Christine had settled quite well into the little town of Lincoln River and she was happy that her masked lover, Erik, was around and that they could make a life together away from the pain of their past in Paris, away from people who would want to display the man as a freak of nature. When she was with him, she almost completely forgot about the fact she was still married to the young Viscount de Chagny, already having abandoned her wedding ring. All that mattered to Christine was Erik, their young son, Gustave, and all the things they would do together.
That afternoon, Christine had left Erik to his writing and drawing at home and taken Gustave out to the park by herself to get some fresh air. She was a relic of Victorian times in her long bustled dress that was complete with corset and petticoat underneath. Her curling, auburn hair was pulled in an elegant bun at the back of her head and she was singing as she gently spun around with her child, making the little boy of only a few months laugh. Christine's voice was crisp and clear, operatic, and she as a soprano of high order. Erik had given her plenty of training in singing in Paris, though she had been out of commission the past few months and had to warm back up for it. It didn't show though.
The joyous song she was belting out skillfully in her second language of French carried across the park like it once did at the Opera house in Paris. If Christine had an audience, she didn't notice, her green eyes focused on the bundle in her arms.