Christine discovered she was pregnant. When she conveyed the news to her husband, he had thrown a large celebration in honor of their heir-to-be and the love of his life that carried him. Him. Of course it was to be a he, for what good would a girl do to carry on the family name and honor, not to mention fortune? It was all Raoul talked about, the oncoming arrival of his little Phillipe. Christine had almost come to resent the child that lay in her womb, and hoped it to be a girl. She had always wanted a daughter. It had only been a few weeks ago that she had lost him. She woke up in the middle of the night with a large pain in her lower abdomen. The doctor was sent for, and Raoul prayed feverishly for the babe's health. But through the pain she had felt strangely empty. And she knew then that she had lost her baby.

Though there had not been an actual funeral since the child had not come to term, Christine had gone into mourning, dressing in ugly black gowns without corsets. Raoul had been utterly heartbroken, but tried to keep his spirits up for his wife. "It'll be alright, Christine. We can try again soon. We'll have another, don't cry," he had said, trying desperately to comfort her. But he was wrong. She could not have another. She felt barren and old, as if all the life she had in her had been drained out with her unborn son. She had secluded herself from society and her daily life, spending all her time in her room or in the library. Now she sat at her window, watching the leaves blow in the wind.

Mon Dieu, she thought, what a sad sight she was. Weak, unhappy, mother to a dead child, married yet in love with another man. A man whose name she did not even know. A man she had left alone and in anguish.

And with those thoughts she drifted into a troubled sleep.