Erik let out a soft moan, and rubbed his hands across his face. He would find no sleep tonight. His gaze fell heavily, mirroring his mood quite accurately, and landed on the mask that lay nearby. His bony, long-fingered hand reached out of its own accord, replacing it on his face without a thought. The Opera Ghost never left his domain without its mysterious presence, which meant he hadn't donned it in quite some time. The absence of the mask was his constant reminder of the black soul that lay within, of his lack of humanity as much as the mask itself was.
Resigned to another night's insomnia, never an unusual thing, he sat up, slipped his legs over the coffin's sides and stood swiftly, leaving the disturbing sight behind. He changed back into his normal dress, formal trousers and dress shirt, with a cut black jacket over. Pushing the door roughly, he left it hanging open and moved as silently as the other flickering shadows in the Opera House did, those of the torches burning above in the lobby and still hallways. As he continued down the hall he snatched his heavy cloak from its hook, swishing it around his shoulders without slowing. It would be the first time he had left the cellars of the Opera and their constant blackness in almost 3 months.
His eyes, posture, and mood all opposed the steady progress upward that Erik made. They never left their depths, and a part of him wondered, in its absence, if he had ever felt joy at all. Was the world the same dark place it had always been to a creature such as him? Had he dreamed the purest of angels into his life, only to have her light snuffed by cruel, cold reality?
No, she was real. Of that there was no doubt. The rest of his life could never have allowed him to conjure such a being, not in any figment of his imagination, nor could he have ever tasted the sweet tangs of love…
But no matter how real she was, the future was as hopeless as if he had truly dreamed her. She was gone, had been lost to him from the moment she walked into the room where he was composing when he didn't sense her. The one time he didn't realise that she was near, and look at how it had ended. He should've known she would do such a thing, should've known her unquenchable curiosity would lead her to his mask as well. It gleamed in the dark despite the lack of light, mocking him as he ascended to the floors aboveground.
The cold was a shock, in spite of the many hours spent with a deep earthy chill his only companion. That was comfortable, familiar, for him, while this night's air was clear and biting. His cloak offered some layer of protection, but Erik welcomed the wind that cut into him. It, if nothing else, was some proof that he was still alive.
Although truthfully, he was unsure if that was a good thing.
Christine gasped as the wind whistled straight through her cloak- it wasn't near enough protection for the beginnings of winter.
She couldn't do this anymore. It was a lie to everyone, most especially to herself, and she had lied enough to herself in the past year to last a lifetime. Or two. She was utterly exhausted by it all.
Her hands reached up, shaking, to the clasp of the necklace that hung around her throat. It didn't feel right there, and it didn't feel right, either, to do this. But her fingers fumbled it open, and it spilled into her palm, which closed tightly around it. Raoul would never take it back from her, but she knew she couldn't go on wearing it.
They, the past, only held her down.
It was time to let go of Little Lotte, to let go of Raoul, and to let go of her father's memory.
Erik froze when he felt her arrive. Speak of sensing an angel's presence. If only it was this easy normally, and she would appear at his mere thought of her. He sidled noiselessly under the statue of Apollo's Lyre and concealed himself in its shadow once again.
He watched, confused, as she reached behind her, hesitated a second, and undid the necklace she wore. Before her hand closed around it to grip it tightly, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a golden circle on its chain. The Vicomte's engagement ring? The thought infuriated him. She stood there for a moment more, so still she could almost have been one of the statues that lined the edge of the rooftop.
Christine dragged in a deep breath, and raised her hand to the level of her eyes, palm open, to stare at the ring. A determined look came upon her and her hand snapped shut, drew back, and threw. Hard.
The ring glittered briefly in the moonlight, then plummeted out of sight.
Christine watched it blankly. All of a sudden, she tensed as a feeling she hadn't had in months washed over her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, although that could equally have been caused by the gusting wind. He was here.
Slowly, scarcely trusting her own instincts, the girl turned her head to the right, blue eyes widening as she saw him. He was staring at her with the same stunned look she was undoubtedly giving him, the light falling across him. He had forgotten entirely to even attempt to hide himself, and could do nothing but gaze back at her. Her face didn't contort with horror, nor did she scream. She didn't make a peep, just shivered as the wind bit at her again.
That startled him back into reality.
"Christine…" he murmured.
Her lips parted, but she continued to stare at him in confusion, not answering.
"Christine, you'll freeze…"
Christine's face took on an incredulous expression. That was his biggest concern right now?! "What on earth are you doing up here?"
"I've no idea, truthfully, nor do I see why you should care. I rather think I should be asking you that question." His voice was harsh.
"I had to stop lying to myself, and everyone else. I couldn't handle it any longer."
"Oh, yes, your troublesome life, with a handsome fiancé and dreams of the stage all come true. And tell me," he questioned her, "was that quite the best way to solve all of your problems? Is everything better now?"
Her gaze moved to where the ring had fallen. "Probably not," she conceded.
He let out a bark of laughter, covering his confusion. "At least we're being honest."
"Speaking of honest," Christine cut him off, her stare returning to his, "whatever happened to you? Did you really think Joseph Buquet falling onto the stage in the middle of a performance, dead-" she barely choked out the word, "wouldn't leave me wondering? I've been waiting three months, wondering what had happened. Waiting for you to come back to me and explain what had been going on! I know you didn't kill him in cold blood, Carlotta was the disaster you threatened, not him!"
"I had no reason to believe you wanted anything to do with me."
"What in the world gave you that idea?"
Erik's eyes pierced hers furiously. "'What gave me that idea?' Oh, let me see Christine," he mocked, "perhaps it was the fact that I have a face so distorted, deformed, that it is hardly a face at all, or that I would kill a thousand men to get to you, my dear!"
"Oh God."
"Indeed. I would think you would have realised by now that there is nothing that happens in my Opera House that I am unaware of."
"Erik-" Her hand reached out to him, but he jumped out of her reach. "Tell me. Please, tell me what happened."
He stalked several feet away, keeping his back to her. "The man was a lecherous creep. I feel no remorse for his death, nor do I deny that I was its cause, if that is what you are hoping for, Christine."
"That is not what I asked."
Erik remained silent, until she wondered if he was just going to ignore her. "He caught me unawares. I was watching you, watching the opera move forward without Carlotta, mercifully. That fop was still in my box, and I was in the catwalks, as I'm sure you have deduced. He attacked me, and it was his life or mine. He lost."
Christine's eyes closed, although he couldn't see her. "I wondered if it wasn't something like that."
He whirled on her, cape flying menacingly. "I still killed him Christine."
"I know."
His forehead creased in confusion, and she could see some of his barriers drop at her unexpected response. "What are you still doing here, if I am obviously still a murderer?'
"Trying to understand you, Erik. I know what I said, and I don't expect you to have forgiven me. Of all the people I could've spoken to that night, Raoul was the absolute worst choice, and I… I had only just started to comprehend that you weren't the angel I had believed you to be for nearly ten years… I was only coming to terms with your being a man, your being a man who had killed as well was too much for me to take in at once."
"And now that you have taken it in?" he asked bitterly.
"Now, I am only incredibly sorry for the mistakes I made. I should never have said such things about you, after everything you've ever done for me, and I should certainly not have been accepting any proposals in the state I was in. I don't know you yet, not really. I know virtually nothing about your past, and so it is not my place to judge you for it."
Erik's mind blanked for a moment. Did she… forgive him? For killing a man?
Had he just wasted three months of his life that could've been spent with Christine? Erik wanted to slap himself! All it would've taken to get her back was to find her and tell her the truth? She was willing to give him another chance, to learn about him, despite the crimes of his past and his face!
He realised he'd spoken his thoughts aloud when she answered with an amused smile. "Yes, that's all it would've taken. But please, don't go hitting yourself. It will solve very little at this point."
He chuckled. "Christine, you've given me more of a chance tonight than I think I can possibly deserve, but I can't bring myself to turn it down. I only hope I can become worthy of your forgiveness."
"If my Angel of Music is any part of you, Erik, anywhere, then you already are. And I believe he is."
"I can't… tell you everything, not right away, but I swear I won't make you regret giving me this opportunity."
"I never will." She stepped towards him cautiously, before pulling him into a gentle, warm embrace.
"I can't wait to get to know you, Angel."
Erik's steps were lighter, if louder, than he could remember them being as he returned to his home. Hanging his thick cloak back up on its hook, he turned to the library to light a fire. If Christine was going to be coming back, then his home would need to be full of light again. It was only suitable for an angel.
He would have to do something about that coffin. It really was a rather morbid thing, and he had no intention of dying just yet.
A/N: This one-shot is just a little something that I wrote when I was feeling a bit down and suffering from some writer's block. I'm rather pleased with how it turned out, all things considered, but I'd love to hear what all the lovely readers out there think. Please send me a review!
This is my first piece of fanfiction, but I also have a full length Phantom story in the works. No idea what it will be called yet, but please look out for it! I'd love input and advice. Really, I adore it. Thanks for reading!
Til next time!