AN: this phic is predominantly based on the musical/movie (which totally rocked my sox), it takes place pretty much before the Masquerade ball but after the rooftop scene.
…
The snow blew about me in heaps, biting into every inch of exposed skin. My cheeks felt as if needles were pricking all over. The pain was almost unbearable.
Raoul took my gloved hand, as if he sensed my discomfort. He placed a blanket upon my lap as he directed his team through the Bois. It was beautiful during a snowstorm. The trees were laced in white and the grounds looked like wig powder. This must have been my reasoning for allowing Raoul to take me out for a drive. I must have been crazy!
I sipped the wassail Raoul had given me, but it was cold. Huddling in my clothing, I moved closer to him, trying to share in his body heat. He put his arms around me.
Suddenly, the two horses reared. What had spooked them? Raoul struggled to contain them, but they would not settle. They set off at a break-neck speed. Raoul yanked at the reins, but to no avail as they snapped and broke.
I screamed. Blackness consumed my vision as I slowly felt myself drift off.
…
Something hot was poured down my throat, it tastes horrible and I tried to gag. But someone held my mouth shut, forcing me to swallow it. My eyes cleared away the fogginess that had covered them like a blanket.
Meg appeared before me, Mdme. Giry held my mouth shut.
"Christine, how are you feeling?" my friend asked.
"I'm fair, warm, and apparently well-taken care of," I smiled. "How is the Vicompte?" A cold stone of panic turned over in my stomach.
"He's at his estate, being likewise taken care of," Mdme. Giry replied, ladling more of the vile liquid into my mouth.
I was in my own bed in the opera's dormitories. Several of the ballet rats watched me, their eyes wide.
"What, why am I here? What happened to our ride?" I asked, sitting up.
"We, well, we don't know, only the Vicompte would know," Meg shrugged. She looked at her mother, lightning sparked between the two of them.
"What?" I asked.
"You've been given many 'get well' gifts," the woman replied. She shooed the rats away and stood up. "They have been placed by your bed if you wish to look at them," she nodded, leaving the room with Meg. Although I would have liked to sit with Meg, rather than be left alone.
I glance over at the mountainous pile. Flowers, books, chocolates, laced handkerchiefs, and even cards. Sighing, I shifted through the flowers, reading the attached notes, mostly from well-wishers. They all read something similar to 'get well soon; we all miss your stage performances'. A bouquet of roses with a black ribbon caught my attention.
After sorting the pile, (candies nearest the wall, books on the little shelf, flowers around the room, etc.) I dressed in my favorite blue dress and climbed down the stairs.
In my dressing room, the smell of flowers nearly overpowered me, coughing; I walked through the room and came to stand by the mirror. 'Please, please let him be here,' I thought. I slid my hands over the edges, trying to find an imperfection. None could be found.
"Angel, where are you?" I whispered, pushing against the glass. No response, nothing.
I sat down by the fireplace and stared into the flames. I heard the candle behind me flicker and sputter. My heart skipped a beat. I looked behind me…and nothing. Shadows filled the room as its tiny light went out. "Mon ange, what have I done?" I pleaded silently.
He spoke, his beautiful voice barely above a whisper. "Denied me, left my rose on the rooftop," he said, his words full of pain. How I longed to reach out to him and comfort his broken heart!
"Oh," the realization hit me. He had been there! How long, how much had he heard? I frantically thought.
"Have you nothing with which to reply?" he said acidly.
"I was frightened, Joseph Bouquet had been killed! You killed him!" I said, turning around to try and face him.
"You need not be afraid of me, others-yes, but you-no," he said calmingly.
"Raoul was there to calm me, he reassured me that I was in no danger!" I sobbed. "Was I to expect that…after what you had done, that you were not rash? You had killed once, would you have killed again?!" My tears fell upon my lap.
Silence, he said nothing. "Do you hate me?" he asked, whispering.
"No, I never hated you, I was just scared of what you had done," I replied turning back to the fire.
"Christine," he murmured. I felt his warm, gloved hands upon my neck. He removed the ring I had been wearing on a chain.
"Erik, please, I am sorry for the pain I have caused you," I whispered, putting my hand on his. I felt the fire go out, and the heat left the room. I could feel his cloak being draped over my shoulders. I stood and crossed over to the mirror. A note lie at its base.
Christine, Would you please meet me in the cellars? I have something I believe you would like.
OG
He left? How could I not hear him? I thought as I ran to the cellars, his scent filling my nose. I clutched his garment to me, trying to visualize him.
When I arrived, the tiny little cymbals monkey was on the floor. My angel wasn't even there. Grasping the music box, I returned to my room solemnly. I placed the monkey on my nightstand and folded his cloak and placed it under my blankets.
A knock came at my door. "Christine?" a man's voice called. 'Raoul!" I started. I dabbed rose water on my neck, then opened the door.
He limped through, his one leg bandaged. "My love," he smiled. He kissed my cheek. I smiled weakly.
Suddenly, his face fell. "Christine, why aren't you wearing my ring?" he asked.
My hand flew to my neck. Erik had taken it off! What was I to tell him? "Oh no, I…I must have lost it in the accident!" I lied quickly.
His grin reappeared, "As long as you are safe, my dear." He sat down on my bed; his leg was obviously paining him. "As you see, I myself have fared far worse than you, darling."
His grin annoyed me, made me want to run. "Why have you come to visit me, Raoul?" I asked.
"I would like to escort you to the New Year's Masquerade Ball, of course!" he smiled.
"Oh, I…" I started. How could I say no to him? He wouldn't take a 'no' as his answer if I didn't explain. What could I do?
"It's quite alright if you need time to think about it, I know you just awoke today, dear," he said. When I said nothing, he stood up. "I must leave now," he kissed my hand.
After he left, I sat on my bed, thinking. I pulled the cloak out from under my pillow and fell asleep with it over me.
…
I listened as he invited her to the ball. My heart wrenched. Why should she wish to be with me? He would take her on rides and to balls and to parties. I could only offer her a house under the opera.
He left, thankfully. I could hear her settling on her bed, she was pulling something out from under another something. Her peaceful breathing reached my ears. She was muttering something. I could just barely make it out, it sounded like 'Erik' and 'mon ange' and 'love'. What is this twisted torture?
I crept around to get a better place. Here the place actually had a hole in the wood. I looked in and could see her on the bed. My coat was pulled over her delicate shoulders. My heart filled with joy.
I opened the door to her room and slipped in. She stirred from her nap. She looked around.
…
I opened my eyes and felt a change in the air. Erik stood by the door. His face was hidden in shadow.
I quickly got up and ran to him. His arms welcomed me, and I knew that this was where I was supposed to be. His hand fastened the cloak around me. "Erik, why weren't you in the cellar? You had asked me to go there?" I asked, pulling myself closer to his chest, inhaling his scent.
He didn't say anything. He just placed his arms around me. He kissed my hair and I could feel his breath, whispering something that I couldn't hear. I closed my eyes and felt him take my hand. The glove's leather was warm against my skin. When I opened my eyes again, we were in his house. I smiled up at him, happier than I had been in a while.
"Erik, I love you," I whispered as I leaned into him, feeling him tense at my words. He picked me up and looked straight into my eyes.
"I always have, Christine," he whispered. I leaned in and put my lips on his. He gasped, caught unaware. Coyly, I played with his black hair, curling it in my fingers.
He relaxed and began to kiss me back, softly at first, but slowly with a bridled passion. After a few minutes of bliss, we broke apart. A single tear rolled down his face. Quickly, he wiped it away, making me believe that it had never been there. He took my hand and slipped a small ring with red, almost blood red, ruby on my finger. An engagement ring…
I looked up at him and smiled, adjusting his hair. He walked over to his organ and grabbed a sheet of music and threw it in the fire.
"What did you do that for?" I asked him. The paper curled in the fire and shrank.
"It was a bad piece," he explained. His voice lulled me. Reaching out to me, caressing. "I was having a bit of, what you might call 'writers' bloc'," he smiled, his twisted lips stretching.
I gazed around; the place had changed little since I had last been here. Yet, it was cleaner. I smiled, thinking of what I could do to make the place more welcoming if I married him. Some flowers, maybe a painting or two…
Erik took his cloak from around me and crossed the room where he placed it on a hook. A fire crackled merrily by the organ, casting a peculiar glow on the room.
"Erik, your house looks magnificent," I whispered, "I can barely remember seeing it last time I was here." I smiled.
He took me into his arms and showed me the rooms I had never been to. There was a little study with three bookshelves full of old books, some sort of a dining room, what looked like a master bedroom-most likely Erik's room, and a drawing room with plump couches and a chessboard.
"It's…it's wonderful! How did you build all of this in such a tiny space?" I asked, astounded at the grandeur.
"I built the Opera Populaire," he said modestly. " I designed this place myself."
I smiled and sat down in front of the chessboard. The strange pieces stood in a four rows, the white on one side, the black on another. "You play?" I asked.
"Yes, do you?" he replied, his eyes sparkling.
"No, I was never taught," I said, fingering a piece with a cross on the top, this was obviously the tallest and probably most important piece.
"Shall I teach you?" he asked, sitting down in front of me.
AN: Any questions? Any remarks or positive criticism? Please tell me in your review :wink, wink, nudge, nudge: Uhm...off to a slow start, but will pick up! I swear!