The final notes of the organ rang out, echoing off stone walls and floating over the lake before ending their path in the caverns below the Opera. Erik scratched out a few last notations before setting aside his quill, satisfied with the day's progress on his Don Juan Triumphant. He winced at the stiffness of the muscles in his neck and shoulders and reached up to knead away the tension there, the sleeves of his robe slipping down his arms.

Suddenly sensing that he was not alone, he looked up from his seat at the organ to see his beloved standing on the other side of the room. She clasped a small bunch of flowers, silently observing his movements. So beautiful, he mused. A rare smile stretched across his face at the sight of her.

His face

Erik realized with a start that he had removed the mask and wig hours before and that they were now out of reach, discarded amidst scattered pages of music. His brief smile faded and a hand flew to cover his ravaged features, the other making a swift attempt to smooth his patchy hair. He experienced a flash of panic before noticing, with a measure of surprise, that no disgust was reflected in her blue eyes.

"Christine. I...I wasn't expecting you. What are you doing here?"

Why had she come? Was it to bid him farewell before fleeing with her precious boy?

Her reply was a dainty smile that sat perched like a kiss upon her lips. He longed to go to her and claim it with his own crooked mouth. Hesitantly, he lowered the hand covering his face, yet her smile remained. He descended from behind the organ, leaving the mask and wig where they lay. In a few strides he found himself standing before her.

"Is it possible that you have missed this poor beast who loves you so well?"

Her only answer was yet again that gentle smile and a coy gleam in her eyes. He glanced down at the flowers she clutched - she seemed extremely pleased with her prize. He smiled in turn and reached out to trace the petals of one perfect blossom. Her hands were so sweet and small on either side of the flowers and he could not resist the urge to place his larger ones on top of them. But her skin was so cold!

She must have been standing there for ages while you composed and now the cool air has chilled her…damn you for not noticing her sooner!

His attention was still trained on the flowers.

Or, perhaps, she has just come from the market…my dear Christine! To venture out into the cold for a taste of Spring…

Tentatively he drew his hands along the back of hers, worshipping each knuckle with the tips of his fingers. His touch edged up over delicate wrists and arms, barely grazing the fabric of her gown. Dreading what he might see, he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. But his fears were unwarranted, for again, he found no loathing there. His hands continued their path upward, coming to rest at the sides of her throat.

He lowered his head, nuzzling closer, sneaking glances to be certain that she would not recoil in disgust at the proximity of his unmasked face. His eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his twisted cheek against her flawless one. The shuddering breath of his sigh stirred the curls framing her face, teasing the back of his fingers mercilessly.

Christine…

He dared to place a feather-light kiss on her forehead. When she did not withdraw her forehead from his lips, he paid the same attention to each brow and the upturned tip of her nose. His mouth was now only a fraction from hers. How he longed to close the final gap between them, to taste the lips that brought forth an angel's voice. Still she did not pull back! He surged forward, stealing both the smile and the kiss from her mouth. The flowers fell unheeded from her grasp.

He allowed one of his hands to slip down, calloused pads lingering at her collarbone before timidly skimming along the neckline of her gown - a gown he had purchased for her, designed and redesigned until he was certain it would fit his Angel perfectly. Pausing to assess her reaction and emboldened by her acceptance of his touch, the tips of his fingers dipped below the satin edge. Erik gasped as he felt the swell of flesh there, warming slightly under his attentions. His breath quickened as he reached the hollow between her breasts. It was all suddenly too much, and he pulled away as if stung. His pulse reached a dangerous speed.

You must stop this…stop before you lose control…

But the thought of losing himself in that softness, in that acceptance, was all too tempting. She swooned almost imperceptibly, legs growing weak beneath her. He acted instinctively, bending to cradle her in his arms. He guided her precious head to his shoulder, the silky brush of her hair against his neck nearly undoing him. He looked about and, finding no suitable place for her to rest, carried her to the bedroom.

Kneeling on the bed, he tenderly laid her down upon the coverlet. A small fire in the hearth warded off the chill of the cellars. Between the warmth of the room and Christine's nearness, Erik's head swam. He was unaccustomed to this closeness and it was swiftly becoming addictive.

Just a few moments more…she could leave you forever tomorrow…

Erik succumbed to his desire to hold her a little while longer. Her body was so willing and pliant in his arms… He guided her slender arms around his neck, pressing her back into the pillows. He tucked his head into the crook of her shoulder and breathed in deeply. Violets… the feminine scent of her overwhelmed him and he moaned as he hungrily kissed the curve of her throat.

Once, in a moment of weakness, he had slipped into her dressing-room in the middle of the night. He had only intended to take a ribbon or handkerchief, some small token of hers to keep near when she was beyond his reach, out in the world above. Finding a bottle of her perfume, he had dabbed the flowery scent on the dresses and costumes lined neatly in her wardrobe. He had spent hours burying his poor face in the satins and silks, wishing her living form filled them, taking in her scent by the lungful. Now there was a body in the gown - lying against him, beneath him - the lush fabric wrinkling under his weight.

"Oh…oh, Christine…please…I need…please…"

He tucked both arms beneath her. His thin fingers, so skilled at bringing forth music from the organ, now trembled, fumbling with the tiny buttons lining the back of her dress. He was embarrassed by his sudden clumsiness and feared that she would reject him, shrug off his inexpert embrace - but her hands only slid from his neck further down his arms, pulling him closer to her. Encouraged by this, he managed to undo one, two, three of the pearl buttons, enough to ease the gown a few inches over one white shoulder.

He followed the path of the gown first with fingertips, then with malformed lips. He kissed across her collarbone, down to the little hollow where earlier his hand had so shyly pressed. Her once-chilled skin thawed under the eager heat of his caresses. He whispered hoarsely, possessively -

"You are mine…always, only mine..."

The room was silent other than the crackling of the dying fire in the grate and the hushed, timid sounds of pleasure coming from the pair on the bed. His mouth's assault on her skin was stopped only by the shift of softened wax under his fingertips where he gripped her exposed back too tightly. His hands left her body instantly, the illusion shattered all too soon. He drew back, the haze of desire clearing from his eyes. The mannequin of Christine he had created lay disheveled beneath him, tiny swirls of his fingerprints marring the surface of her synthetic flesh.

What have I done? I never intended…

Like the doubles of the prince he had constructed in Persia, she was an exact replica of her true self. And yet, she was so very unlike those old automata. He had not cared much for the prince, but he loved Christine, more than anything, and the tenderness with which he had sculpted her delicate features was evident. Each curve, each line was paid equal, devoted attention.

Her arms lay limply at her sides now, no longer wrapped about his lean shoulders, and he found himself missing their slight pressure. He examined her with a critical eye, assessing just what harm had been caused to her figure.

For a moment, it had seemed…

He attempted to stop that line of thought immediately - he had caused too much damage already - but the darker side of him would not be suppressed. The heat of the fire, the bed, and his touch had warmed her so well… He hesitated, clutching the fabric that had pooled at her knees.

It had been months since he had laid eyes on her living counterpart, since she had betrayed him and flown away with her young suitor. Erik had hidden away her likeness at first, unable to bear the reminder of her. But as the weeks passed, he had come to realize that this lifeless model was his only opportunity to see her, at least until repairs were completed and the Opera was reopened to the public.

But this Christine…she would not shy away from him or leave him. No! She stayed, and would stay with him forever. She endured the awkward embraces of an untouched monster. He was all too aware of the blood pumping almost violently through his veins. His body ached for him to continue, a body that had been denied comfort for too many decades.

Before reason could halt him, he eased her skirts up over silk-stockinged knees and thighs. He trailed his knuckles along each inch of flesh he exposed, careful not to reveal too much of the unyielding metal frame that made up her torso. Settling himself between her legs, he was soon frustrated by the layers of clothing that still separated them. He could not remove her gown without ruining his fantasy, but…

Taking her small hands, he brought them up to "assist" him in shrugging the heavy Chinese robe off his shoulders. He closed his eyes and imagined her nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and vest, even as his own did the work. Reluctantly, he left the bed to remove the last of his clothing. Joining her once again, he gasped at the feel of satin and warm wax against his scorned flesh. He cradled her face in his hands, pressing a shy kiss upon the unmoving smile of her mouth before growing bolder as his lips resumed their path down her jaw and along her neck and bosom.

One hand drifted lower, mimicking the heat and tightness that her cool metal frame lacked. The other traveled across her body, clumsily fondling and grasping as if afraid to leave any part unloved by his touch. He buried his misshapen face in her silken curls as he moved against her, panting harshly for breath and whimpering her name into the smooth shell of an ear that was incapable of hearing. The sweet scent of violets continued to drift upward to meet him, intoxicating him.

The feel of her legs about him, hips meeting thighs, the length of her trim form stretched out beneath him - even stiff and unresponsive - was indescribable. He shut his eyes tightly, focusing on the unfamiliar sensations. As the tension grew almost to the point of pain he began to tremble, crying out -

"Oh, Christine…I love you…I love you…"

And then there were no words left, only feeling and release. As his body shuddered against hers his free hand clenched and unclenched on her shoulder, heedless of the deep impressions his fingers left in the wax. A sob escaped his throat as tears flowed freely, winding down his smooth and ruined cheeks alike and falling into the mannequin's hair. He clung to her tightly, rocking her slight weight back and forth in his arms. Grief and shame washed over him, as overwhelming as the foreign wave of pleasure he had just experienced. And yet, there was also relief.

Eventually his breathing evened, the tears ceased, and he stilled against the body pressed beneath him. Repulsed as he was by the realization of what he had done, Erik was reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed and the artificial embrace of the Christine he had created. He shifted to rest beside her, still holding her close. He smoothed the gown back down over her legs and lovingly arranged the dark curls that had spread out across the pillows. He lifted her gingerly, reaching underneath to pull the coverlet over her.

Just a few moments more…

His eyelids grew heavy and the vision of his beloved's face blurred. He rested his head on the pillow next to hers, drawing the covers over himself as well. He promised himself that he would undo what he had done the next morning, caressing her cheek one last time before sleep claimed him.


A/N: This was my first piece of fan fiction, originally written and posted to Aria in 2005 under the pen name waxing poetic. I've tried several times over the years to rework it. Finally, I decided to let it be, other than polishing it up and making a few very minor changes.