She had watched him and waited until the exact moment when it was clear he needed her the most. As a woman who had loved and cherished this tormented creature her whole life, it was only natural that she was a bit hesitant. It could have been that or it could have been that he had just proclaimed his undying love for another woman.
But alone, hidden in her corner, she watched the grief wash over her very own love. It hurt her to see him like this, but she knew now that Christine would never love him as much as she did. Ever since she'd come to that Opera house, she had loved his presence and when at last she saw the man, she loved him too. He was handsome and overpowering and not afraid to fight for what he wanted. But then the problem had risen that he'd never care for her as much as he did Christine. But still, she kept hope. Hope that he would one day give up on his obsession with the young soprano and fall for someone who loved him back.
She waited and watched as Christine gave him the ring and then left him there to weep. His weeping tore at her heart to hear, but she had to let him have that cry before she tried to force another emotion into his head.
He let the tears fall and watched as Christine walked away from him. His heart tore ever step she furthered herself from him. And with every tear he felt as though no one would ever love him.
She could not hide any longer. She emerged from her corner and went over to the sobbing man. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. At first he thought it was a dream because how could anyone show such emotion to a hideous beast. But as he raised his tear-stained face to see her, he knew almost at once that this was no dream. The look in her eyes was caring and soft, not sad and angering like he had put up with all his life. She was not afraid of him. Instead she came around in front of him and knelt on the ground.
Her hand went from his shoulder to the side of his face in loving recognition. "Tears," she whispered. "Such magical droplets."
He could only look at her. There was no speaking after the anguish he had just experienced.
"Don't worry," she continued, "you need not say anything. I can talk as well as any." Her hand wiped away the tears that came and slowly but surely the tear flow receded. "I know how you feel," she explained, "I know what it's like to not have the love you deserve. It hurts."
He found his voice and breathed a large gulp of air before speaking. "How do you know?" he asked in his warm and velvety voice, from which she'd heard him sing several times.
"Because I've been in love with the same man for ages and he loves someone else." She soothed his heaving breaths and calmed his mind by only speaking simple words.
He really looked at her this time and acknowledged the beauty and patience he saw in her eyes. She was nothing like Christine, and yet she held a likeness to her. The same mouth, small and sensual. Her eyes were different and so was her face structure, but there was still the small pleasure of the mouth. "How did you find this place?" he asked, suddenly taking a sharp edge in his voice.
"One way or another," she replied, smiling. The same smile Christine gave Raoul.
"Why did you come here?" he asked, not satisfied with the vague answers she was giving him.
"I came because of you," she rejoined, not flinching at the truth she was conveying. "I came for you."
"For me?" he asked, puzzled at her remarks.
"Yes, for you. You who was always too busy with Christine to look at me. You whom I have adored since I first stepped into this building. You who have the face that most people run from." He hid his face at that, but she quickly moved her left hand and placed it on his deformed cheek. "But not me. I don't run from beautiful and unique things."
He could hardly believe a word she was saying. This woman, a woman so like the one he still loved, was complimenting his deformity. She was not cringing or looking away from it. She was touching it with a gentle and soft hand. She was admiring it and calling it something beautiful. "It's not beautiful," he retorted, unfit to call his curse anything else.
"It is," she defended. "It is beauty in a word."
"Why are you like this?" he suddenly asked, slightly confused by her behavior.
"I told you. Because love brought me here."
"Not love for me," he said, turning from her face and that mouth that had just kissed him. Only the mouth that had kissed him had belonged to a different face.
"Yes love for you," she said more firmly. "I've loved you and loved only you for the past three years. Ever since I came to live here. I have held that thought and only that thought for each and every night I spent listening to you croon to Christine. I hoped that you would…" she paused, not wanting to say it. She was going to say that she hoped he would fall out of love with Christine, but it would definitely be too painful for his ears. For the fact remained that Christine had never returned his love. "I hoped that things would change."
He watched her confess these feelings and discard them like old shoes. She truly did love him. Despite his faults and despite his love for Christine that would never go away, this woman he was with actually loved him. But then there were her constant hopes for Christine to deny whatever he offered her. And there was a harsh reality because it had come true.
"You think me selfish?" she asked him calmly.
"I think you matchless to any woman I have ever met," was his reply. "I cannot believe that you want me."
"Why is it hard to believe?" she asked him, taking his hand in hers.
"Because it's like nothing I've ever known and it is just not the best time for you to say these things."
"I'll admit that it is slightly unorthodox for me to come here like this, but had I waited any longer you would have slipped away and never been seen again. I know this for a fact."
"You truly care for me that much?" he asked, still a little perplexed and sad from his recent loss.
"I do," she replied.
His eyes lit up finally and he took a giant leap by touching her face with his free hand. She did not flinch, she did not turn her head, and she did not brush his hand away. She let his hand caress her cheek for a moment and then grabbed it with her own hand, wanting him never to remove it.
"Let me kiss you," he whispered.
She opened her eyes and looked into his. They were no longer swimming with tears, but in fact they were filled with a new sense of joy. She also thought she saw a hint of happiness in them. She nodded and his lips descended on hers.
When they made contact she breathed out in ecstasy and pleasure. His inexperienced kisses were the epitome of her young life and she loved every second. His lips caressed hers for several seconds before he retreated. She licked her lips and then slowly opened her eyes again to look into his face. There was a small smile and he reached out to her, begging her to embrace him.
She went to him willingly and allowed his arms to shelter her. His warmth and compassion, which he claimed not to have, came out in warm blasts along with love and affection he had never had the chance to show before.
He loved the feeling, having her in his arms, and the kiss was even better than the hug they were now sharing. Her lips had been supple and tender and he could not help but forget Christine for that one blissful moment.
A new idea now arose inside him. Perhaps Christine would and could not love him, but this woman in his arms could. He could learn to love her as she loved him and he could, for once, be happy.
He pulled back from the embrace and looked deep into her sapphire eyes. "What's your name?" he asked.
"You first, Phantom of the Opera," she smiled.
He surprisingly smiled back and answered, "Erik. My name is Erik."
"Erik, my name is Carolyn."
"Carolyn," he repeated, testing her name on his tongue. It was similar to Christine, but not quite the same sweet feeling. This one was sweeter.
He looked back and her and her sensual mouth, beautiful blue eyes and soft golden hair. She was really quite exquisite and now that his tears had cleared, he could truly see her beauty.
"Will you stay with me?" he asked.
Suddenly she burst into tears. But they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. "Always," she replied. "Always, always."
He went in for another kiss and she again came to him. All the sadness that had been there minutes before was now gone. It had been replaced with the magnificence of Carolyn and her undying love for a distorted and deformed man. And soon, Erik would love Carolyn too and he'd never stop.