The sound of his steps resounded from the walls of the gigantic room, which suddenly felt way too small for the fair-skinned artist, as he drew closer to her. She could almost feel his scent on her skin, his presence filled up the whole room, weighing her down, pulling her closer to him.
"My Christine..." He was now incredibly close to her, his different colored eyes looking straight at her, almost staring. Christine raised her chin up so she could return his stare but at the same time she wanted to run, to flee from him, her beloved Erik, her past, the Opera, the flames burning the place which she used to call home down...
/Don't cry, Daae, don't you dare to cry./ she reminded herself, straightening her shoulders and taking a bold step backwards so she could look at his figure wholly. The years haven't been particularly kind to Erik, she could tell, his face seemed even more haggard than ever, and his eyes lost the passionate spark which they used to contain, a fire which used to fill her and warm her.
Nothing had changed in his height, he still seemed like the smooth, dark and intimidating shadow he was back then, even though his shoulders seemed to slouch a bit. The only thing that didn't change was his mask which he still wore, the white, cold imitation of how his face should look. An old memory appeared in front of her eyes, a memory which she thought she had forgotten a long time ago; Erik had been sitting on his organ and composing as she woke up from a sweet tune. She knew that she had passed out again, this had happened quite some times in that time of her life, but this hadn't been a thing which she would've get used to any time soon. "...And in that boat there was a man..." Slowly she sneaked closer to him, looking at him a little bit worried as she felt him tensing up. "Who was that shape in the shadows?" Softly she laid her hand onto his cheek, as if she held a butterfly in it, demanding but afraid to hurt the fragile creature under her touch, the tip of her thumb slightly grazing at the masks edge and she felt the man leaning into her touch, his eyes closed. "Whose is that face in the mask?" And without a warning she pulled away what covered something which should change things completely...
She had been so careless back then, so inconsiderately, and she had hurt her old friend more than she herself would have been capable of.
"Erik..."
A weak smile appeared in the corner of his mouth and she could see he had to hold himself back from tearing up. He hadn't changed at all...
"..In that time when the world thought me dead. My Christine-" He took a step towards her, his body longing to feel her again after all this years, to touch her, to have the sweet scent of her hair fill his nostrils so he could breathe her in and never let go of her again.
In all this years he couldn't think of one word that might have been able to contain the amount of regret he had felt after he had left his beloved angel.
She raised her hand to his cheek, almost as hesitantly as the first time she had touched him, her blue eyes fixed on his to look for any sign of reluctance. But she couldn't find any, and like the first time he couldn't wait for her soft, warm hands to make contact with his skin.
"In that night, just before you were wed..." Her lips slightly parted, a soft blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. She remembered everything, she had never forgotten how they first united, even if it was the only time...