"More a gentleman than an angel, Erik. So, let's not trifle with semantics."
"Touche', my dear." He unfurled his cloak and laid it across the back of the chaise lounge. There was something very disconcerting about his nonchalance. It seemed to be in total contradiction to the rose-covered floor that had been his doing. How could it be that he cared so little if he had gone to so much trouble to adorn my dressing room in such an exquisite manner?
He did care, otherwise, why would he have played his violin for me? He was not one to simply taunt me with his presence. Maybe it was my own foolish pride, but Erik might toy with the minds of others, but never my own. I hoped this still held true. "I honestly expected that I would have to seek you out, Erik. But you can not deny that you have come to me of your own volition."
And true to his nature, he replied with guarded humor, "Madame, I do nothing that is not of my own choosing."
"I know that all too well. You always have your way, Erik, no matter what harm comes of it." I meant to incite his rage, to stir some feeling in him other than the ennui he was currently emitting.
"I recall, Christine, that you are no stranger to inflicting pain upon those that love you. In fact, betrayal, I believe, is your forte."
"The past two years have not softened your heart, I see."
"But, they have made you all the more impulsive. Your tongue has sharpened, Comtesse, and I must admit it is a quality most becoming." He sat up and leaned further into me. Now, why have you lured me out of my black hole, hrm?"
"Are you finished belittling me, monsieur le Fantome?" I did not wait for a response, but caught his smirk out of the corner of my eye. "I have not come here for a final argument, Erik."
"Closure, then, I assume, madame?" He sat up straight and stared into me with unwavering confidence-when did his gaze not consume its subject? "To make peace with the old demons?"
"I have made peace with my demons, that is not my purpose. I have come to see you for one simple reason."
"Well, am I to be left in suspense? My dear, you were always one for dramatics, but I am getting far too old for them."
"It is not easy to say, Erik. There is so much I should tell you," I began blubbering like a chorus girl after her third glass of wine. "But you must give me a chance, a fair chance, to explain myself!"
He rounded on me then, not with rage, but with a clipped anger, his voice sharp and short,"Do you honestly think, Christine, that you are owed anything from the Opera Ghost?" His back was to me once again, shoulders taut with what must be controlled fury.
"It isn't a question of whether you or OWE anything to one another!"
"Of that you are wrong, Comtesse!" The room became eerily quiet except for the dreadful throb of silence that bridged a gulf between us. "You betrayed me without a second thought, offered me up to the slaughter, all the while playing the tease. Almost giving me hope! Christine, let me forget you, please!"
The door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame. Suddenly, I felt more alone and more foolish than ever before. But, I could not surrender, I would not lose at this point. Because, I knew for certain, by the gravity of his rage, and his makeshift memorial of my dressing room, that he still loved me. Those of the theatre flock like moths to flame to a tragedy, and I would see my own private opera through to the end.
