Chapter Nine - The Singer and the Seamstress

Christine yawned as she awoke, smelling something rather delightful. "Hmm…supper?" Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and left the safety of her room, checking the hall both ways before walking out. Entering the Louis-Philippe room, her eyes grew large at the large mess of cloth, mannequins, and papers. "Goodness!" she exclaimed, moving past them all until she arrived at the door and pushed it open, gasping as she saw Angelique setting the table, all the while amiably chatting with their captor.

"Oh, you're awake!" she beamed. "I hope you're hungry – I've cooked some beef and vegetables, and there's a bit of soup, too."

"Angelique?" Christine asked, blinking in awe. "What…what is all this?"

"Supper, of course," she answered calmly. "Have a seat. I'll be back." She left the room once more, leaving the man and woman alone again in the room, a rush of dejavu washing over them.

"…Erik-" Christine spoke.

"Please, Christine," he pleaded, standing up. "Let Erik speak…It was wrong of him…this whole arrangement, but you must understand, he wanted to see you, to be with you…all Erik asks is that you spend a few days here, and perhaps if you are good, he can let you out for a bit…but you must come back. You have seen Erik's face, and he is most displeased that you have…you must come back, Christine," he pleaded, his fist pressed to his heart as he stared at her with baleful eyes.

She listened to him, remembering what Angelique had told her earlier that day when she visited the seamstress in her room: "He's lonely, and frustrated. Surely, we can give him a chance to prove himself, can't we? If we give him a chance, he might let us go up, at least for a bit." Heaving a sigh, she nodded. "…I'm sorry, Erik. I suppose I've also acted immaturely today." Stepping over to him, she hesitantly stretched her arm out and placed her fingertips on his shoulder, watching him stiffen at her touch. "…I shall do as you ask…but I beg of you, I must let Mamma Valerius know I am alright."

He gaped at her hand before tearing his eyes away and looking back at her, holding his head up and nodding. "Erik has already sent a message to her of your well being, child."

She smiled at him shyly, making his heart race. A flicker of hope shuddered through him, and he thought that things might not be so bleak after all…

"Who's hungry?" Angelique asked brightly, bringing out the main course. Seeing the two standing within close proximity, shadows of smiles upon their faces, she allowed herself to smile as well."Things will be alright now…"

~OG~

After supper – which the girls ate ravenously and Erik merely picked at his food, stating that he did not eat in the presence of others – the trio moved into the Louis-Philippe room and sat by the fire. Erik played his violin as Christine sang along, while Angelique sat complacently on a footstool sewing the vest of a costume. She smiled as she listened to the harmony the two created as they worked together, her heart and soul soothed by the beautiful music. "That was lovely, Erik, Christine."

"Merci," Christine blushed. "Erik did teach me."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and averted his eyes, not wanting to appear vain as he blushed from Christine's comment. "It is late…neither one of you is tired?"

"Not yet," Angelique shook her head. "I m afraid I've slept most of the day away, so I won't be sleeping for a while."

"I think I shall get some rest," Christine said, rising to her feet. "I didn't sleep as much as you did, Angelique." Nodding her head, she bid them good night, kneeling down and embracing Angelique. Caught off guard, the seamstress opened her mouth to speak when she heard Christine whisper, "Thank you for talking to Erik." Her eyes glistened with hope as she departed, the man and girl watching her leave in silence.

"Well…Erik shall let you work in silence," Erik spoke up, grabbing his violin when her voice made him stop.

"Won't you play something else?" she asked, turning to face him when she felt a pinch of pain in her finger. "Ow!" she winced, dropping her work at once.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the instrument aside and falling to his knees.

"Mon Dieu, that hurt!" she grimaced, checking her finger. "Oh, don't mind me, Erik. I've pricked my finger. I was distracted."

A drop of blood slowly seeped out of her wound, a throbbing pain pulsing through her finger. Erik reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, his hand hesitantly reaching for hers. "…may I-?"

"You don't have to ask to touch me, Erik," she smiled wryly at him. "I'm certainly not made of porcelain and you are not poisonous."

"There are those that think otherwise," he chuckled grimly, his fingers curling around her palm as he gently dabbed the wound with the fine cloth. Running his thumb over her hand, he felt her skin was slightly roughened. "…what did they make you do?"

She cast her gaze to the fire, understanding perfectly well what he meant. "…scrub floors…laundry…work in the garden…nothing out of the ordinary, Erik. I was a servant."

"Did they hurt you?"

She winced, shaking her head to clear unwanted memories out of her mind. "…it doesn't matter any more-"

"Did they?" he demanded to know, his voice low and firm, his eyes two flaming coals as he remembered how they had vowed to harm her once she was theirs again.

"…yes. Every so often," she confessed. "I was almost…violated…once."

He gritted his teeth, a hiss passing through his lips, when he felt her place her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a gentle squeeze and smiled softly at him. Pressing his lips together once more and biting his tongue, he motioned for her to wait as he got up and vanished into his room, returning with a strip of cloth and a small bottle of liquid. Dabbing it onto the kerchief, he rubbed it onto her finger. "It's going to sting," he warned her, seeing her face twist in irritation. "Just a bit longer…" Setting the materials aside, he niftily tied the strip of cloth around her finger and tied it, resting his hand over hers. "You may take it off in the morning." He gasped as she leaned forward and embraced him briefly, feeling her warm neck brush against his for an instant.

Pulling away, she tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed. "Sorry…I just…thank you, Erik."

He nodded, reluctantly pulling his hand from hers and standing upright. "…would you like to hear another tune?"

"Very much, if you please," she smiled, getting back to work at once.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, something he seldom did, as he picked up his violin once more and played a sweet, soothing song. Watching her as she stitched the buttons onto the vest, he felt a sudden strong warmth fill him, making his weary soul sigh in contentedness. He could get used to this…

~OG~

Angelique became quite busy for the next few days that she and Christine remained guests in Erik's underground house. She sewed, designed, cleaned, cooked – she became a household item and member that Erik found himself wondering how he managed without her before she came. She cleaned his cloaks and repaired his shirts, she cooked meals and prepared his desk – shocking both Opera Ghost and prima donna, as she entered the morgue-like room without fear now – while dusting off shelves and rearranging his masks.

"How can you do that without shuddering at the sight of that…that…coffin?!" Christine asked as she washed the dishes with her on the fifth night of their stay.

"I don't look it," she answered with a shrug, grabbing another plate from the counter.

"I do believe you're starting to enjoy yourself a bit too much, being down here," Christine sighed.

She said nothing, a smile playing on her lips as she scrubbed away. She would never confess to it, but she was indeed very comfortable, and she and Erik had already formed a playful, friendly relationship. As the days went on, she teased him like a sister and scolded him like a mother, and then, late at night when Christine was asleep, they would sit at the hearth and stare at the flames, sometimes murmuring about anything that came to mind, sometimes saying nothing. Erik had taken a liking to sitting beside her and placing his hand on hers, to which she would place her head on his shoulder.

After several requests and a few prods, Erik gave in and placed a mantel clock upon the fireplace shelf. Christine was especially grateful for the new addition, saying that she might go mad if she continued with their guessing game of what time of day it was.

"It's nearly been a week, mon ami. Do you suppose he'll let us leave soon?" Christine whispered as they passed into the drawing room and looked about to see if they were alone.

"Leave it be, Christine. The more you pester, the less he'll comply with your request," Angelique cautioned her. "It's getting late. Let's get some rest."

With a disappointed smile, Christine nodded and left for her room while Angelique entered hers, hearing Erik's organ in the distance as she made her way to the bathroom. Shaking her head with a smile, she knew that Erik would be in shortly to ask her to listen to a new portion of something he was composing. He wouldn't tell her just what it was he was working at, and he never admitted that he was composing, but something in the music – that beautiful, unfamiliar, haunting music that was filled with so many different emotions all at once – told her that it was his creation.

After bathing and brushing her hair, she got dressed for bed and stepped into her room once more, moving towards her desk to rearrange the articles in her basket that she had brought. She stacked her spools of colorful threads off to one corner, stabbing the accompanying needle into the stoutest of them all, before setting her thimble down beside them. She unfolded her old, worn green scarf and placed it to her cheek, memories of her father wrapping the item around her in winter warming her heart. Setting it upon her chair, she pulled out a tiny box and opened the lid, a sweet tune dancing around her as she watched the little ballerina from within twirl daintily on her toes. Smiling, she placed it at the center before grabbing the photograph and caressing the frame, gazing down at the three figures trapped inside the glass.

Her breath hitched as a presence materialized behind her, goose bumps rising on her skin as she sensed Erik was in the room. "…Erik?"

"Erik meant to knock," he said quietly, stepping towards her until he was at her side. "He heard music…these are yours?"

"Yes." She offered him the portrait, watching him hesitantly take it from her and look down on the picture. "I believe I was twelve in that photo…my mother died a year later."

"Erik is sorry," he murmured, offering the item back. "…you have your mother's eyes…and smile."

She blushed, mumbling her thanks as she placed the picture down once more. Reaching for the music box, she gently shut the lid and faced him. "Can I help you with something?"

"I- that is, Erik has something he wishes to play…for you," he stammered, startled that he had slipped into saying "I". "That is, if you do not mind."

"You know I love your music, Erik," she beamed. "Of course, I'd like that very much."

He nodded, turning away when he paused for a moment, straightening before her. "…may Erik offer you his arm?" he asked, offering the crook of his elbow to her as she looked at him.

Angelique felt her heart skip a beat, blush filling her face once more. She could scarcely comprehend why she was doing that more and more so lately the past few days, but part of her liked it. Seeing him in his dark slack and poet's shirt with a burgundy robe draped over his tall, thin frame, she realized that he was, in her opinion, rather handsome – even with his ivory mask, yellowed skin, and thinning black hair. "True, he's not a dashing prince, but…his voice, his thoughtfulness, his generosity…the way he treats me like…like a person…like a lady…Mon Dieu, what am I thinking?!"

As she gaped at him, she didn't realize that he, too, was drinking in the sight of her. She wore a soft, light linen nightdress, modestly covering her body, a blue satin robe slipped over her frame, tied tightly around her waist, showing just how tiny and frail she really was. Her feet were bare on the carpet, her hand hovering inches away from his arm. Her cheeks were painted naturally from her blushing, a gentle rose pink hue, her lips merely a shade darker and parted as she inhaled. Her lashes beat against her skin, her stormy hued eyes haunting. Her chestnut-red hair curled sensuously around her face before draping over her collarbone and stopping upon her breasts. His blood raced as she curled her hand around his arm, stepping beside him so that her body brushed against his.

Holding his breath, he led her away to his room, his mind torn and battling with every step. Angelique was never part of his original plans…he wanted Christine, and now he had her…so why was this new girl suddenly taking over his mind and tossing everything he had intended out the window?

Entering his darkened cell, he motioned for her to sit at his desk as he quickly detached himself from her and hurried to his organ. His breath came in and out in quick, short, quiet gasps as he struggled to steady himself, reaching for a thick stack of papers. This woman was driving him mad, and the most frightening part of it all was that he liked it. "This can't go on…!"

"Erik, this rose…is it…?"

He spun around, his eyes widening as he remembered that he had left the flower out. "No! Put that away!" he ordered her, seeing how she had opened the book he had placed it in. "You weren't supposed to see-!"

"You kept the rose I left you?" she asked, her face lighting up.

He slammed the book shut and turned away from her, hugging it to his chest with the papers. "Who said it was the rose you left?"

"I just…I thought…oh, never mind," she shook her head, a wry smile appearing on her lips.

Hearing the hurt in her voice, he sighed and admitted, "Erik has never received a gift from a woman…not even his own mother." Facing her once more, he opened the book and caressed the flattened petals, their fragrance filling the air. "…it was very…kind of you, to leave him a gift."

"I wish I could give more," she answered honestly, touching the sleeve of his robe. Their eyes locked for a moment before they suddenly looked away, timid. "Um, what was it you wanted to show me?" she asked brightly, masking her embarrassment.

Setting the book down, he gripped the papers once more before slowly handing them over to her. "The pieces that Erik played to you each night…came from this."

Taking the stack in her hands, she read the cover, written in red ink, scribbled in sloppy cursive: "Don Juan Triumphant".

"Erik, did you compose this?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

He nodded, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair. "Erik has worked on this for many years, and it is nearly finished…but has never been able to share it with anyone."

"Oh, Erik, all those songs you'd play on the violin and organ…I knew only you could have written them!" she laughed, gently sifting through the pages as she looked at the notes and words. "They're all beautiful, Erik…"

Erik felt his mouth suddenly turn up in a smile, a motion that rarely happened to him. There was a rush or warmth and hope that surged through his veins…and then he saw her smile fade. His instantly vanished. "What is it? What's wrong with it?"

"What?" she looked up. "Oh, nothing's wrong with this, Erik, it's brilliant…but…I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" he frowned.

Biting her lip, she quietly asked, "…why are you showing this to me?"

He blinked, stunned by her question. "What do you mean…?"

"I mean, why me? Christine is the singer, and she would be able to perform this with ease, I'm sure. And you know I can't read music…why are you sharing this with me and not her? I'm sure she'd be delighted to see this-"

"Because you-" He stopped, looking away before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look back at her. "…because Erik knew that you would appreciate this…he wanted to share this with you because it is very, very special to him…and, he hoped you would share the same…happiness."

A smile appeared on her face as he said these words, her eyes shining with tears. "Erik…"

"Please do not cry because of Erik," he pleaded, though he felt secretly liked having someone cry just for him because she was happy. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, not sure of what to say.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" he answered a little too quickly, loving the way she softly said his name.

"Erik, please don't be offended when I ask this of you," she said, standing before him and setting his work aside. His stomach twisted in a knot as he feared the worst, wondering just what it was he said or did that would cause her to say such a request. "Erik…will you take off your mask?"

His head snapped up, his eyes large with disbelief. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bolt and cower in a corner or grab her by the shoulders and shake her silly. "You what?!"

"Erik, please, listen to me," she said, reaching for him.

"No!" he snarled, raising an arm to shield his face from her, taking a step back. "Erik shall not show his face!"

"Erik, I want to see you!" she insisted, both her hands wrapping around his arm. Her voice lowered a bit as she looked up at him with sincerity. "Erik…if the Daroga can look upon you without fear, then I want to be able to as well…I want to be a true friend to you, one that you don't have to worry about hiding from."

"Friend," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Erik does not have friends, and friends do not ask to see monsters."

Her hands were on his masked cheeks in moments, his arm at his side as she forced him to face her, her blue-grey eyes hypnotizing as she stared into his own golden orbs. "You are not a monster, Erik. You are not a ghost, nor are you an angel…you are a man…a wonderful man. Flawed, but wonderful, nonetheless."

His throat tightened and dried, his hands shaking as she spoke. "A-Angelique…please, don't-"

"Trust me, Erik," she whispered, her fingers inching towards the edges of the mask, suddenly covered by his. She stopped as he gripped her hands, her head drooping as she thought he was going to remove them.

He did…along with the mask.

Lifting her face, she was flabbergasted to find that he was helping her remove the item, his face eerie in the candlelight of the room. He watched her with frightened eyes, waiting for her to faint, scream, recoil…

Her brows furrowed a moment as she took in his face, her stomach churning for several minutes before it finally settled. Releasing one hand, she raised it to his barren, sunk-in cheek, delicately touching his skin. He breathed in sharply, holding his breath as she placed her hand upon his face. A woman, a beautiful young woman, was touching his face, looking at his true self…and she was not running from him. There was no fear, no disgust in her eyes…only concern, and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. He didn't dare to move, waiting for the magic of the moment to be over, when he felt her thumb caress his skin.

Unable to resist, he hand flew to his cheek, covering Angelique's and pressing it close against him, squeezing his eyes shut as he melted into the simple gesture. "Angelique…" he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "Angelique…may Erik…kiss your hand?"

She gave a small, shy laugh and shook her head at him. "Whatever for?"

"Please, Angelique," he pleaded, opening his eyes. There were tears forming in them, looking like diamonds as they slid down his horrifying face. "Erik has never…that is, he-"

"Yes, Erik," she nodded. "I would like that very much."

He felt his body tremble at those words. "I would like that very much." No sane person, much less a woman, would want his lips on their skin…then again, Angelique was not quite like other people. Even when she first saw his face down by the lake, she merely gasped and stared – a mild reaction compared to what others had done in the past. So it was that he took her hand from his face and painstakingly dragged it from his cheek to his lips, where he feverishly pressed his lips to her palm.

She shivered from the gesture, taking a step closer to him. She watched as he brought his other hand up, using both his to cup hers reverently before daring to kiss each fingertip, eventually turning her hand so that he could finally press his transparent lips onto the back of her hand.

"Thank you," he breathed onto her skin, lowering his gaze to hers. "Thank you…my dear Angelique."