Christine smiled, holding her mint-green mask to her face, pinning it firmly on as the carriage came to a halt outside the Opera Garnier, pink and gold fireworks illuminating the area.
She looked across to her cousin and aunt; Marguerite and Antoinette Giry. Marguerite (whom preferred to be called Meg) looked beautiful, wearing a white beaded mask and her long golden hair pinned up. She wore a white dress and angel wings, her costume suiting her perfectly.
The three of them were going to the Annual New Years Masquerade at the Opera Garnier. Meg was the current Prima Ballerina just like her mother once was many years ago. Antoinette was now the ballet mistress and had gained respect from everyone in the company.
Christine stepped out of the carriage, taking the offered hand of the butler and gazed happily about the crowded paved area that lay before the world-renowned Opera Garnier.
Masqueraders crowded the square, gossiping, laughing and pointing at the shattering fireworks, gypsies, kings, princesses and villains filling the vicinity.
Christine wore a floating chiffon dress, layered with many different shades of green and yellow. She was a wood nymph, a fairy of the forest and her dark brown curls trailed down her back with green pearls strung through the tresses.
Aunt Antoinette was in an exotic oriental dress and was holding a large black fan. Her dress was covered in black and gold designs, intricately woven, her long hair piled up into a bun secured with two long black pins.
"Ah Madame Giry! You look exceptionally stunning! And darling Marguerite, dressed like the angel you are; I never saw you look finer" cried Monsieur Lefevre, the manager of the Opera Garnier. His wife smiled at them, a tall regal looking lady with pale ivory skin, black hair and blue eyes.
"Monsieur Lefevre, truly a pleasure" Madame Giry said wryly and Lefevre's gaze fell upon Christine.
"And who is your friend Marguerite?" he asked and Christine blushed, not used to the high society her aunt and cousin kept.
"This is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé, my brother Gustaf's eldest daughter and my niece. She has come to Paris with the intention of staying with us for the winter. Normally she lives with her family in Sweden" Madame Giry said smiling as Lefevre kissed Christine's hand.
"Enchanté Mademoiselle. If you don't min my asking what is your age?" he asked politely and Christine blushed with the attention.
"Sixteen years Monsieur, there is mere months between Meg and myself" she said quietly and he smiled.
"And do you have a date with you?" inquired the manager and Christine shook her head, her dark curls bouncing with the movement.
"Non Monsieur"
"Well then we must find you one" he exclaimed and turned, beckoning a man over. He wore a full-face mask half black half white and wore a dinner suit.
"Monsieur Lefevre how you do throw a wondrous party" exclaimed the man, eying Christine's young prettiness.
"Merci Axel, please; this is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé from Sweden. Christine this is Axel Debienne, son of a previous manager" Monsieur Lefevre introduced them as Axel leant forward and kissed Christine's hand.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance" Axel said smoothly and took her hand to lead her into the ballroom of the Opera House.
Soon she was swept into a dance circulating through the ballroom, her green dress swishing through the prominent colours of black, white and gold. She made small talk with Axel, flirting slightly as she overcame her initial shyness, his hands holding her small frame.
But as that dance ended another man approached Christine and expressed his wish to dance with her.
He was the Vicomte Raoul De Chagny, heir to one of the wealthiest and most influential families of Europe. He was handsome and charming enough with his lovely blue eyes and short blonde hair but Christine felt as if he were merely another one of the many handsome faces flirting with her that night.
Dance after dance, man after man, Christine felt weary and finally quitted the dance floor, quite out of breath as she sat down with Meg as the clock ticked its way towards midnight when 1870 would be no more and they would bring in a New Year.
"I've danced with eleven men; you?" Meg panted, lifting a glass of cool champagne to her lips, pulling off her white mask and placing it on the table.
"Twelve I think; I lost my enthusiasm by the ninth" Christine sighed, gulping down her glass of red wine as he wiped the sweat from her brow.
"May I please have the pleasure of helping you regain your enthusiasm by being number thirteen?" came a deep smooth voice and she turned to see a man with his hand outstretched to her.
"I guess as it is only minutes till midnight," she agreed, taking his hand and staring up at his unusual mask.
It was a creamy white; the white of bones and it covered his face from his widow's peak hairline to his top lip. It was skull-like and slightly eerie, his eyes blackened with makeup making him resemble death itself. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore a tailcoat and black suit, even his shirt was black.
"Pray tell me; what is your name Mademoiselle?" he asked as the dance began and she bit her lip nervously as the cold touch of leather shivered through her hands; he was wearing black leather gloves.
"Christine Daaé, and you monsieur?" she asked as a strange feeling clutched her stomach with nerves; she had not felt like this with any of the men she had danced with so far.
"Erik, Erik Destler" he answered smoothly and quickly added "Erik with a K; I cannot stand the vulgar spelling with a C" he said mockingly and Christine giggled as he impersonated some of the picky high society she had danced with.
"Well I'm pleased to meet you Erik with a K," she agreed and he nodded and then frowned at her.
"If you don't mind my asking but where are you from; I cannot place your accent but you're surely not French?" he said thoughtfully and she smiled knowing her Swedish accent had been softened after years of gruelling French lessons.
"If you please sir I am Swedish Monsieur Destler, my accent is just somewhat diminished after years of French lessons" she said and he smiled.
"Ah yes, I understand perfectly. Now; you would think I'm completely French wouldn't you?" he asked and she nodded her head, wondering where he was leading her to.
"Oui"
"Well I'll tell you now that while my family was fully French I grew up in Persia and spoke both French and Persian perfectly well by age six" he said and her eyes widened.
"Persia?" she said wondrously and he nodded.
"Yes, but then we travelled across Europe until we settled in Paris when I was ten years old. When I was seventeen I journeyed back to Persia and stayed there for ten years, I have infact spent nearly half my life there and yet most believe that I am a pure Parisian" he said and she smiled, wishing to hear what it was like living in such strange and foreign countries.
"What was it like in the East?" she asked eagerly and he proceeded to tell her of Romanian Gypsies, Persian markets, Arabian folklore and the Shah's vicious bloodthirsty court.
As the dance ended another started; a slower, more of a waltz dance number with a solo violin playing.
Christine stared up into Erik's sparkling green eyes and took his gloved hand, stepping into the dance so easily while her stomach churned nervously with butterflies at his touch.
As the time edged towards midnight Christine took less and less notice of those dancing around the until she and Erik were dancing in the same square foot in the middle of the room, unwilling to move their eyes anywhere but upon each other.
Erik watched her as she moved to the music, twirling and dipping. She was very beautiful and sweet too, he thought to himself, but I won't ever see her again after tonight; I wish I had not come.
Soon it was as if they were the only two people dancing, her staring up at his mask of death, wondering what he looked like while he stared down at her loveliness, from her high cheekbones to her wide chocolate brown eyes and her matching long curls that trailed down her back. She was only sixteen and he was more than twice her age, yet holding her hand made him feel younger than he'd felt in years.
The music ended beautifully as they were left staring one another, inches from each other's body, silent as they stared into each other's eyes, dying to lean slightly more forward…to feel the others lips against their own…
"Cinq!" shouted the conductor of the orchestra, Monsieur Reyer and everyone turned to face him as they counted down the last seconds of the year.
"Mesdames et Messieurs when the clock strikes midnight remove your partners mask to celebrate the New Year!" cried Monsieur Lefevre as Monsieur Reyer shouted "Quatre"
Christine turned, smiling, to the staircase, cheering with the crowd as they counted down the last moments. She went to grab Erik's hand but could not and frowned with confusion.
"Deux!"
Christine turned and looked to where Erik had previously been; he was not to be seen in the nearby crowd. She stood on her tiptoes and gazed around the crowd, unable to see him anywhere, unable to move through the crowded masses.
Meg stood with a young man who was gazing at her with desire and Madame Giry stood with a distinguished looking man, a few years her senior.
Everyone had a partner.
Except for Christine.
"Un! Happy New Year Paris!"
Everyone tore off their partners masks and laughed and gasped about what handsome faces now gazed back at them, some clapping, some kissing and some laughing as the bells of the Notre Dame echoed throughout the city, ringing in 1871.
Christine looked around herself awkwardly, unsure of what a girl should do when alone at the turn of a New Year.
Where did he go?