Christine ran down the stairs, her dress flying out after her. She glanced around quickly, then kept running. She was relieved when she found her door, stepping inside, then locking it behind her. She ran to the mirror, the one that Eric always used to find her. She slid it open cautiously, then stepped past the threshold, picking up her feet as to make no noise.
Christine shut the mirror-door behind her and walked down the spiraling steps. She would bounce over the traps, lunge over the trap doors, and glide past the eerie and empty corridors. She reached the bottom of the stairs and gasped. Near everything was gone. All of the music, the candles, the music box. Everything was missing, except for the two magnificent mirrors, the organ atop it the small layouts of the productions, and the bed Christine had slept on times before.
Christine felt her soul weaken, and she jumped into the water, treading toward the empty cave. She hoped he had left her something, a way of saying goodbye. She climbed the stairs from the water and looked around delicately, not touching anything she didn't find addressed to her. She let her tears fall when she found nothing. He was gone, as was her heart with him. She didn't understand. They could've lived. It would've worked.
She let herself collapse on the bed and cry. She didn't want it to end like this, she wanted him with her. She could change him for the better. After a while, she stood and dried her tears, making her way back to her room, to await dinner call.
It came not long after she had arrived back at her room, and Christine shuffled out dutifully. She wasn't hungry, but felt the need of human companionship. Too long had she depended on inanimate objects. She was shoved and prodded in the crowd that was heading to the dining hall. She spoke to no one and kept her head down, until two feet stood before her, blocking her way.
Christine looked up and her heart sank. It was Raoul, in all of his shining armor. She smiled unconvincingly as he grabbed her chin. He peered into her eyes, wondering why she looked so glum.
"Darling, what is the matter?" He asked. She turned away from him, not wanting to let him see her tears. She had decided.
"At the moment, Raoul-." her voice broke, "I do not think it is right for us to be engaged. Let us still be friends, forever your little Lottie. But please, not now. I cannot commit my heart to you just yet." And she put the ring, on a chain, into his hand, closing it for him and drawing it to his chest. She kissed his cheek and walked away, knowing in the back of her mind that he would never let her go. Neither would the phantom.
She sat emotionlessly at the table, just in time. The cooks and kitchen hands brought out the food on large platters, scattering it at the table. Christine groaned as Piangi slopped near all of one plate of mashed potatoes for himself. Carlotta smiled at her lover, then at the Vicomte. He smiled back without enthusiasm.
Christine groaned again. She felt herself about to be sick. She excused herself hastily, Raoul, Meg, and Madame Giry's eyes darting to look at her. She ran out, holding her stomach. She hadn't been able to hold anything down for a while, and decided (while heaving against the wall) that she should go see a doctor.
Christine found a messenger boy and tipped him well, hoping he would hurry. She needed to find an available doctor. She had a ghastly thought locked in the back of her mind, and as she stood in the curb, it snuck into her mind. She shook it off and rested her head in her hands, crying frustrated tears.
Eric greeted the woman cheerful enough. She knew her craft well, she had stories and witnesses to prove it. She, however, was not what he expected. The lady was black, short and frail, although by her personality you wouldn't have been able to tell. She had her gray hair tied up into a crimson cloth. It reminded Eric of the color of a rose. He shook his head as to rid himself of it, turning his attention back to the woman.
"The mask." She said bluntly, gathering items on her desk behind her. Eric hesitated, but took the mask off as she ordered. He felt revealed, exposed. He was surprised that the woman didn't cringe as she turned to look at him. She ran her hands over his scars. She was thinking, he could tell. She nodded and turned back away from him, grabbing a bottle of something.
The lady, Susanna, was holding a clear liquid, and it was obvious she was about to put it on Eric's face. He grabbed her wrist firmly before she began.
"What is this? What will it do?" Eric asked, staring into her eyes in case she lied.
"It is an herb. It will smooth over your face. It will flatten your lines and scars." She never looked away, nor did she hesitate. He nodded and let go, letting her proceed. The liquid felt good on his hot skin. He closed his eyes and waited until Susanna was done, wondering what his new life would be like.
"Okay." She said, drying off the last bit of it, then handing him a mirror. He closed his eyes and held the mirror up to his face, then reopening them. He immediately felt tears. He looked . . . normal. Both sides of his face were smooth and handsome. He looked up at Susanna, not knowing how to thank her.
"It's okay, honey. I know you're thankful." He stood and kissed her on the cheek, dumping on her desk the promised amount and some extra. He placed his hands on her one last time, giving her a grateful look, then walked out into the night, for the first time without his mask.
He tucked his mask into his pocket and walked the streets, pride gleaming from him. The women were noticing him, not running away in fear. The men, although they would never admit it, were afraid of him, his muscular shape and handsomeness. But as he kept walking, he remembered the opera. He remembered all of the people he killed with his two hands. He let himself grow humbled and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking with his head down the rest of the way to the entrance to his cave, though he need no longer hide there.