His Return

Dear Raoul,

Oh how I miss you, dear. It has only been two days and I can hardly wait for your return. I am pleased to inform you that all is well at home and Madame Bouloir has sent word of the Monsieur's successful recovery. Well, I once again wish you bonne chance on your trip and wish you a hasty return. Well dear, it is nearly 10 of the clock so I shall be retiring.

Your Dear Wife,

Christine

P.S. And dear, we need to purchase a new pair of doors for the balcony; recently they haven't been shutting very well.

The clock struck 10 and the vibrant 'wrongs' of the old grandfather clock wove throughout the house, declaring curfew. Someone knocked on the door of the master bedroom and stepped in.

"Bonne nuit, Euphrasie."

"Bonne nuit, Madame le Vicomtess."

"Wait." Christine de Chagny folded up the scented parchment and handed it to her maid. "Tomorrow morning, can you send this letter for me?"

"Yes, Madame. Good night, Madame." She slightly bowed her head and left the room with the letter.

Ah, what a tiring day. Christine thought. She slipped in between the silk sheets and the plush mattress of the bed and drew up the covers. Oh, it feels so empty without you, Raoul. She turned to her bed stand to blow out the light. The flickering flame suddenly blew out as a small crack softly echoed in the room. With a small gasp, she glanced at the source of the sound; the balcony doors had blown open again. She let out an exasperated sigh as she reluctantly left the comfort of her bed. Her hand closed the door half way and stopped. She re-opened it and stepped outside. The autumn evening greeted her with a crisp wisp of air that caused her to shiver slightly. Christine rubbed her arms for a moment and then leaned against the balcony rail. Paris glowed beneath her, its beauty spanning across the dark horizon. She slowly shut her eyes, breathing the Parisian air. The wind rustled her curly chestnut locks and seemed to whisper her name:

"Christine." She quickly opened her eyes, but shook her head and shut them again.

"Christine." She pushed away from the rail and hastily shut the doors. She hurriedly crawled into her sheets and took a quick glance around the room. Only my imagination. I should have long passed my foolish imaginations. The "imaginations" soon faded away, leaving Christine in blissful slumber.

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"Oh, Raoul, what is the surprise?" Christine asked in childish glee.

"Little Lotte, it's a surprise. You'll have to wait." Raoul playfully, yet cautiously placed his hand on Christine's waist. He leaned close to her ear. "It is one you shall never forget."

Christine could not hide a small look of astonishment on her face.

"What is it, Little Lotte?" His hands felt unusually cold. It felt icy, hard – familiar.

"Oh, it's nothing, dear." She took up his hand and pressed it to her cheek only to pull it away in fear. "Raoul, you're freezing!"

"Oh, it's nothing dear Lotte." His voice carried an unusual, yet chillingly familiar tone – one of another world. He seemed to be close, yet distant; loving, yet hard; gentle, yet – yet –

"You can never hide, Christine. You thought you were safe with your Vicomte." The boyish, handsome features were gone, slowly replaced with a pale face, with a porcelain…

"Oh, God, it's you." Christine tried to run, but a pair of iron clasps grabbed her wrists. "No, let me go!"

"My Angel of Music; come to me, Angel of Music." The thread of silver which slithered passed his grotesque lips caused her hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

"- there, inside your mind…"

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"No, no!"

"Madame le Vicomtess! Madame le Vicomtess!"

"No, let me go! Let me go!"

"Madame!" Euphrasie shook Christine's shivering body. Christine's eyes jolted open, slowly coming to realization. She stared into her maid's worried gaze. "Madame, you were having a nightmare, only a nightmare. You were talking in your sleep. Your cries worried me deeply."

Christine took a moment to look around the familiar room and slowed her breath. "I'm fine, Euphrasie. As you said it was only a nightmare. I'm sorry for waking you, there's no need to worry. You may return to your room." Her voice was shaky and unconvincing, but Euphrasie shrugged and bowed her head.

"Alright, Madame. Good night, Madame." Euphrasie made her way to the hall, softly closing the door behind her.

Christine was left covered in perspiration and clutching the covers as she had done only a few years before. She took another look around the room, flinching at every waver of an eerie shadow. She turned on her side and pulled the covers up, clutching them to her trembling chin. Her eyes opened again. The room had suddenly grown colder. Looking over to the windows, Christine saw that they were all shut. There was no breeze, but a chilling atmosphere hung around the room. Christine drew the covers closer and tighter to her body, feeling an uneasy familiarity lingering near. Raoul… The single thought slowly released all tension within and replaced it with fast-coming sleep.

Christine jolted up as she felt her hand. Her face skewed into that of confusion for her hand was unusually cold. She felt her waist and felt an icy trail as she met the skin. She tried to remember what had just occurred. She had felt a sort of hand trail down her skin holding her hand in its grip and suddenly disappear as she woke. Christine shook her head. It's just a dream, a hallucination. As she tried falling back to sleep something made her blood run cold.

"I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera." The whisper fell against her left ear, but when she turned around, nothing was there. "I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera." She did not dare open her eyes for fear of seeing… "I'm here," It sounded beside her, "I'm here!" above her. Christine began to sit up, but a weight pushed her back down. She looked directly above her and saw what she had long sought to forget.

Two discs of gold glowered down at her no more than six inches from her face. The piercing glare suffocated her, rendering her unable to scream. She could not speak; only mouth a few words. "No, your – dead."

The eyes smiled in amusement. "Ah, but who can ever kill a ghost? Yes, it is I, Christine, your Angel of Music." No pity, sorrow, or feeling other than spite coated his voice. "Did you never forget Erik? Why, of course. How could you forget? Even with your beloved little boy at your side always waiting on you hand and foot, you could vever forget me. Why? Because you vowed to me your undying love, your life, your soul. I gave you everything and only ever wanted your love in return. So simple. But no, no one could ever love the 'Devil's Child'. Oh, no, not the beast of Hell. But you thought you could run from your Erik – yes, your Erik -, but no one can hide from Erik. No one can evade the Opera Ghost!" He broke into a frightening laugh that filled the spacious room. "Speechless are you? Well, talk to your Erik for Erik has always been yours as you have been mine." He lowered his face and the moonlight revealed the objects of Christine's nightmares: The gaunt, pale face that held the Devil's glare, the swollen red lips, and the glinting porcelain mask. "Speak, my angel, speak!" His voice shook her body.

"But Erik, you know that I have always loved you and – " Here Erik stopped her with a menacing snarl, causing her to start and try to draw away.

"Loved me? You say you have always loved me? Well, then let's see how much you love your eternal betrothed." In one swift movement Christine's wrist were bound to the head of the bed and Erik's hands were on her waist. Christine screamed but this did not deter him from removing the slight gown. She continued to scream for help, wondering why she could not hear pounding feet in the hall. "Your efforts are wasted; no sound can escape this room." She stared at him incredulously.

"But how – "

"Ah, Christine, Christine, have you not learned?" He removed the rest of her clothing as Christine continued her useless shouting and writhing. "You shall have to learn to love the Erik you sought to forget." He pressed his lips against hers, breaking past her pursed lips with his exploring tongue. She screamed against him as tears began to stream down her pale face. Without thought, she bit down on his tongue causing him to draw back, cursing at her. "So, Christine, that is how much you love your Angel? Then shall Hell cast a fury like no other." He hastily removed his clothing, revealing his sickly form to Christine's reluctant eyes. He licked the tears that were rolling down her face and slithered down to her throat.

Christine gasped as the grotesque mouth nipped at the soft flesh of her neck. Against all her will she moaned as he softly suckled the flesh. Unconsciously, she lifted her torso and skimmed her womanly mounds against his emaciated frame. The action caused him to groan and he moved down to the two mounds of sensitive flesh. She let out a sharp gasp as his mouth closed around her. His constant suckling hardened the brown flesh. Satisfied, he moved to the other, repeating the suckling motions of a forbidden ecstasy. "No, no, no. Please don't do this. Please, please…" Christine whispered helplessly. He only smiled against ehr and continued down her twitching stomach. He reached his destination, gazing at it in wonder. He lifted the petals of her womanly rose, revealing the bud of all ecstasies.

"No! Oh, god, no. Erik…" Christine was surprised and could not suppress the great burst of feeling at the slight ruffle of her petals. Erik smiled and continued to fondle her with his audacious tongue, suckling with abandon. He slowly put his hand against her womanhood, satisfied that she had succumbed to his being. Christine let out a moan as Erik's fingers entered the lair of all her secret pleasures. He slowly pushed his fingers in and out as she bucked her hips in uncontrollable rapture. With a defeated groan of finality, she released upon him the honey of sweat release.

Christine was happy, yet abhorred at what had just happened. It felt so exhilirating and sinful, yet she knew no will was strong enough to hold back the bestiality of this ecstasy. "Please, Angel, I implore of you to stop, please. I can't – I can't –"

"Well, we have only just begun."

"Please, don't, I beg of you."

"Do you really? No, you have failed; that wall has crumbled. You have given in – to the music of the night."

"No, no, that's not true."

He now positioned himself over her, his mask a mere inch from her trembling features. "Don't fool yourself, my Angel, for Heaven knows no bounds. You belong to me."

Christine could not suppress a moan as she felt his hilt against her throbbing sheath. Nor could she hold herself back from lifting her hips in her aphrodisiac agony. "Untie me, please. Oh, Angel, I implore you!" She nearly screamed those words of suppressed longing.

"Much better," he muttered, "now, what do you wish so, my Angel?"

"Take me, I am yours, my love has always been yours. So take what is rightfully yours. Take it!" She hissed the final words so passionately it was plain that Madame le Vicomtess was no longer there, instead replaced by a carnal demon of Hell's malicious creation.

He grinned cruelly and he took her roughly by the mouth, releasing her small wrists. He slowly lowered his hips toward hers, causing Christine to moan against his swollen lips.

"Now." Christine whispered and he assented. A sharp intake of breath and a stifled moan began the final act. Christine placed her hands on his scarred back, pulling, clawing in her mounting ecstasy. She wrapped her leg around his, her toes gradually curling with each insertion of divine pleasure. They moaned and whispered into each other's mouths, speaking of love and lust. Their tongues continued their embrace as Erik's hips continued their steady pattern, gradually quickening.

Suddenly, with unusual strength and fervor, Christine pushed Erik to his side and onto his back, never disconnecting from him. Sitting up, she rotated her hips and threw back her head in her passion. Erik slid his hands up her thighs as she began her motions up and down, back and forth. The room filled with their mingling cries of lust and passion, becoming one voice, one body, one soul. Time was nothing to these oblivious lovers. The fires blazed in passionate fervor, consuming all thought, all logic, all past. The clouds shuddered and the moon trembled as the oblivious lovers continued their rocking embrace. They felt the act coming to an end, the finale at its death.

"Erik." Christine moaned.

"Christine." Erik returned. The curtains fell.

"Angel!" Angel and Demon shouted to the Heavens, their final call of ecstasy, each fulfilling the other.

Before Christine shut her eyes, a pair of softened lips touched hers once more.

The shadow disappeared; leaving a sleeping beloved bare and entangled in her sheets and dreams.