My dear old friend, can't believe you're here, old friend

[lethermindwander]

It had been so many years since she had stepped foot in Paris. Her son, Charles, was about to turn seven, so it at least had to have been that long. Oh, her beautiful son. She was glad that he was now off at boarding school. He did not need to partake in witnessing his mother relive her past and make this pilgrimage back to her father's grave. It already gave her such pause to have to drag Raoul back to this city as well. This was not something he needed, to watch his lovely wife turn into a ghost once more. She knew it hurt him but Christine did her best. They were so outwardly happy. The perfect marriage, their perfect child. She always regretted that she'd never been able to leave the fantasy behind.

Today though, she is just visiting the cemetery. She goes alone, making sure to leave before Raoul has a chance to even know she's left their little hotel room. She hopes that she will also return before he wakes.

Everything is familiar here and yet so much more dreary and cold that she remembers. It's the middle of Summer and Christine feels a chill. When she makes her way to her father's grave, she realizes that this had been a horrid mistake. She shouldn't have come alone. The feelings, more intense than she's felt in a long time, come bubbling to the surface and she runs back to the brougham before it has a chance to leave without her. She idly gives the driver her hotel's address, falling back into her seat. She neglects to tell him to take the long way back.

When the Opera comes into view, Christine found she could no longer breathe. As soon as she cries out for the driver to stop, she realizes that this will be an even bigger mistake than the first she has made today. But she must. She has to do this, hypnotized by the beautiful golden columns of the structure before her. Apollo's Lyre perched upon the roof.

She steps out of the carriage and finds herself on the Rue Scribe side of the building. She stares up at it in wonder. How little of it has changed. How much has, how she recognizes none of the names advertised on any of the posters. The ghost has returned, looking for the soul she left in the bowels of this theater.