That night Christine felt particularly uneasy about what was happening around her. No sooner had Erik helped her from the boat had she fled for her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She knew that he could still get in if he so chose, that the lock was not much more than a formality, but it made her feel better to know that it would take him at least the added turn of a key to get in near her.
"Christine?" he asked, knocking quietly on her door, "I-" She turned and looked at the door as he hesitated.
"I should have supper ready shortly. Please do not hide away in your bedroom again this evening. After such a spirited performance this evening you really should eat something." Christine sighed. She tried to avoid taking meals with him. It was strange to eat with a man wearing a mask, but she knew it would be stranger still if he took it off.
When she did not answer, she assumed he walked away, and so she turned back to face her wardrobe. She wore a simple dressing gown over a sparkling corset and her underclothes, and if she was going to do anything that was the first thing that would have to change.
She sat at the aging white vanity in the corner and pulled her hair back with a length of pale pink ribbon before she let the dressing gown fall from her shoulders so she could undo her corset.
As she freed herself from the loose binds of the corset, she heard another gentle knock at the door. "Christine?" he called again, "Are you feeling all right? You haven't made a peep since you arrived home."
"I'm fine," she said quickly, "I've… I've just got a headache. A little rest will do me some good."
"Oh, my poor Christine," the man murmured, "I shall be just outside should you need me. Is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, thank you."
This time she was certain he lingered at the door after she dismissed him, but she couldn't tell him to leave, not in his own house. So she did what she could, and she got dressed for dinner. She chose a loose green dress that reminded her of something she'd worn one summer when she'd first come to the opera house. It was light and airy, which meant she would be subject to the chill of the air down in the cellars where she now lived, but it also required less effort to put on.
The less effort, the better, she figured. Once dressed, she let her hair fall in loose curls down her back and over her shoulders. She debated how it fell for a moment before she took a few pins from one of the drawers in the vanity and pulled some of it back so it didn't fall quite so intimately around her face.
She cleaned her face more thoroughly and dried herself with a plush towel, relishing its softness for a moment. She had to wonder how long he'd been keeping this room for her. Had he purchased that towel in a set? How long had he been collecting things, setting them aside for something like this to occur?
She shook her head, pushing the thoughts from her mind. She didn't want to think about it. The more she thought about it, the higher the fear rose in her chest, the closer to her mouth came the scream that had been willing itself upward for that entire month. She couldn't bring herself to loose it for she knew it would do her no good.
Christine sat at the foot of her bed, plush and soft and inviting with its multitude of down quilts and pillows, but she knew she should put on a good show and at least try to take supper with her captor and companion. Certainly he wouldn't mind if she took a short nap, however. She found herself sinking back against the mattress, and the next thing she was aware of was the tiny click of her door unlocking.
"Christine?" His voice was dripping with worry. How many times had he called for her? She sat up, holding her head. Now she had a headache.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"Erik was worried that you may have fallen and hurt yourself," he said, kneeling before her so he was on her level. She looked down at him, confused for a moment before it clicked. She realized she had never even thought to ask him if he had a name. Christine blushed at this realization, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.
"Erik, why- why didn't you ever tell me that was your name?" she asked.
"I rather liked it when you believed me to be an angel. I didn't want your fantasy to end." She shuddered involuntarily as she remembered the moment that fantasy had been shattered. What a fool she had been! She stood on shaky feet as she grew ever more disturbed by the way that he studied her face.
Erik flew to his feet and carefully took her by the arm to stabilize her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't mean to intrude. Supper is ready, if you feel up to eating." She nodded silently, and he led her out of the room, slowly letting go of her arm. The place where his hand had contacted her bare flesh seemed to burn in the absence of his skin.
