A/N: As some of you may have noticed, I am posting on a different schedule than my previous stories. (Sorry!) Because the chapters are much longer, it takes more time to write, and also school will be starting back for me and I do not want you all to be waiting for chapters. So, for this story you will have to live with chapters on Monday and Friday. Believe me, I want to post this more often, but just cannot keep up the writing pace to do so. On the up side, you will not have to wait long over the weekend.
Thank you ShadowsInTheMind, Phanatic01, iPannzSoccerz, Child of Music and Dreams, and PocketRobotN for following/favouriting this!
Erik awoke much like he had before, groggy and in pain, but at least his ribs allowed him to sit up now. He was just wondering if he had dreamt it all when he happened to look over and see Christine in a chair beside the bed, a book calmly resting in her hands.
'So you are real,' he murmured.
She looked up at this, setting the book in her lap. 'How do you feel?' She asked, her brow pinching slightly in concern.
He glowered at her. 'How do you think I feel?' He asked flatly.
She shot him a look of mild annoyance before putting the book aside and coming over to him. He instantly leaned away from her closeness. She paused as he shied from her, but only looked down before continuing her perch beside him.
'I can heal your hand and eye, or your leg. I will let you choose.' She explained patiently.
'Oh, will you, now?' He shot back at her.
'You do not need to snap.' She retorted sharply.
'Do I not? I am the one stuck here in bed being watched over by someone who claims to be an angel. I believe I am within my rights.' He could have blown fire from his nose with that, only making her prickle more.
'Well, it's your fault for letting those beasts hurt you so badly. And if you do not want my help, then fine!' She stood up, clutching her fists tightly.
'I never asked for your help!' He shouted, watching her tromp over to the door.
'I know!' She practically screamed before slamming the egress firmly.
Erik winced at the force she had used on his home, but was too worked up to care. His leg shot pain all the way down to his toes and he growled at it. Ripping the cover from the bed, he stormed out of the room after the supposed angel. He ignored the intense pain he was in and marched to the kitchen where he found her leaning over the sink.
'Get out!' He ordered, making her jump. 'Get out of my house and get out of my Opera!' He pointed through the house to the front door.
'You think I do not want to?! I am bound to you, Erik! I cannot leave!' She spat, remaining where she was, but watching him fly up to her with growing concern.
'Leave.' He seethed, feeling his hands itching to wind their way around her thin neck. It would be easy enough, he thought.
'I. Cannot.' She told him firmly, staring down the flaming fury in his blazing amber eyes. Even his bad eye opened enough through the bruise to show his unmatched anger.
He regarded her for a moment, still clawing to choke her. He hated her. He hated that she was there. He hated how calm she always was. He hated how she had helped him when all he had wanted was death. He even hated the truth that shone in her eyes when she told him she could not leave.
'I liked you better when I could not see you.' He put so much poison into his tone he thought her subtle form would simply melt away, and to some extent it did. Her somehow harsh brows relaxed back into their normal soft curves, her eyes once like blue flames softened and seemed to melt, and her shoulders fell before starting to quiver.
Erik stepped back as she started to sob silently, tears rolling down her pink cheeks. For some reason, seeing all of this on her washed away his anger. He watched her look ahead distantly as she struggled to contain herself.
'Christine,' he almost reached out to her as he instantly softened. He had not intended to make her so upset. He had not even realised he had somewhat confirmed his belief in her words. He was still not entirely sure as to whether he believed her to be an angel, but a girl she most clearly seemed to be, and he had made her cry.
She shook her head at his approach and ducked her chin, letting a heart wrenching sob free.
'Christine, stop. I…just stop crying. Please stop it.' He started to beg as she crumpled before him. He recoiled from her, not knowing what to do. 'Please stop.'
She looked up at him, somehow still beautiful with tears coursing down her face.
He felt his legs give out, coming down to sit before her rather gracelessly. She leaned forward to help him but pulled back, shrinking slightly from anticipated reprimands.
He watched her do this, looking aside regretfully. 'I-I think it would be best if you fixed my leg.' He mumbled, not meeting her mildly surprised eyes.
She sniffled back her tears a bit and shakily reached out to his leg. Her gaze flicked to his as she neared him. He met it and looked down at his leg purposefully. She cautiously undid his splint wincing along with him as she did so. Finally, she let her fingertips touch right where the break radiated its indescribable pain.
Instantly she doubled over, letting out a cry that sent him into a panic as she sobbed again, letting her other hand clutch at her own leg. He had known it hurt, but he had been able to put it aside to focus on his frustration. He had been injured far worse before, but she…this girl had surely never experienced such agony. His hands echoed over her shaking form as she cried into the floor from the sheer pain that now coursed through her instead of him.
Stealing himself, he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, resting her on the bed. He hovered over her, rubbing his now sore hand. He stood there in silence for he did not care to think how long as she tried to suppress her tears.
Slowly, she seemed to come back round. She looked up at him and took his hand before he had the chance to pull it away. He felt his soreness leach out of it at her touch. He gripped it a few times before he looked back down to her. Her eyes were closing tiredly. She seemed exhausted and he realised she had overtaxed herself to help him.
'Christine, y-you did not need to-'
She held up a slender finger. 'I will take care of your eye when I wake up, and then I will disappear again.' She told him before showing something that dazzled his every sense.
She smiled.
He realised that he had never witnessed it before. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It softened her eyes even more, her rose petal lips curved wonderfully, and her very essence relaxed.
He marvelled at this before she passed out.
Erik sat at in his favourite chair in the drawing room, long fingers steepled before his lips as he gazed at the fire. He wound his thoughts round and round again as he awaited Christine's return to consciousness. He had sat in the bedroom for some time as well, watching her. It was odd to think that an angel needed sleep, but she at least had the excuse of having just healed him rather drastically. He caught himself more than once using that title for her. He wondered if perhaps she was right. He shook his head at this. How could she be? And yet, how could she have healed him like that if she were not? He still toyed with his hand a bit, enjoying the sensation without pain. His eye still hurt, but he was not about to complain of such things at present. She had done far more than enough as it was.
He turned slightly when he heard the incredibly soft padding of her feet as she came out into the room. It surprised him that she made any sound at all. Certainly one of the Heavenly Host would be noiseless. Mentally shrugging, he looked over to see her eyes uncertain as to his mood.
'Sit.' He offered with a wave of his hand. She took the chair beside his own, neatly folding her hands in her lap.
'I am sorry for the trouble I caused.' She told him quietly, not meeting his eye.
'It is nothing. Just, try not to cry too often.' He cringed from the memory of her tears. 'I think,' he began. 'That there are a few things that we need to discuss.' He looked at her expectantly, hoping for an ascent to the proposition. She nodded encouragingly. He sighed. 'How long have you been…watching me?' He forced out, still not happy about the idea.
'Since you built the Opera. Though, I only recently discovered I could heal you.' She answered.
'And how, pray tell, did you discover this?' He asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
'You hurt yourself when you went into withdrawals from the morphine. I was also able to lessen their effects. Thus how you are still alive.' She gestured to him. He huffed a laugh. If this is what you call life, he thought dryly.
'You said earlier that you had worked hard to get me off the stuff. What did you mean you? Nadir was the one who practically chained me to a wall.' He let slip a bit of venom into his tone which she frowned at.
'It took a lot of work for me to make sure Nadir found the evidence of your addiction. I'm not very good at touching tangible things, but for your health I worked until I could move the needles out for him to see. I knew he would not let you go down that horrid path.' She looked away from his accusing glare.
'I knew I had not left those simply lying around.' He deduced, remembering the occasion vividly, along with some of the choice words he and the Persian had shared.
Christine stifled a laugh at this. She enjoyed this side of Erik. He was always pretending to know everything, so when he had a mystery to solve, his childlike curiosity came forth. He caught her gaze and she arguably was successful in hiding her mirth. He knew by the glisten in her eyes, however, she had been laughing at him.
'Why do you feel the need to meddle in my affairs?' He asked, his tone becoming more defensive and accusatory.
'I do not meddle,' she told him calmly. 'I simply drive you away and out of dangerous situations. Believe me, you have a penchant for finding trouble I cannot get you out of. There have been more than a few times I have been able to do nothing but watch as you nearly killed yourself.' She laughed sardonically, turning away from the thought of those occasions.
'Name one.' He challenged.
'Oh, when you nearly electrocuted yourself trying to get power down here, or the time you punched the bathroom mirror so hard you imbedded glass in your hand so deep that you had to work for twenty minutes to get it out, but I think my favourite was the time you decided to walk the streets aimlessly and not bother to fight back when someone jumped you. I must say, though, that last one was a trick.' She looked at him pointedly, a defiant eyebrow raised as he tried to make some form of come back.
He merely grunted impatiently and rose, pacing the floor. 'I said name one, not three.' He muttered.
Christine shook her head. She adored his childish side until it blended with his stubbornness. Then things became difficult.
He continued pacing for a bit, expecting her to stop him. Nadir always hated it. He stopped and looked at her in puzzlement.
'Are you quite done interrogating me?' She asked at length.
'No,' he replied flatly, though he truly did not have another question ready.
'How did you find me yesterday when I was not here? I thought you said you could not leave.' He reasoned, standing a bit taller for his own cleverness.
'I believe what I said was that I am bound to you, not the house. I can leave whenever you do. I am meant to stay by your side.' She explained, patiently growing frustrated by his continued gloating.
'How far away can you be from me?' He asked, growing uncomfortable.
'About the length of this house, not including the passageways in the walls.' She estimated, squinting as she thought on this. 'I don't follow you everywhere if that is what you mean.' She smirked at his rising colour. He was so pale that it was immediately obvious when he was deeply embarrassed. He turned away.
'So, about ten metres, then.' He confirmed.
'You are the architect, you tell me.' She sighed at his dramatics.
'What happens when you go beyond that point?' He asked, for surely she had tried.
She looked away at this, fighting back the memory. 'I feels like I am being unmade.' She said just above a whisper. Erik's eyes widened, now curious how many times she had tested this simply to get away from him. Certainly no one would willingly wish to remain in his company for as long as she claimed. Removing that choice must be like living in Hell.
'You say you do not know why you were assigned to watch over me.' She nodded. 'So why do it at all? Are you not supposed to be enjoying loved ones' never ending company in Heaven?'
'I was chosen to be this. And why would I not? Who else is going to look after your bony ass?' She looked at him incredulously.
He whirled round to stare at her in amazement. She must have sensed something of the impropriety of her words and quickly ducked her head. 'I am sorry.' She muttered, feeling a heat rise up the backs of her arms to flood her cheeks.
Erik could not take it anymore, he simply burst out laughing as her embarrassment only deepened. 'I see you have been around Nadir long enough to pick up a few of his favourite names for me.' He laughed, filling the quiet air with his tenor voice. 'I knew you could not be as innocent as you claimed. No one completely pure could possibly stand me. Even if the alternative was incredible pain.' He laughed more as she looked up at him somewhat defiantly. 'It only serves that you would become more like me.'
She stood up in a flurry of her grey skirts, standing before him much as he had earlier in the kitchen. She glared at him strongly, wordlessly demanding his full attention.
'I am nothing like you! You are selfish, arrogant, and unkind to those around you. You complain that the world hates you, but you will not let even your closest friends in. You either sit, wallowing in self-pity, or torment the innocents around you. You help no one but yourself without any care to the consequences. You admire all that is beautiful in the world but shun it before it can touch you. Sometimes I wonder if you are worth saving!' She yelled before storming past him.
With a growl, he turned with her, catching her arm and swinging her round to face him. He held her tiny throat in his hand feeling her warmth just beneath his fingertips. He said nothing, but looked into her large blue eyes. Once he saw what he was looking for, he let his face break into disgusted hatred.
'You fear me.' He accused. 'Do not forget that.' He let her go harshly, turning to go into his bedroom with a sharp slam of the door.
Christine clutched at her throat, watching him go. She had seen him snap before, but never had the experience for herself. It was still odd to have him be able to touch her and see her, which was where most of the fear came from. She despised these moods he always got himself into. It would not do for anyone to be around him when he was like this.
Walking over to his door, she pressed her ear against it, but all she could hear was heavy breathing. Suddenly, she was forced backwards as some article of furniture was hurled at the door. She had heard the cry of frustrated effort from within, but had not expected the sudden attack. She held back the tears she did not want to cry and hurried off to the Louis-Phillipe room, closing the door and shunning the man who would try to open it again.
How dare she? How dare she?! She had no right to take moral high ground with him! Erik fumed. He could still hear her silvery voice, hot with rage as she spat such vile accusations at him. He hated each and every word. He growled at the voice in his head which told him he only hated them because they were true. Of course they are true! But she had no right to hold them against him! He had never said he was perfect.
Slumping down to the floor, he let his arms exhaustedly stretch out over his knees. He tried to catch his breath as he ignored the wreckage of what once was his nightstand before he had thrown it at the door. He felt that pit inside of him begin to open and call to him. He wondered why he even bothered getting upset. It was not as if there was anyone real to care about. Christine had apparently spent the better part of two decades in his presence, and both of which she was completely invisible to him.
But saying that simply because you could not see her makes her non-existent is like saying the same for the Opera Ghost. He cursed that voice of reason in his otherwise far gone mind. Yet here he was, sitting five cellars below the Opera he loved to torment so well. And she was sitting somewhere else in his house, most likely thinking him a wretch and a monster. Well, he thought, perhaps she is finally right about something.
Suddenly, just outside his room, he heard that beautiful voice. It was a different song, but it still beckoned his senses to it. Quietly going over to his door, he listened to the sound. It seemed to be to the right of the door and down a good bit. Opening it slightly, he peeked out to see Christine sitting with her back against the wall, knees pulled up, and eyes distantly ahead. She did not seem to notice him as she continued to sing.
Sliding quietly down the door frame, he sat and listened to her. She had a sort of haunting tone to her voice as she continued, drawing him further and further out of his spiralling abyss of self-loathing. She had no words to her tune, simply melody. It seemed to lift him up and carry him far away. Focusing only on her singing made him feel as if nothing else in the world mattered.
When she finished, he rose once more and leaned out to look at her. She seemed to glow with an inner light of silver. Her dress, gently shimmering in the firelight, made her appear unearthly. Of course, she was unearthly. She was an angel. He inwardly sighed at his own submission to the name for her.
'Christine,' he beckoned to her, feeling his chest tighten slightly as she looked up to him. He seemed to deliberate his words carefully before speaking again. 'Would you care to accompany me to the Opera? I have to pick up my salary.'
'You mean your extortion money.' She corrected with a cynical grin.
'I work for it.' He defended somewhat weakly. She merely rolled her eyes before standing.
'Not that I have a choice but to follow you, but yes, I will join on your little trip into humanity.' She smiled a little more truthfully. Something about her tone, though matched with biting words, did not suggest she wished to argue with him.
Erik nodded, leading the way as he grabbed his cloak and hat from the stand inside the door. They left the home to be greeted by the cool, damp air of the underground lake of the cellar. He glanced over his shoulder to check to see if Christine, whose bear arms were exposed to the cold, was chilled at all. She did not seem to be affected in the slightest by the temperature change, so they continued over to the boat. He helped her in as any gentleman would, which earned him a surprised look and excited smile. She clearly was not used to this sort of contact.
Rowing them gently across the glassy waters, Erik looked down to find her absolutely fascinated by the liquid. She trailed her fingers through it so delicately he wondered if she thought it would break somehow. He nearly laughed at this childish interest when she looked up to see the amused light in his seemingly glowing eyes.
'I never get to touch it.' She explained. 'This is the first time I have really gotten to interact with the world.' She continued, looking down with mild embarrassment.
'How, then do you not fall through the boat?' He asked, ignoring the bigger question of how she stayed on this layer of the earth itself.
'I do not generally ride with you. I walk on the water.' She told him as if it were nothing.
Erik stopped their progression to stare at her. 'You walk…on water?' He asked, still trying to envision it.
She looked at him as if it were the most obvious thing she could have said.
Before he could say or do anything, she stood up in the boat, locking eyes with him as she lifted a leg out over the edge. He nearly lunged forward when it touched the surface of the water. She did not fall, however. She simply rested on the very top of the lake, getting only a little wet on the very bottoms of her shoes.
'The trick,' she told him calmly. 'Is not to look at the water. If I do, I will fall in,' she went on. 'It is like performing. If you think about it, you will fail.' She smiled at his shocked expression.
Suddenly, she threw herself into the most beautiful dance he had ever seen. She hummed her own music, allowing her voice to fill and surround them in the tunnelling cavern. She danced to make a ballerina swoon, and never lost her breath in her song. Erik remained in his frozen position in the boat, watching, mesmerised by her movements across the water. Whenever she would lift her leg so fluidly, a small line of water would follow as if she were dancing on a slightly dampened floor. She stopped abruptly before running hard yet gracefully and leaping into the most beautiful Grand Jeté he had ever seen. Even Madame Giry, the strict ballet mistress she was, would have been impressed.
Landing lightly, Christine turned to see Erik's awed smile. She made her way back to the boat before calmly retaking her place within it.
'Where did you learn that?' He asked when he could once again catch his breath.
'From watching the ballet corps in the Opera. You spend a lot of time by the stage, so I often see them rehearsing and occasionally mimic them.' She answered easily. She was not breathing heavily in the slightest, though she had just demonstrated a very difficult routine.
'How are you not out of breath?' He asked in wonderment.
'I do not grow tired, and generally do not sleep unless I have over-reached with my healing abilities.' She shrugged casually.
Erik regarded her for a moment before shaking his head and continuing to pole the boat through the still waters. They made good time, reaching the dock at a gentle glide. He tied the boat off swiftly before leaping like the agile cat he so often resembled and then offering a hand to Christine. Again, she was surprised by the gesture, but readily accepted. Erik, too, felt happy taking her small, delicate hand in his own. Her minimal weight did not surprise him quite so much as the shock that ran down his arm at her tender touch as he helped her to join him at the dock. He found himself oddly pausing, simply admiring her in the limited light. Somehow she managed to shine even in the near darkness of the tunnel, illuminated only by the lantern he had lit upon leaving the house. Her eyes sparkled in the flickering flames with luminous life.
She felt his eyes upon her, and for some unknown reason she grew uncomfortable. How many times had she wished just once for him to see her? How many times had she watched over him while he did something that would most undoubtedly get him hurt? And yet, now that he could see her, now that he was holding her hand, she found she could not look at him. She averted her eyes to the ground and felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
Erik realised he was staring when he saw her blush. He looked quickly away, but could not bring himself to let her hand go. Some small part of him spoke of disappearance and loss of her if he broke contact. Fumbling over words, he managed to get them going up the familiar path to the Opera.
Christine knew these tunnels as well as Erik did as she had been looking over his shoulder when he went over his own plans for the building as well as having followed him for many a year through their winding paths. He was a remarkable architect, helping take over the project of the grand building and also managing to sneak by a few alterations here and there. He had rearranged workmen so that no one would know of his secret tunnels and pathways throughout the Opera and he had hidden the altered plans effortlessly within seconds should someone walk by. It was this that showed him to be a true genius in her eyes. Mad and morally unsound, but a genius nonetheless. He could kill someone easily, but he could use those same skeletal fingers to compose music to make even the hardest of hearts weep like a child, and it was with aforementioned fingers that he now held her hand so carefully. She humoured him and allowed him to lead the way, though she had long since memorised every nuance and trap he had so painstakingly laid along the familiar path.
It was only when they made a different turn and came to a long, slightly greyed window that she realised he had chosen they come to the dressing-room entrance. He could have simply gone through a separate route and come out in Box 5 through a column in the wall and collect his salary which awaited him on the red velvet seat. She looked at him questioningly as he waved her through the now opened portal of the two-way mirror. She nodded dutifully before stepping into the richly decorated room. All of the lights were out and the Opera seemed oddly quiet.
'Where is everyone?' She asked, looking back at him as he noiselessly slid the mirror back into place.
'It is yet still early. I doubt anyone is awake.' He told her, gliding past her to the door. 'I was supposed to pick up my payment yesterday evening, but certain…events disallowed me from doing so.' He continued, again holding the door open for her.
They expertly wound their way through the many halls and passageways backstage before coming out into the seating area. He led her through to the hall for Box 5, taking note that she still followed him. He somehow felt as though she would fly from his side.
Christine could not help it. No matter how many years she had spent here, no matter how many times she had made this same pilgrimage with him, she was always amazed by the stunning details around her. The sheer magnificence of the building surrounded her and demanded her attentions wherever she turned. Every time she walked through these elegant halls and those few occasions Erik had ventured into the Grand Foyer, she would find herself gazing at every miniscule finesse of his and Monsieur Garnier's designs.
Erik turned to regard her as she simply stared at everything around her. He ran his eyes over the hallway, trying to see it from her point of view. She, herself, looked especially wonderful when paired with the building. Her long chestnut curls added a grace he had not known could compliment his structure so perfectly. Her cream skin glowed beautifully in an oddly fitting contrast to the gold accents of the walls. The same could be said for the unnatural blue of her eyes and the dark burgundy and ruby reds of the wallpaper and seats. He found himself smiling as she beheld the masterpiece he had worked so hard on. He wondered what she had thought of it when it was being built. He vaguely remembered a few occasions during the construction where it seemed a miracle he had not fallen or injured his hands or been hurt in some way.
Surely that must have been her doing, he thought, never one to believe in coincidence. He knew she had not been able to fully manipulate the world around him back then, but certainly she must have figured out some sort of solution.
Going back to the door to his box, he entered, leaving Christine to look around in the hallway. He looked down at the stage, noting that no one was down to practice for the upcoming performances yet. It was still early before the next season started, though, so not much could be expected. He changed his attentions down to the crimson seats he knew so well and instantly felt something within him snap. There was no ivory envelope awaiting his collection.
Immediately fuming, he bellowed out as many curses as he could think of in the multiple languages he was fluent in. He stormed out of the box, too angry to notice the hall's emptiness. He was certainly not in the mood, nor the presence of mind to hunt down Christine at this moment. Not when he was so ardently calling for the fool managers' heads on a pike.
It was only when he was half-way to their office that he realised that he was alone. His mind quickly began to whirl, worrying quite suddenly over the light creature's absence. He knew he had taken off at a strong pace and that it was incredibly painful for her to be apart from him. He nearly caught himself as to being so concerned over her, but was too panicked and still enraged to think about that.
'Christine?!' He called, hearing the lonely echo that answered him. He decided to double back, immediately envisioning her small and slight form crumpled in unimaginable suffering. He cursed under his breath as he worked his way back, searching every shadow and corner. He made his way to the main seating of the auditorium, knowing the dimensions of the space far exceeded her range of distance from him. He spun on the spot, now growing frantic.
'Christine?' He felt his voice break as he realised she was gone. He wondered if this was how children felt when separated from their parents. He looked at the floor furiously as he fought to understand why he cared so much.
You damned sentimental fool! You only met her yesterday! Why grow attached at all? Just because she yelled at you and helped you does not make her yours. Besides, everyone leaves you eventually. He felt the cold hand of emptiness overtake him.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to push out the memories of her. He had so few, after all. That was when he felt an odd relief come over his face. Opening his eyes, he realised he could see from both clearly. Feeling the lid through the hole in his mask proved his black eye was gone. He searched again for any sign of the beautiful girl, but found only empty seats.
He turned somewhat solemnly back to go to the manager's office, already plotting what he would do to them for missing his payment. He would remind them with a letter first, and if his fury was not quelled sufficiently, they would quickly be reminded who they were dealing with.
Meanwhile, Christine sighed. It had been so sweet to have had a chance for him to see and know her. She was surprised initially when he had burst from the box, though she had seen such displays enough before to guess what the matter was. He had swept right past her without giving a second glance or even first glance, for that matter. He had moved at an alarming rate, but she smirked at how dramatic his cloak looked flaring out behind him as he rounded corners sharply. She assumed it best to wait until he had cooled down enough to think before asking what was wrong in what she was preparing to be the best performance of innocence the world had ever known. That is, until he had stopped abruptly.
He had looked around the room, turning and staring right at her as he called her name. She answered, but he only proceeded to walk right through her. She had to catch her breath after this. She had grown slightly worried, but having it confirmed so suddenly frightened her more than she had anticipated. She stood for a moment, gasping from the shock as he continued to search for her. She was forced to follow him into the auditorium with its hundreds of seats all elegantly fashioned in fine red velvet. She felt pity and sorrow crease her brow as he looked wildly round for her, calling her name again.
It broke her heart to know that he was so blindly lonely that even her short time with him mattered so much. His frantic eyes were shining their wondrous golden with worry etched into their ever fleck of shimmering amber. She watched despairingly as he forcefully tried to shun the emotions which were quickly overtaking his suddenly shrinking form. Reaching up to him, she did the only thing she could think of to reassure him she was there. She healed his eye, feeling the heat of the bruise flow to her own face. She smiled through the pain, as his surprise brought him out of his pit of solitude.
Yes, she thought. This is the least I can do for you. She watched him straighten, his true mask of independence returned as he marched off to most undoubtedly rain Hell upon the poor, unfortunate managers. They would be wondering, not for the first time, why they could not have taken over a ghost free opera.
