Reviews are appreciated, especially if you notice any typos. I don't have beta readers and I may miss some things even after a couple edits.
Thank you.
His heart froze.
That was impossible.
She gasped and went still when she heard the boat. He took in her wide eyes and mess of curls splayed wildly about her shoulders as he neared. She was not the angel from his precious memory. He patiently waited for this haunting apparition to fade away, yet she remained even as the boat came to the steps she sat on.
Yes, this one appeared much worse compare to the previous beautiful and glowing mirages. Her cheekbones were prominent in her almost gaunt face like a hungry street orphan. Her hands were dirty as was the bottom of her cloak and rather simple dress.
He couldn't look away from those sullen bruised eyes.
He also didn't expect it to speak.
"Erik�"
The voice was quiet, a child-like whisper with fragile hope.
He stilled not realizing he was already stepping out of the boat. There was a crunch underfoot.
He lifted his boot, noticing the shattered glasses.
"You're real."
Neither was sure who said it, maybe both.
"What happened to you?" He asked unknowingly reaching out to touch her, she automatically flinched.
She ran a hand through her hair, mumbling, "They didn't help."
"When did this start?"
She shrugged, moving her hair to flow over her shoulders and around her neck. "Things were blurry as a ballet dancer. I didn't notice. It got worse after I left with him."
"You're foolish enough to venture down here in the dark when you can't see? What if you fell?"
"Are you already lecturing me, Angel of Music?" Her laugh was dry, hollow, and aged. "Just like old times." In the candlelight, he caught sight of dark marks on her throat. He automatically reached out to touch them. She recoiled as he moved her hair. They were the imprints of fingers. He growled as she turned away with her head bowed to protect her already tender neck.
"I come down here often. I know every step, where the booby trap is, and the crumbling step behind me. I always wished for this. I'm afraid I have fallen asleep on the steps again waiting for you."
"Darling, this isn't a dream."
"Prove it."
With a second thought or word, he kissed her, capturing her lips, stealing her breath. Parting he stood up, pulling her with him. They couldn't stay here; he wouldn't let her go back. She glanced at the boat and he shook his head, "No angel, not that way. It is a ruin."
"Then where?"
"My home," he answered, but paused remembering his mistake in the past of trying to force her into anything. She was not a naive child and he... was not desperate or deranged anymore. "If you are willing come."
Her hand gently touched her throat, "I don't want to go back there."
With that they were gone moving quickly up the winding stairs. Christine boldly led the way through the tunnels, entering the abandoned dormitory, and out a side door, which she put a false barricade on.
Hand in hand, they walked down the boulevard to smaller streets as houses lost their grandeur to shanties or to abandoned shacks until one house that stood out. It was once ruined from long disuse and inhabited with people who lived like rats. Now it was amidst repairs with several tenants. Erik went straight into this house as light poured out onto the wild grass from its windows. Christine shielded her eyes coming in, blinking at the ornate foyer.
"Erik," a woman greeted, in a lush velvet dress, with large curled hair clipped back to one side and draped down her right shoulder. She glanced at Christine, scrunching her nose, "She's new."
Erik nodded to her. His hand tightened around Christine's as they passed, "Morine." When they went up the stairs, Christine briefly glanced back at the woman and up to Erik, as two more people cheerfully greeted him. The second floor was plain with bare walls, but the third was just as decorated foyer. On this floor there were only two doors that faced each other.
"Is this where you live?"
"Yes this is my flat."
"Who was that woman, Morine?"
"The landlord, she lives in that one." He tilted his head to the door opposite of them. He unlocked the door before he beckoned her inside. This room was an echo of his former underground chamber. Rugs covered the cold floor as tapestries and paintings covered the walls. His bed, though it was not his beloved giant swan, was a four corner poster canopy bed centered in middle of the room. Against the right wall was a large antique desk under the window for the best view of inspiration. Half of the back wall had a floor to ceiling bookshelf crammed the books and loose papers stuck in these or in protective covers. Next to the bookshelf across from the bed was his wide armoire upon which his masks lay. The bathroom was nestled in the back corner. A couch and chaise lounge formed a sitting area near the door where Erik dumped his cloak unceremoniously onto the couch before lighting candles to fill the room with a soft glow.
Christine stood silently gazing the blurred shapes to the desk, bed, and him. He watched, as her gaze didn't focus on anything except for him.
"It's lovely," she said, sitting down on the couch.
He smiled bowing his head slightly, "There is still much to be done. The kitchen was just recently finished. A few of the bedrooms still need to be fixed, if only their inhabitants would let workers into them..."
She smiled, "The opera ghost is talking about house repairs."
He stopped, then smiled, "Yes, I am. Quite different from the last time we met which was under than less than desirable circumstances."
Her eyes flickered over the simple black mask covering the right side of his face. "What has happened to you?"
