Because they were dancing, twirling so gracefully, so lightly, and he couldn't watch. He couldn't bear it. With him, she was dark and seductive, and entirely a tempting woman. But here she was, young and soft, and whole-heartedly fragile, so fragile that he couldn't even think to touch her, lest he break that porcelain face. That face that looked at the young Viscount like the boy was the angel, not himself. For that moment, Erik was not jealous. For that moment, Erik was weak and dared to peak out so that he might see the expression on his darling angel's face.
She was happy. She was glowing in her joy, a sweet childish smile spread across her face, showing her true, young age as the Viscount led her across the roof in the most graceful of dances to some unheard holy music. Erik strained his ears in hopes of catching a few of those imaginary notes so that he may remember them. Perhaps if he could find a melody just as sweet, just as beautiful, she might smile that way at him, too. That she would smile that way…
Erik closed his eyes imagining it and sighed contentedly. For the first time, he felt for that maybe if he could see her smile that way, that it would be ok to let her be with the Viscount, that perhaps it was not so cruel a fate to suffer, if he could see that glowing porcelain smile.
Erik opened his eyes to watch as the dancing slowed and the Viscount captured Christine's lips in the most genuine of kisses and his heart ached and the contentedness was gone. Had she forgotten him?
"I must go," the young girl whispered to her beloved. "They'll wonder where I am." They? But what about him? Erik felt his heart slowly being pulled apart by that porcelain smile. "Come with me Raoul."
No, please, Erik wanted to beg, let me come, too.
"Christine, I love you."
Erik sunk down against the back of a statue, suddenly without strength to stand. He barely heard Christine tell Raoul to wait for her at the door, and it only served to tear at the final shreds of his heart. Everything ached as he stumbled out to a now empty roof and knelt, trembling hands lifting the rose he had left for his angel.
"I gave you my music," his voice was nothing but an unsteady whisper, "let your song take wing. And now, how you repay me? Deny me and betray me?" Red velvet petals trembled against black gloved hands. "He was bound to love you when he heard you sing," he pleaded out to the girl who was no longer there. "Christine…" he called helplessly, remembering that beautiful porcelain smile.
Then he heard it. The voice of his angel mixed with that of the Viscount drifting up through the door to the roof, each asking for nothing but the other's love. The phantom looked up, the betrayal by that beautiful girl, the one he had given everything to, mixed with the fact that it was all for a boy who could not give her even one thing that the opera ghost had…
Erik trembled still, but for different reasons. Suddenly he was on his feet, sprinting towards a statue on the edge of the roof and for the briefest of moments, he considered even running right off the edge, but at the last moment he held on the wings of the winter-chilled angel of stone and yelled out in a pained fury at that porcelain smile.
"You will curse the day you did not do all that the phantom asked of you!"