Post by raoul on Apr 27, 2011 23:00:03 GMT -5
Raoul de Chagny had, as long as he could remember, been afflicted with a peculiar illness. It left him feeling faint, flushed, and absent-minded the majority of the time. There was no cure that he was aware of, because being away from its source was even more painful than being with it. That was because the source was one Christine Daae, as the illness was love. He had been made to believe by romantic comedies and fairytales that love was perfectly natural, but he found it so far to be quite unpleasant, as it left him with a burning chest and desperation as he was unsure if his feelings were returned.
His brother insisted that he was being a fool, and that it was easy to get over a girl he had not seen for a while. He just had to go on some dates, or preferably have a fling. But that was not Raoul’s style, that was Philippe’s, and he was not like his older brother, as he had been reminded bitterly far too many times. Besides, just because it had been a while since he had seen her did not mean that he did not have hope of seeing her again. His faith in this finally paid off when he was handed a flyer walking through Times Square one day, advertising a singer named Christine Daae.
There was not a moment of hesitation in his decision. All other plans were rearranged for the sake of seeing her. He wondered if she would recognize him. Or if he would recognize her. It had only been a few years, probably, since he had seen Christine (eventually he had stopped torturing himself by counting, even though the number was still certainly in the back of his mind), but it seemed like an eternity. Still, his memory had not exaggerated her beauty, and he recognized her in an instant. He was mildly surprised at what she sang, but not how she sang it; the voice was as pure and lovely as he remembered too.
He could not keep himself, when her performance was over, from going to her. He followed her backstage, meeting no protest from the tech crew because everyone knew the de Chagnys, and waited for the opportunity to attract her attention. Finally, he called out, “Little Lotte!” and strode to her. He did not bother to hide the emotion in his voice – as he knew it was impossible, and would not have tried even if it weren’t – as he hesitantly hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, his lips lingering a moment too long. “You sang like an angel tonight,” he said ardently. He smiled gently at her, hardly knowing what to do, unable to express all that he was feeling.
So he had been struck down once more by love.
His brother insisted that he was being a fool, and that it was easy to get over a girl he had not seen for a while. He just had to go on some dates, or preferably have a fling. But that was not Raoul’s style, that was Philippe’s, and he was not like his older brother, as he had been reminded bitterly far too many times. Besides, just because it had been a while since he had seen her did not mean that he did not have hope of seeing her again. His faith in this finally paid off when he was handed a flyer walking through Times Square one day, advertising a singer named Christine Daae.
There was not a moment of hesitation in his decision. All other plans were rearranged for the sake of seeing her. He wondered if she would recognize him. Or if he would recognize her. It had only been a few years, probably, since he had seen Christine (eventually he had stopped torturing himself by counting, even though the number was still certainly in the back of his mind), but it seemed like an eternity. Still, his memory had not exaggerated her beauty, and he recognized her in an instant. He was mildly surprised at what she sang, but not how she sang it; the voice was as pure and lovely as he remembered too.
He could not keep himself, when her performance was over, from going to her. He followed her backstage, meeting no protest from the tech crew because everyone knew the de Chagnys, and waited for the opportunity to attract her attention. Finally, he called out, “Little Lotte!” and strode to her. He did not bother to hide the emotion in his voice – as he knew it was impossible, and would not have tried even if it weren’t – as he hesitantly hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, his lips lingering a moment too long. “You sang like an angel tonight,” he said ardently. He smiled gently at her, hardly knowing what to do, unable to express all that he was feeling.
So he had been struck down once more by love.