Christine's POV:
The carriage rolled along gently and I shifted slightly in my seat. I looked across to the other side of the carriage and quickly looked away. My captor who called himself my husband sat quietly in the half-light of the waning evening.
It was the anniversary of my father's death and I had begged Erik to let me see his grave. My tears were my only weapon against him as he couldn't resist them. He had been almost adamant about me not leaving the lair but finally consented.
Now, we were on our way to the grave. I tried not to look at him but his golden eyes seemed to burn a hole into me no matter where I looked. I shivered slightly under their unending gaze.
"Is Erik's wife cold?" He asked quietly with that angelic voice. I glanced up at him and shook my head.
"No, I am not." He nodded but I couldn't see what he thought of my words, that white mask which covered his whole face forbade me knowing his emotions.
"Thank you again, Erik." I said softly just so I could hear some other noise than the movement of the carriage. He shrugged.
"Erik cannot resist Christine when she cries. He doesn't like letting her free but it means so much to her." Even though I had gotten used to his use of third person when referring even to me, it still took me a moment to understand him.
"It does mean a lot to me." Again, we fell silent. My captor/husband wasn't the most talkative person in the world. Why would he be talkative? You don't exactly promote conversation that often! A voice taunted in my head. I shook my head to try to clear it.
I could feel a shift in Erik's eyes, they took on a concerned look instead of the cold observational look they normally had. I shivered again but before Erik could inquire about my temperature, we arrived at the cemetery.
The carriage halted and I stepped out alone. I had made him swear to let me go alone. I swore on my father's soul I wouldn't run. I knew better than that. Erik would never stop until he found me. I could never escape such a genius.
I closed the carriage door behind me and walked through the wrought iron gate that led into the cemetery. My feet trudged through the snow and I knew my skirts would be soaked when I was done.
It wasn't long before I arrived at his grave. It wasn't a large grave. We hadn't been able to afford something so fancy.
I ran my hand over the icy stone and let my mind wander. I wasn't sure what to say so I said what was on my heart.
"You once told me a story. I've been thinking about it lately." I sighed and glanced up at the darkening sky. "You told me about when you were just a young lad and the few months you stayed with a man who taught you how to play the violin." I closed my eyes and let my memories drift back to that night.
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"Papa! Papa! You're home!" A young girl clapped ecstatically as a man walked up the walk to their home. He swept the girl into his arms and kissed her cheek.
"Of course, I'm home, Little Lotte! I told you I would be." He grinned at the girl and hurried into the house. After setting her and his violin case down, he turned towards her. "And how was my little girl's afternoon?" She giggled a bit.
"Very quiet. It's been like that since we had to leave the seaside and Raoul." Her father nodded sadly. He had hated to take her away from her childhood sweetheart but it had been necessary. Besides, he knew they could never be together. They were from two different worlds. But, neither of them knew that and wouldn't have understood it if they had.
"I'm sorry. Perhaps you should go make friends with some of the neighbor children." The girl shook her head slowly.
"They think I'm odd. They whisper behind my back." She looked up at him and wrapped her arms around his hips as she wasn't tall enough to reach his waist. Her father sighed and picked his little girl up again.
"No one is normal, Christine. No one." She wasn't sure what it meant but was sure it was something wise as it came from her father.
"I will remember that, Papa." She said quietly and smiled up at him.
"Very good. It may one day serve you well." He sat down in his chair in front of the fireplace and Christine snuggled against his chest.
"Tell me a story." She said with a smile.
Her father smiled indulgently. "Very well. What story shall it be?" She thought for a moment before saying,
"Something from your childhood. Something interesting you did or someone interesting you met." She looked up at him with her big blue eyes pleading and he knew he couldn't resist her.
"Very well. I shall tell you about the strangest year I ever spent in my life." The girl grinned and tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear before giving her father her complete attention.
"As you know, my parents died when I was very little. I was left in the care of my aunt. But, when I was fifteen, she died as well. So, I was on my own in a big wide world without a penny to my name and not a thing that I could do to give me some pennies.
"I spent the first few months, traveling as well as a pauper can. I made myself useful as a stable boy, errant boy, and a few other odd jobs that didn't require much knowledge. In this manner, I made my way to Russia. I spoke only a smattering of Russian but it was enough to get me by.
"It was there I met a most unusual man. I was in Moscow and heard about this incredible magician who could do absolutely anything. I made it my mission to meet this strange magician. Magic had always been an allure of mine.
"I snuck into one of his shows and I have never seen anything more frightening and wondrous! The man himself was the most hideous I had ever seen, I won't lie. But, his genius seemed to make up for the horror which was him.
"When the show was over I went up to him and badgered him thoroughly about all his magic. I guess he was lenient with me because I was so young. We talked, or, I should say, I talked late into the night with him mostly ignoring me and only replying when he had to.
"I guess he had taken something of a fancy to me because he ended up asking if I wanted to become his assistant. I quickly agreed. This would be a job for me! A steady job. I had been in desperate need for one.
"The more I traveled with him the more in awe of him I became. There was nothing he couldn't do! But, what interested me most was how he played his violin. He treated it like a lover." Gustave looked over at his own violin with a smile.
"I begged him to teach me how to play. He bought me a cheap violin and growled in irritation every time I tried to play it. He spent months on me before I could even make a decent note but once I had, I progressed fairly well as he deigned to admit.
"He perfected my skill and as you see, I use it now to support myself and you. He was a good man though he had many faults and a scared background. I never knew how old he was but I suspected he wasn't much older than myself. Maybe ten years at the most. I also never learned his name. He never once told me. But, I have him to thank for so much of the beauty that is in my life right now." He stroked his little girl's cheek.
"I don't know if he's still alive but if he is and you meet a man who is head and shoulders above the tallest of men and who wears a white mask covering his whole face, I want you to tell him this: 'Gustave Daae never forgot your kindness.'" The girl nodded solemnly. In her childish mind, her father was giving her a very important job.
"I promise." Gustave leaned back and sighed as his eyes closed a little.
"Thank you, Little Lotte. It would mean so much to me. I can never thank him enough for all he did for me." The girl closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest, listening to the faint heartbeat.
"He sounds like an angel." Gustave laughed a little.
"A dark angel perhaps. A good but a dark angel."
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"A good but dark angel." I whispered as I opened my eyes. "You were right, Papa, he is a dark angel. I don't know whether or not he is good but perhaps I didn't look as hard as you did." I lowered my head in shame.
"I never told him what you told me to. I'm sorry for breaking my promise. I'll fix it. That promise I will keep." I kissed the tips of my fingers and swept the across my father's name.
"And, I'll try to find that good but dark angel you said he was. I need to give him a chance." I stood up and didn't bother to notice that my skirts were soaked through and Erik would be most upset. Before I left, I whispered,
"I love you, Papa, and his name is Erik." I glided over the snow towards the iron gates. A tall form paced back and forth in front of it. At least he had kept his promise and hadn't followed her. The moment he heard her soft footsteps he darted towards her.
"Christine! What were you thinking?! You'll catch a cold if you stay out in the snow and cold like that!" In his moment of worry, his hand descended on my arm and for the first time, I didn't notice the frozen feeling. For once, I didn't care.
"I was thinking." I whispered. "We need to talk." I gestured for us to get into the carriage. I stepped in and he followed. After giving the driver directions, he turned to me and looked expectantly into my eyes. I swallowed and pulled together all my courage to speak.
"When I was just a little girl, my father told me a story from his past." Erik's eyes took on a confused look but I went on. "He told me about a dark angel that took care of him and taught him how to play the violin." Erik's eyes widened slightly as he began to realize what I was speaking of. I quickly went on. "When he told me that story, he told me to tell that dark angel should I ever meet him again these words." I cleared my throat and said as calmly as I could, "'Gustave Daae never forgot your kindness.'"
Erik lowered his head into his hands and for a moment I feared he was about to cry again.
"Erik thought he had forgotten him. He was the first friend Erik ever had. And, he never even knew Erik's name." I could hear the regret about that last part in his voice.
"I told him." He looked at me and understood without me having to explain. He leaned back in his seat and didn't say anything for a while. I suddenly spoke up again.
"He also said you were a good but dark angel. Erik, I know the dark part. I want to know the good part." Erik's head snapped towards me and his golden eyes latched onto mine.
"There is no good part in Erik. If it was ever there it was lost a long time ago." I reached out and taking a deep breath laid my hand on his shoulder.
"I'm still going to look for it." If I could have seen his face I might have seen him smile but I had to be content with the slight wrinkle at the edges of his eyes.
(One Year Later)
Christine's POV:
"Oh, Erik! She's perfect!" I admired the cute little nose, bright bluish-gold eyes, and faint dark curls of our baby daughter as I looked into Erik's golden eyes. We were sitting on our bed with our newborn child laying in my arms. Erik's arms were around my waist and I was settled into his lap.
"She is perfect." Tears coursed down his cheeks and I was quick to kiss them away. With a quick movement, he locked his thin lips with mine.
"I love you." He whispered softly as emotion choked him up.
"I love you too." I said truthfully as I stroked his pale, thin cheek. His skeletal face smiled down on mine as he stroked Phoebe's head.
His mask lay in a corner, covered in ten months' worth of dust. It wasn't needed any more. I had found the good in my dark angel.