Long Night of the Opera Ghost
It had been a particularly cold winter. Erik sighed and lay down his pen. Since Christine had gone away to sing at the Opera House in Milan, the Teatro alla Scala, or La Scala as it was known, a great honor, and he had chosen to stay behind and keep an eye on Raphael, despite her pleading, he found it hard to reconcile his decision. He was haunted by visions of Christine being feted and wined and dined by the aristocracy who patronized the Opera. It was his own doing. Drat it. He rose from his seat at the piano and strode to the sideboard where he poured himself a snifter of brandy and then went to gaze out the window.
It was a moonless night. It reminded him of something. Another time. Another place. Christine leaving Raoul and making her way to him. Declaring her love for the man who had given up on life and was slowly but surely dying of a broken heart 5 stories below the Paris Opera House. She embraced him, kissed him, caressed him, and unbelieveing that she was not a hallucination sent to torment him, he gradually came alive, again, and they had made a life together, they and the little gypsy boy he rescued.
And he had built them a home. This house. With large windows in every room. So it was that he had come to stand in front of one, staring up at the dark, deep night, sipping the brandy and reaching down to pet Shadow, his cat. Rafe was soundly asleep in his bedroom, after an evening of accompanying Erik on the piano, he was a fast learner, and then begging Erik to read to him, which he did, dramatically bringing to life an adventure involving pirates, lost treasure, and a heroic cabin boy.
Those moments with Rafe, establishing security for him, were very important to Erik, so, when Christine received the invitation to sing in Milan, he encouraged her, though she begged him to reconsider and accompany her. She clung to him and covered his face with kisses before she settled into the coach which would take her to off on the start of her journey. From there, it would be travel by train and then coach, again.
The month had dragged by. Christine's absence was like a physical pain to him as hard as he tried not to express that to Rafe. He looked out over the withered garden and the frost that covered the lawn and the ice and snow that still clung to the trees. The clock on the mantel chimed. 1:00 a.m. Still, sleep was distant. He seated himself in front of the fire. Shadow leapt to the arm of the chair and then settled on his lap, purring. It was too cold a night even for this great huntress.
In less than a week, Christine would be beside him, again, or rather, insisting he join her in bed, where she would regale him with opera house gossip, that the now retired opera ghost would find himself chuckling over.
Less than a week. But would she return unchanged? He knew her heart and soul... but some dashing Count or other might sway her devotion. His thoughts turned dark. Still, she had given up Raoul, his nemesis, for him. "Have faith", he heard a voice whisper in his ear. He swore he could hear violin music drifting in from somewhere. Could it be his imagination? Or was this the real Angel of Music whispering reassurances. He thought of Christine's father, a world class violinist, and his dying promise to her that one day, she would hear the Angel of Music. What she had heard, instead, was Erik, whom she had mistaken for the Angel, he smiled to himself. Still, he became her protector, her teacher and... then the man who couldn't live without her.
He could still hear the faint strains of the violin. Could it be Monsieur Daae that had sent the Angel to him, to comfort him while he pined for his beloved daughter? Feeling oddly reassured, he finished his brandy, lifted the candleabra from the table beside him...and made his way up the stairs to bed.
