The sound was insistant. A heartbreaking high pitched cry, a frightened plea, a tiny voice expressing itself the only way it knew how. Christine Daae was not no match for such a plaintive sound, and she had no choice but to investigate. She had told Mama Valerius that she would go straight back to the Opera House-to spend the evening in her dormitory, listening for her angel's voice. But this new voice had forcefully derailed her direct path and had her wandering away from the carriage that was to deliver her safely, and into the alleyway from which the sound came. She lifted her skirts just enough that the hem didn't drag on the dirty ground, and stepped into the darkness.
"Kitty kitty," Christine hummed cheerily, gently into the brisk night air. It was much too cold to be outside tonight; especially outside alone and afraid. "Where are you, darling?"
The tiny voice answered with three desperate mews. Christine followed the sound curiously, drifting closer to a pile of discarded, broken wood planks, dusted with frost. She lifted the junk and tossed it aside, revealing a shivering lump of coal black fur, calling out with eyes pinched shut and little pink tongue and teeth visible. "Oh, sweetheart," Christine cooed, and the kitten blinked its eyes open and stared at her with brilliant yellow orbs.
"Why are you all alone? Where's your mother?" As if responding, the little creature stretched, tried to roll over and move closer to Christine's kind voice, and in the process revealed that it only had three legs. Christine let out a little gasp of pity, before gently scooping it up in her arms and holding it to her cheek.
"Oh you poor little thing, here, I've got you, I'll take care of you," she murmured, rubbing her cheek over the scraggly fur. The kitten began purring with such vigor its three tiny legs shook; Christine wondered if it had ever felt kindness before in it's short life.
"The mother would have abandoned it," came a voice from behind her, even and gentle and deep. Christine spun around in suprise to see the darkly cloaked yet unmistakably familiar form of her Erik. She froze, afraid of speaking, suddenly painfully embarassed and ashamed.
"That's what animals do, you know, when one is damaged. They reject it-even their own offspring." He stepped closer to the young girl, his dress cape shifting softly as he seemed to glide down the alley. "It is for survival of course. You cannot blame them. No one wants to be held back." There was a sorrowful coating to every word, and Christine fought the urge to fall at his feet in tears. Instead, she hugged the little creature to her shoulder and cast her eyes down. The kitten peeped out several more mews in greeting to the newly approaching figure.
"Soon you will learn to be afraid of others," Erik murmured, ignoring Christine and stroking the little cat's head with two graceful fingers.
"Not everyone is cruel," Christine nearly whispered, searching for the amber eyes behind the mask. It glowed ghost-like in the moonlight, but she could not see his eyes.
"Perhaps not," Erik answered, turning his attention to his protigee at last. "You must have known I would not allow you to wander the city at night on your own. Remember Christine, you are under my protection."
"I didn't mean to worry you," she said, looking down at the little cat again, who was blinking its eyes sleepily. "I just couldn't ignore those little cries...Erik I must keep him! Oh, please, can he stay with you? It won't be any trouble..."
The ghost felt a faint smile threaten to betray him. He kept his face stern, despite the overwhelming affection he felt towards his Christine at the moment.
"The cat is damaged, Christine. It probably will not survive."
"Yes he will! I'll take care of him. He just needs a bit of help."
Erik sighed quietly, and held out his hands. Christine hesitated for a moment, frightented to relinquish the creature into another's hands. Erik saw her hesitation and let a careful smile grace his mouth where the mask did not cover it. It was so hard to read his face, but Christine felt that she could trust him, somehow. She placed the fragile body into Erik's hands, and he held it out from himself for a moment or two, looking it over. The missing leg seemed to be the result of a birth deformity, rather than an injury. It was still and calm in his hold, golden eyes searching golden eyes.
"He likes you," Christine said shyly, smoothing out her skirt and feeling the closeness of the still, cold air.
The angel held the kitten against his chest, and the mournful mewing ceased. "I suppose even this poor creature desearves a chance at life," he spoke, almost inaudibly. Christine stepped close to him-too close-and placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned in and nuzzled the kitten, which had quickly fallen asleep. "Everyone deserves that."