Beneath a Moonless Sky

Dear Readers-

I tweaked this chapter a little bit, but there are no major changes. Please enjoy! Thank you for your feedback as I continue this story!

Best,

Daisy

She knew that she had found the proper location, his new hiding place, when she approached the small, seemingly abandoned cottage. The sound of his hands crashing against a piano, forming dissonant, violent chords was unmistakable. He was here.

He sensed the unwanted presence before he heard the sounds of horse hooves on the ground outside his house. With an odd sense of foreboding, he extinguished the candles in the room, darkening the room. The final, threatening chord of a new composition he had played on the piano still rang in his ears as he moved closer to his front door. He heard the unmistakable sounds of a rider dismounting the horse, and the tying of reins. Soon, his front door opened and was then quietly and carefully closed behind the guest. He swiftly crossed behind the intruder. He wrapped an arm around the unwelcome visitor and held the trespasser against him. He pressed his dagger to the pale skin beneath his victim's chin, roughly.

His low growl permeated the air. "Continue, and I will slit your throat."

The unwanted guest had no opportunity for defenses against his threat. As soon as the words had escaped his lips, he realized, that the small frame that he angrily held to his body fit against him in a way that was frighteningly familiar. The slight curvature of her -for he now ascertained with certainty this was a woman- yes, her body molded to him in the way he had painfully remembered. He had held Christine this way during their ill-fated performance in his opera, Don Juan Triumphant. On that painful night, many nights ago, the curls of her hair, loose and wild, brushed against his smooth cheek, just as they were doing now. His hand had held her upper arm as a means of seduction that night, to threaten what pleasure may follow, not to threaten violence as he did now. The shock of smelling her exquisite perfume again sedated him, and he felt suddenly weak.

The dagger dropped to the ground with a resounding clatter that nearly deafened him.

He released his grip on her and staggered backwards, away from her.

When he did bring his eyes up to analyze her and establish what cruel purpose had encouraged her to seek him out, he found that, although their eyes met for a undeterminable amount of time, he could not come to a conclusion. He held this position, five or six paces from her, unable to move, unable to speak, and unable to look away from her beauty that he had been trying so desperately to forget.

His eyes having adjusted to the darkness of the room, he studied the look of resolve he found on her face, unable to decipher her intentions. Surprisingly, she moved with purpose towards him, but he moved as well, away from her assuring himself that the piano that now stood between them would keep her safe. It would keep him safe. He held onto the instrument, which had been his only solace in these lonely weeks, but now held it as securely as he would a weapon. He would not fall victim to her cruelty again.

The weight of his mask felt heavy on his face. Rarely was the mask anything but a source of comfort to him, his shield from the outside world, but now the cold pressure he felt on his marred face was unwelcome. It was then that he remembered just how warm her kiss that they had shared in his former home beneath the Opera Populaire, as well as the stinging cold his lips felt when it was done. He would never been able to share in her warmth again, or bask in her light. She banished him deeper into darkness when she made her choice that night. The heaviness of his mask against his cheek weighed upon him further, warning him that his twisted flesh and soul would never be able to rightfully win the heart of the beautiful and pure Christine Daae. His Christine. The thought itself brought about further taunting within himself, as she now belonged to another. Memories of her betrayal and unanswered questions flooded his mind once again.

Had she yet married? Had her precious vicomte protected her from the night? Why had she come? Forgiveness?

His eyes flashed with rage. He thrust his hands forward at the piano between them and into the pile of parchment paper that made up his latest composition. With a growl, he flung them violently in the air in her direction. Eyes burned with rage and bore into hers as the pages scattered in disarray on the ground between the two of them. Her surprised gasp did not soften him. Her continued fear of him- her teacher, her angel- angered him further.

"You have come back to me for what?" The snarled question was ripe with accusation. When she did not immediately speak, he lashed out further, his voice now revealing traces of his pain.

"What cruel- what do you want," he hissed her name, "Christine?"

He thought he saw her make the slightest of movements, as if to advance toward him rather than to run away, but he decided that he imagined it. Not wanting to witness her abandonment again- for she would surely turn from him again- he turned his back on her.

He would have been lying to himself had he not hoped that she would cry out that she had missed his presence, despite how foolish he knew the thought to be. Her footsteps registered in his mind, and he awaited the creak of his front door opening, but the sound did not come. Instead, he could almost feel her hands on him, as if she were reaching up to grasp his shoulder, but was frightened to actually touch him. When she saw him tense, she moved in front of him. Her eyes were full of more of the saddened resolve he had witnessed earlier.

Her meek voice broke the growing silence and tension. "You can no longer look at me."

The pain caused by her earlier deceit was overwhelming, but anger frothed within him again when he witnessed her pitying stare. He never had any use for her pity, and he would not accept any of it now, especially not after she had betrayed him abandoned him for dead. He whirled around on her, unable to curtail his anger, and forcibly grabbed her shoulders. He dug his pale fingers in as he held her, uncaring of her pain. There was no gentle timbre to his voice as he berated her, only the varied volumes of his fury. Words were torn out of him by her continued presence.

"Just as YOU were unable to look at ME! No use in asking for my forgiveness to assuage your conscience, dear Christine, your weakness has forced your choice. The masked demon LET YOU GO!"

He glared at her, resenting her watery eyes and her silence. After a few moments more of with neither of them speaking, he realized that he still held onto her. Upon this realization, he ripped his hands away as if she had burned him, and sank down onto the piano bench, finally succumbing to his grief. Christine made no movements to leave, but instead, emitted a small sob, leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Grief and guilt overtook him, and he pressed his unmarred cheek against her stomach, nearly crying into the fine fabric of her dress. He felt her hand caress the top of his head, and her other hand give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, a sharp contrast to the exchange moments before. "It is not your soul that was weak and in need of forgiveness. It is mine." He released his hold on her. He looked up at her from the bench briefly before he turned away again, trying to compose himself, and stared blankly at the ivory keys of his piano. "I cannot possess your heart if you do not wish it, although you will always possess mine."

He slumped forward against the piano, his only comfort now. He rested his forehead against the crook of his arm and covered his masked face in defeat.

"I released you. You have my forgiveness. Leave me."

And her presence was upon him yet again. As she sat down beside him, he felt her hand slide across the back of his shirt and then grip his side. He raised his head to look at her and while he was doing so, his mind registered that her eyes were inspecting him quite intensely, and that she had seated herself directly beside him. It was not a moment later that her other hand was reaching behind his neck and pulling him towards her. For what purpose he did not realize- until he felt the warmth of her lips again.