With dreams of grandeur came a reminder of reality; in Christine's case a few errands to run as Mama Valerius' request. Although rehearsal didn't start until later, she had promised she'd be there earlier for a longer lesson in exchange for the day off yesterday. Mama was still asleep by the time Christine had dressed and was out the door, a soft tread leaving no evidence of her early rising.
Her assigned duty for this dreary day was to deliver a letter for Mama. Sometime during the night the patter of late fall rain had turned into the eerily soundless falling of snow, rooftops now piled with the soft whiteness. Wisps of smoke escaped from chimneys in the shops and homes on either side of her on her way to the post office, the snow in the streets a stark contrast to the white of the snow above. It looked as if carriages had already been out and about, dirtying the snow on the ground so it became a garish light brown tone.
Christine adjusted the red wool scarf that she had wrapped carefully around herself. It wouldn't do to arrive to her lesson with a chilled throat, and Erik would be highly disappointed in her had she just worn a cloak to keep the chill out. The scarf clashed terribly with the burgundy dress she wore beneath her cloak, but it was the only scarf she owned and needed. As far as important scarves went, this one had its reasons for being near and dear to her.
To her surprise, there was a short line at the post office, other early risers with the same errands in mind. As she waited, Christine turned the crisp envelope over in her gloved hands. Mama always had her deliver these letters, to the same address in New York City. The letters from New York arrived regularly, just as regularly as Mama sent hers. Christine had never bothered to ask who they were for, as there was never any name indicated who the person across the world could be. Although she often thought of Mama as a mother, she knew she had no blood relation to the woman and therefore refrained from interfering in her very personal affairs, the ones that she didn't speak to Christine of. If she didn't want to tell Christine about it, then Christine believed she had no business asking about it. She was already very grateful for what Mama had done for her and her family.
It was finally her turn and she placed her coin and letter on the counter, conversing with the clerk politely before resuming her brisk pace in the already brisk weather she still had to face for another few blocks. She had never felt the need to take any other form of transportation to the opera house other than her two own feet from her flat, but days like this made it especially difficult to welcome the idea of tricky steps and footwork in pointe shoes for hours on end later that day.
She finally reached the looming, beautiful building that was also known as home to her, fumbling with freezing fingers despite the gloves atop them with the handle of the stage door, the door shutting with a soft thump behind her. In all honesty, the inside of the opera house didn't have as much as a temperature change from the coldness outside that she had hoped for, and she pulled her cloak tightly around her.
Damp footsteps trailed behind her, the soft click of the heel of her boots sounding throughout the empty hall. She shivered again, snowy light through the windows the only thing leading her through the hall. "We must first get you warm before we begin any lesson." He was there, as always, a sudden appearance in the shadows, a soothing tone so as not to frighten her.
"No... I'm alright. The music will warm me." One gloved hand met another and soon he was leading her down, further and further. If possible, it got colder as they descended into the world of her teacher, a world that she was hardly familiar with yet felt at home with as soon as the music touched her.
If Christine had not been wearing gloves, she would have felt how the coldness of his hands matched the chill around them just so. If Erik had not been wearing gloves, he would've felt the warmth emanating from Christine's hands despite her chilled walk from her home. But both of their hands were shielded from the other with knit fabric and leather, the gentle but guiding grip parting as they reached their destination.
Erik had obviously not heard or chose to ignore Christine's previous words, draping her cloak over a chair to dry and renewing the fire. For the first time, it was warmer in his home than in the opera house's hallways, and that struck Christine as particularly odd. "Tea?" he questioned, gesturing for her to sit in a comfortable looking chair placed by the fire. It was quite the domestic thing for him to say, and Christine soon found herself on edge at his intriguing behavior.
She nodded, beginning to wonder if the true purpose of the earlier lesson was to have a chat over tea, but she brushed away the idea. He was simply warming her up again, and heaven knew that she needed it. "Thank you." She was already beginning to warm from her spot near the fire she grew fonder and fonder of by the minute. The toes of her boots glistened with melted snow, her curls now weighed down and dampened as well.
He disappeared for a few minutes, preparing her tea for her and returned with a lightly fruited tea, the smell of some exotic fruit wafting into the air. Christine took it gratefully and sipped carefully, staring into the fire and attempting to ignore his tall figure lingering awkwardly in the threshold that led into the room.
Already on edge from his peculiar actions, while in attempt to set the cup of tea on the small table next to her, the hot liquid splashed onto the back of her hand. A loud gasp in an attempt to hide the pain broke the silence that previously prevailed. In seconds she didn't knew existed, he was by her side, carefully examining the reddening section of skin before disappearing and reappearing with a spicy smelling salve.
It soothed her burn as soon as he applied it, his touch gentle and almost timid. "Thank you," she murmured again, chewing on her bottom lip as he left to return the mysterious salve back to its place. "And thank you for the fire, too. It was quite the cold walk this morning." She smiled, attempting to lighten the air between them.
Instead, a frown creased from what Christine could see behind the mask. "If I knew the weather would have been like this, I never would have requested you to arrive this early. My apologies."
"Oh, no it's alright. I know I asked a lot for cancelling the lesson from two days ago, it's perfectly alright." She swore on her life that her tone was the farthest from sardonic; she knew she was asking a lot, as he expected a lot from her. She promised it wasn't meant to be mocking, she promised.
But he did not see it as so and his glowing eyes narrowed in suspicion, his body tensing and his voice cold when he spoke. "I shall keep that in mind. I know it's asking a lot, but we shall begin today's lesson promptly." His words were a mirror image reflection, cold and broken.
The red on Christine's hand from her burn soon matched her cheeks as she realized her mistake. Her tutor was like a fickle rainstorm in a season that was not meant for rain. The right condition had to be present for him to behave as any other man would, a calm individual that expressed his thoughts clearly and mindfully.
Now, as he forcefully led her with silence into her favorite room of all. It was very much taken care of above all the other rooms in his odd living space, a true example of where his cares in life lay.
As usual but with an underlying hint of anger, lessons began as usual. This was where everything around them disappeared. It became just them and the music, and nothing else mattered. Any anger or embarrassment from before was swept away with each and every note. If anyone else had ever gotten to witness this sacred moments that occurred almost every day, they would feel completely and utterly lost. They wouldn't understand.
But Christine and Erik did understand, and they understood each other when music was involved. The anger was gone from Erik's eyes and tone the minute Christine began warming her voice, the minute his fingers touched the piano keys. And he was a tutor, a guide again. Nothing else but that mattered.
Arpeggios climbed and crescendos soared, producing a sound where voice and piano blended beautifully.
Christine hadn't even realized how much time had passed until she began to feel tired, every muscle in her body working together to produce a glorious sound for a few hours, now. Which also meant she was late for rehearsal. This was why, when there was a pause, Christine timidly let her voice fall, knowing it was the only way she would get Erik's attention on the matter. "Maestro... I'm terribly late to rehearsal."
He stopped, and she expected him to be as mad as he was before. "Rehearsals for what?" But of course he knew, he always knew what Christine was doing, where she was. If she was safe.
"Rehearsal for the ballet. We show in one week."
"There is no singing?" he asked thoughtfully, surprisingly cool in spite of the previous heated tone.
"No, no singing." Christine watched him curiously as he luxuriously turned the pages of the score they were working on as if he had no care in the world. He drummed his long, finally ungloved fingers against the deep mahogany wood of the instrument, eyes sweeping across the pages that lay before him.
"It is not necessary. Do not go," he finally spoke, baffling Christine even further. Regardless of whether her rehearsals had been for ballets or operas, he had always respected her need to be on time to each rehearsal. She would surely be cut from the show if she were not to go today.
His confidence and commanding presence silenced any protest that had been on the tip of her tongue. The lesson continued for as long as he felt need that day. They stopped at the moment where Christine's voice was on the verge of getting tired, but never so.
She bit her lip as she watched him fold up the music. It was too late to go to rehearsal, she couldn't bare the shame of walking in so late under the judging glares of her fellow dancers. No, she didn't quite know what to do now. Christine knew her career was now in jeopardy, and she couldn't help but wonder how she was to ever be promoted if she missed essential rehearsals as this.
Christine was prepared to now venture out back into the rain, almost-dry cloak in hand along with her precious scarf. But Erik's watchful eyes remained on her until his golden voice graced her ears once more. "Stay here until the snow lets up."
"Oh... I couldn't, besides, it has probably stopped." They both knew that it hadn't, but Christine couldn't risk another frightening outburst from her tutor. And he saw it, saw the fear in her eyes when he began to speak, her careful movements, as if one jerk of the hand would send him flying with rage. And who was he to deny the possibilities of it happening?
"Alright. If you wish. But I will take you," he held out a hand, now gloved again. Christine, having donned her cloak, scarf, and gloves already took it, wondering how an escort home this afternoon could possibly change her cold walk back.
As she soon found out, it did make a difference as he intended on calling a carriage for her. He did not join her, instead speaking in a hushed tone to the driver. Christine found what he was saying to be completely inaudible and felt herself growing more and more curious the longer he stayed. She finally saw him hand off a handful of coins to the driver, and at this she stepped forward. "Erik, no, thank you, but I can pay..."
He interrupted her. "Do not worry. It's no trouble."
She knew there was no use in arguing against the determination in his tone and silenced. What she did not know was if the driver knew where she was going. Without a word of goodbye or even acknowledgement, Erik helped her into the carriage before it lurched into motion.
It was quite the elegant carriage and Christine found herself closed off from any communication with the driver. She wrapped herself snuggly in her cloak to rest for the first time today.
Somehow, the driver did indeed know where her flat was. The only way he could know was if Erik knew, and Christine could swear that she had never disclosed the location of her living establishment. It sent an uneasy chill down her back, but she attempted to brush it off. There was probably at least one time she had spoken of at least her neighborhood. Still, whatever she told herself didn't rid of the discomfort she felt as horse hooves clapped against the pavement.
Soon, they reached her home. She secretly hoped that Mama wouldn't be there to bombard her with questions she didn't blame her for asking. Why splurge on a carriage? You never take a carriage from the opera house. Why are you home so early when you promised a late rehearsal?
But of course, Mama was there. She actually emerged from the flat as Christine stepped out, shawl pulled tightly around her. An eyebrow was raised, and Christine was already sure of the scenario that would play out before her.