She had never attempted to go through the cellars on her own before. Christine stared at the void behind her open mirror, pulling her cloak tight against the chill air that seeped from the darkness. Securing her basket under her arm, she picked up her lantern and passed through the secret door, pausing only a moment as she heard it latch closed behind her.
Erik had not made an appearance in nearly two weeks. He had left a note saying he was composing and would seek her in time, but Christine had become impatient. She had practiced every day at the appointed hour, in case he had decided to come to her lesson, but her mirror greeted her with dull silence. After a week of this, she had begun searching for a way to open the mirror. Three days later, her finger had caught on a the little head of a nail; she heard a click followed by a mechanical whirring, and the mirror swung open. She'd solved one mystery, at least.
She considered her newfound knowledge for two more days. If he was composing, would he be angry if she disturbed him? Could she even find her way? She had been through the cellars several times, but always with Erik. The route was long, she thought, but it certainly wasn't difficult. And he had said he neither ate nor slept for days at a time when composing. She frowned at that. If he starved himself, it would be another week before he had the strength to come back up, assuming he was finished with his work for now. That settled the matter. That evening, she packed a basket with bread, cheese, a bottle of wine, and some eclairs from her favorite patisserie, and opened the mirror. If her Angel wasn't going to take care of himself, she would have to do so. She could show him that simple kindness, at least.
She walked in silence for a while, until she could hear the babble of the little fountain set into the stone. Encouraged that she was on the correct path, she began humming to herself, increasing her speed as she did so. The cold and damp grew as she descended. She longed for the warmth gleaming from the distant furnaces. How silly that she had one been afraid of them! Perhaps Erik would take her if she said she was curious to see them. She stopped short, remembering what had happened the last time she'd been curious with Erik. The echo of her footsteps rang out in the sudden silence. On second thought, perhaps she would go alone some time.
Christine walked faster as she descended. She would surprise him for once. He would be so proud of her for finding her way to him through the dark! Her excitement and happiness grew, until she was practically skipping down the steps. She was certain she was almost there. Finally, Christine could see the bottom of the staircase ahead of her. Grinning in triumph, she rushed down the last few stairs.
Her joy was quickly replaced by confusion. A step that was supposed to be there suddenly wasn't, and she was falling. Stone floor rushed up to meet her, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She registered the distant shattering of glass. Sudden sharp stinging in her hands and knees brought tears to her eyes, making her instantly feel like she was a very small child again. She caught her breath and righted herself. The basket was still with her, and she reached in to check the bottle. It felt whole. Hadn't she heard glass breaking? Horror blossomed within her when she realized she had dropped the lantern in her fall. She was alone in the dark under the Paris Opera House. No one knew where she was or how to find her. The only person who could had no idea she was coming. Perhaps she could go back up the stairs? She moved toward the place they should be, but found only a wall. Beginning to panic, she crawled around looking for the steps, only to come to the dawning realization that without them, she did not know how to go back or where to move forward. She was lost. Feeling very sorry for herself, and overflowing with disappointment, frustration, and fear, Christine sat on the cold floor, pulled her bruised knees to her chest, and began to cry.