10. Bal Masqué

If Christine hadn't been so busy with all of the shows André and Firmin were putting on to make up for what became known as the "Buquet Incident", her time away from Erik would have killed her. Even though the productions of Il Muto kept her alive, it didn't keep her from slipping into a mild depression. She tried to be on time for rehearsals, but she found herself sleeping later. She tried to eat healthily, but all food seemed to have lost its appeal. She tried to stay social, but she had never enjoyed being in the spotlight in the first place.

The loneliness Christine had felt had grown stronger when she realized that Erik had stopped being the Opera Ghost. There were no more notes, no more orders, no more accidents. He had simple disappeared from every aspect of her life, and the aloneness Christine felt had begun to crush her.

While Meg had reached out to her more since Christine had started feeling crushed, she wasn't Erik. It was a bit easier being able to talk to her, but Christine couldn't tell Meg everything. How could explain to her that the wanted-for-murder Phantom of the Opera was the man she loved beyond words? She would never understand, especially after the Buquet Incident.

Meg and Madame Giry had most noticed the changes in Christine, and spent their free time trying to keep her from disappearing into a full-on depression. They took turns visiting her in her room, and today was Madame Giry's turn.

"Please, Christine, you must eat," she pleaded. "People will start noticing your weight loss if you don't eat something." Madame Giry held a plate of food out to her. "You know Erik wouldn't want you to starve yourself…"

Christine was lying in the soft featherbed that was set in the bedroom behind Carlotta's dressing room, the room where Erik had first come to her after the gala. Since Carlotta had lost her voice during Il Muto the night of the Buquet Incident, Christine had inherited not only her position as the Countess - and soon the prima donna as well, if certain stagehands and ballerinas were to be believed - but her dressing room and all the extensions of as well.

"What does it matter what he wants?" Christine asked, burying her face in her pillow.

"It was your idea for you two distance yourselves from each other, you know," she sighed. When Christine didn't respond, Madame Giry put the plate down on her bedside table. "I'm going to leave this here. Do try to eat, Christine. It's important for you to keep yourself healthy, especially with another production on the way... Oh, by the way; with the new year arriving, the managers have decided to throw a celebratory Bal Masqué. If you feel you can handle it, I can have a dress prepared for you so you have something new to wear to it." She turned and left Christine alone in her room.

With a sigh, Christine pulled herself to a sitting position and looked at the food sitting the on the bedside table. She pulled the plate to her and studied it. Madame Giry had had the cooks prepare a simple garden salad with a lightly buttered croissant. It was a small meal, and despite the lack of appeal the food held, Christine had to admit that she was hungry. Her growling stomach silenced whatever doubts were left in her mind. She slowly ate the food that had been brought for her, swallowing it without tasting it. When it was gone, she placed the plate back on the bedside table. The servants would clear it away later.

Madame Giry had tried many different things to get Christine out of her room for things other than rehearsals, and normally, the thought of a party wouldn't interest her, especially not a ball. But as Christine reflected on what Madame Giry had said, she realized that the reason she was still considering going was because of the type of ball that was being held: a Bal Masqué. It was to be a masquerade; the perfect chance for a certain masked man to slip between crowds undetected.

Although it had been Christine's idea for Erik and her to stay away from each other, it was killing her to go so long without seeing him, without hearing him, without sensing him close to her. Now, with the idiots that called themselves Opera Populaire's managers throwing a masquerade, she had the perfect chance to see him again.

There was no way Erik wouldn't hear about the ball, and there was no way he would miss it; a chance to be out among people without hiding? How could he pass up this golden opportunity? It also gave him a chance to see how poorly the managers had done running his theater without him. The thought that he might possibly show up made her happy beyond measure.

Smiling for the first time in weeks, Christine studied her reflection in the mirror, making sure she didn't look too bad before racing out of her bedroom. She glanced sadly over her shoulder once more at the mirror Erik had used to enter her dressing room. She smiled once again, thinking of how soon she might get to see him. Taking a deep breath, she returned her attention to the door and exited the room.

She raced down the hallway, scaring the servants cleaning the many rooms of the opera house. Seeing Christine out of her dressing room with no rehearsals scheduled was a rare occurrence these days, and they followed her progress down the halls with wide, shocked eyes. Without slowing down, she ran to the ballerina dormitories and into Madame Giry's office.

Without betraying any emotion, Madame Giry looked up. "Good afternoon, Christine. What brings you all the way down here?" She seemed to have forgotten what she had mentioned to Christine only a few minutes before.

"I thought about what you said," she responded breathlessly. "I…I want to go to the masquerade."

"Why the sudden change of mind?" Madame Giry asked, looking back down at her work.

"It's just…you're right, Madame Giry; I've been ridiculous. It was my idea for Erik and I to distance ourselves, and I've been acting foolishly since then. I think it's time for me to start acting like myself again. He'd never want me to be doing the things that I am."

Madame Giry let a small smile cross her lips. "What color fabric were you thinking?"

A handful of nights later, Christine found herself going to Opera Populaire's Bal Masqué in a group with the managers, Madame Giry, Meg, Carlotta, and Piangi. She wasn't exactly happy with her group, but she was happy to be out of her room for something other than an Il Muto rehearsal. And the dress she had was stunning.

She had let Madame Giry handle the whole thing, at the ballerina instructor's insistence. All Christine told her was that she wanted it to be pink, and Madame Giry had delivered. The dress was made of pink silk; the top of her dress was sequenced with silver gems – real diamonds, Madame Giry told her, though she wasn't sure if she believed that (mostly due to the fact that Madame Giry couldn't afford real diamonds) – and the skirt of the dress – which was so long, it dragged behind her when she walked, even though she wore heels – was full and wrapped with a thin, clear sheet of a sparkling material. The mask was made of pink feathers – real flamingo feathers, her adopted mother had informed her, but again, Christine wasn't sure if she believed that (again, because Madame Giry couldn't have the funds for real flamingo feathers) – and was made so it fit her face perfectly. It was also sequenced with the same gems that covered the top of her dress.

As far as Christine was concerned, she was the most beautifully dressed girl at the ball. Her thought was only supported when, before long, she had a line of men wanting to dance with her. Grateful for the distraction from her grief, Christine accepted every offer, and was soon laughing breathlessly. She let herself be swept up in the music and the dances, and soon forgot her worries.

Everything changed in a matter of seconds.

She had stopped dancing for only a moment, and was at the punch bowl with Meg. They were joking and laughing and having a good time when someone tapped her shoulder. Christine turned, ready to accept another dance, when her blood ran cold. Even with the mask, Raoul's face was easily identifiable. He wore a blue uniform that looked as if it was something a prince or naval officer returning home from the war front would wear. It was laced with gold trim and had a short cape that wrapped around the shoulders. The cape looked as if it restricted arm movement. His shoulder-length, sandy-brown hair was tied back with a blue ribbon. He wore a simple blue mask that covered only his eyes that glowed with blue fire.

"Mademoiselle, you look stunning," he told her, bowing gracefully. "No woman here is dressed half as fine as you."

"Thank you, Viscount," Christine responded, trying to look brave. She was grateful that the mask Madame Giry had made for her was attached to a string that held it to her head and covered the whole top half of her face, so he wouldn't see the fear on it. "You are to kind."

"Perhaps, Mademoiselle, I could steal you for a dance? It would be an honor to dance with such a beautiful young woman."

With Meg looking on, Christine knew there was no way she could turn down Raoul's offer without looking disrespectful, though she was terribly afraid of what would happen when he got her alone. He had been slapped twice on her account; once by her, the other by Erik, both times to keep him from trying to take her for his own. He would be furious, and being alone with him scared Christine witless. Smiling sheepishly, she linked arms with him and let him led her out onto the floor.

Raoul gripped her waist tightly and pushed her against him. She closed her eyes and stifled a whimper; she couldn't show him how afraid she was of him. That would only give him more power over her. They swept through the room, arm-in-arm, spinning in tight circles. Raoul placed his chin on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "I was so hoping we could continue our conversation from the other night. After all, we were so rudely interrupted."

"Viscount, I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Christine responded quietly.

"Oh, come now, Christine. After he took you with him that night, you had to realize that I would know that you know where he's hiding." Raoul held her tighter; she had to fight a squeal of pain. "Tell me what I want to know. If it's Erik you're so afraid of, don't worry. Once I have him, I'll take you away from here and keep you safe. You don't have to be afraid of him."

Oh, please no. He can't know Erik's name… Christine thought. "I'm not afraid of the Opera…"

"Use his name, Christine," Raoul said. "I know that it's Erik. There's no point in playing that game any longer."

Christine bit back tears of fear for Erik's safety. If Raoul knew the real name of the Opera Ghost, how long would it be before he discovered that there was one other person at the Opera Populaire who knew of Erik's hiding spot? "I'm not afraid of Erik," she said simply.

"Then what are you afraid of, Christine?" he murmured.

She swallowed before answering, "I'm afraid of you." Christine realized that the moment she said it, she would regret it.

Raoul pushed her away from him and grabbed her arm. He pulled her away from the ballroom and into the empty foyer. There, he pushed her against the wall and held her there. "Why are you afraid of me, Christine? What have I done?"

"You ask me that as you tear me away from the dance and press me against a wall, preventing me from leaving?! Why do you think I'm afraid of you Viscount?!" Christine hissed, trying to push him away. "You are a spoiled rich boy who thinks he can have anything he wants. I know you don't really love me; you look at me with lust, like I'm another prize you have yet to win. Well, I promise you this, Monsieur," she spit the title like it was venomous, "I am one prize you will never have!"

Raoul looked down at her with a shocked, confused look in his eyes. He couldn't make sense of what she was saying. "I…I don't understand…" He hadn't released the pressure that was holding her in place; in fact, the pressure was increasing.

"You don't understand that you're finally not getting something you want? I could never love someone like you, Viscount; someone who looks at me as an object rather than a human. It disgusts me."

"Christine…"

"Pardon, Monsieur," a new voice, a deep voice Christine couldn't place, called from behind them. "Do you mind if I steal the lady for a dance?"

"We are in the middle of something," Raoul hissed without turning. He stood in front of whoever the man was, so Christine couldn't see him. "Come back later."

"Are you married to her, Monsieur?" the man asked.

"What?" Raoul asked, keeping his angering gaze trained on Christine.

"I said are you married to her?"

"Well…no…"

"Engaged?" he questioned.

"No," Raoul scowled.

"Then you don't have much right to keep her for yourself, do you?"

Christine waited anxiously as she watched Raoul realize that he couldn't stay with her like this with someone watching. Rumors would begin to spread about them, and rumors that the Viscount and patron to Opera Populaire loved a chorus girl raised slightly above her station could not begin to spread; they would ruin him. Though they were true, he couldn't let that fact be known. At least, not yet. Not until he was ready for it to be known.

Angrily, Raoul whispered in her ear, "This isn't finished, Little Lottie." He hissed his old pet name for her as if it was a curse. Then, he turned away from her and stormed back onto the dance floor.

Christine looked down and started spreading the wrinkles out of her gown. Anything not to look at the strange man stranding before her. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said sincerely without looking up. "If you hadn't come when you did, I don't know what would have happened."

"I should kill him for that," the man's voice changed. It changed into one she knew. She didn't dare hope, though. She wouldn't be able to bare it if her ears were deceiving her. "After all, I warned him never to touch you again."

Without looking up, her eyes filled with tears as she whispered his name. "Erik."

He crossed quickly to her side, and wrapped his arms securely around her. "I am here," he said. It was the same thing he had told her the night , so long ago. It had been after Raoul had first showed his possessive, dangerous side and forced her to kiss him and when Erik had showed his compassionate, loving side when he had comforted her in her fear and disgust.

She let herself fall against him and pressed her face into his shoulder, comforted by his closeness. "I've missed you so much, Erik. I nearly died without you."

"Come, my dear," Erik said, leading her towards the ballroom. "I promised you a dance, and a dance you shall have."

He stood across from her on the dance floor, and she gasped as she looked at him clearly for the first time. Erik was dressed in an all-red suit; even the cape hanging from his shoulders was red. His mask covered the whole top of his face, like her's did, and the outline of a skull was impressed on it. He looked handsome as the red mixed well with his pale skin tone and jet black hair that was slicked back like always, but he also looked fearsome.

"La Mort Rouge…" she whispered. "Red Death…"

"You recognize it," Erik said. "I'm surprised."

"Why is that so shocking?" she asked, resting her head against his chest.

"It's just that…the story behind Red Death is so…gruesome, and you seem so…gentle."

"I do read, Erik," she laughed. She held onto the front of his shirt tightly, thinking that if she let him go now, he would fade from her as he had before. "What are you doing here?" Christine asked him.

"Can't I just be enjoying a party? I don't get to go to many of them, you know. Masquerades are my only chance to disappear in a crowd. The one time wearing a mask won't get me noticed," he told her.

"But there's more to it than that. I can tell."

Erik sighed, as if debating whether or not to tell her the truth. "I wasn't planning on seeing you one-on-one tonight, Christine," he admitted. "In fact, I would have kept you in the dark as to my presence here for as long as possible if that foul excuse for a Viscount hadn't tried to force himself on you again. I couldn't leave you to his mercy. And I'm not here to simply enjoy human contact… Although this kind of contact I don't mind." Erik held her tighter as they continued dancing. "I'm here tonight to present my opera to your managers. I decided that I do want this one performed by the cast at Opera Populaire, and I have a few…instructions on how the casting and rehearsals are to be handled."

Christine smiled; it was nice to hear Erik was going to return to his Opera Ghost duties. "Is that why you've been gone so long?" she asked. "Because you were writing you opera?"

"That was part of the reason, yes. I also wanted to…get rid of a few unwanted decorations," he said. Christine smiled, knowing which decorations he meant. It pleased her to know that he had gotten rid of them. The song ended, and Erik pulled out of her grip, bowing to her. "If you will pardon me, Mademoiselle, I have a show to begin."

"Erik, wait!" she tried to follow him, but even in his Red Death costume, it wasn't too long before she had lost him. Christine had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before she saw him again.