Another shout out to my beta L van Am, who went through with corrections, despite being busy with things in life. I really appreciate it. :)
Here comes a couple of risks that I took with this story and at this point in time of the events. I have wanted to write a few of them out for awhile, but it is now a question of whether or not I have succeeded.
I have no clue what type of organ Erik owns in the musical, so I don't know it's proper name: I only know that it's not the kind with the pipes.
Lyrics to Poor fool, he makes me laugh belong to... I'm guessing Charles Heart and Richard Stilgoe? I can't credit Webber if he didn't write them.
10: The reflection in the mirror
Christine had walked the whole way from the chateau to the district where the Opera House was located, and though her feet were getting sore, she could care less.
Philippe's words repeated over and over inside her head. Try as she might, she could not get them out of her head as memories of her past played out before her.
The days when she used to stare enviously at other girls who had fine dresses and dolls... the nights when she slept together with her father in piles of straw and hay outside inns because they couldn't afford a room, while her stomach growled out in hunger... singing for a few coins, just to get a meal... whispered accusations... threats towards her father for not giving her up to a better family... the snide remarks that she didn't attend a suitable school for young women...
Those horrible nights when she questioned her own worth... when her father passed away and she lost her voice, she wondered if there was anything left to live for.
Christine passed by a jewelry store. She caught her reflection in a mirror with a faux jeweled frame that was behind a glass plane when she tried to avoid eye contact with other passing citizens. Alongside the mirror, there were many dazzling necklaces and earrings, but to Christine it was a cruel mockery to those who would only be able to look.
Gone was the confident young woman from her debut in Hannibal; instead, there was only someone who looked as if she was trying too hard to fit into a place where she didn't feel like she belonged.
You would do well to stay on the stage, and not even dare attempt to cross over the orchestra pit and out into the audience while you are still an understudy.
I was rather distraught when I heard the news about what happened in my absence. Especially when I couldn't bear to think of how much I would be missed, when you had someone less experienced to take over for me
We may be performers, but I am afraid that we will only be seen by the outside world as a way to pass the time. You may as well be a common street rat to the younger brother! For as long as we put on an act for our patrons, we will never truly be able to walk amongst the outside world. You will soon see, my dears!
Even as children, you both created a scandal through the fact that your father was a poor wanderer with little stability, and we wondered if the both of you were trying to take advantage of Raoul's friendship or not.
With each passing voice, she could see her flaws both on the inside and the outside.
She felt that sting of 'what if' which was the most painful thing to ever think of for anyone. What if she had been more sensible? What if her family was better off from the start? What if she had found the strength to continue her studies? Perhaps she would have been respected enough to not be accused of trying to take advantage of her friend.
Christine noticed that her eye makeup was smeared, and she wiped it all off with the back of her gloved hand. She hated wearing the gloves and though she liked having her hair done up, it didn't make her feel comfortable about herself.
It felt as if she was trying to mask who she really was, both inside and out. She had to try to hide her boredom in the chateau since she barely cared about most of the topics they discussed. She didn't understand the need to observe and dissect the lives of the privileged, and politics and economy barely interested her, when all she wanted was to learn more about the people she had acquainted herself with. Then Philippe had to break her when he sensed her as a threat towards his family, without giving her a chance.
But worst of all was the fact that she was judged by what she was: an orphaned chorus girl from Sweden with little to her name.
She ripped out the pins that held her hair up. It hurt, since they each seemed to take a strand or two out, but she wanted her hair to be completely free; nothing tied back or held in a bun. It all had to be loose and ready to fly in the wind, just as she liked it when she was a child, before the need to be an adult and look proper became more important.
Christine finally turned away from the mirror and continued her journey to the Opera House.
Christine almost bumped into an unusual looking man with jade colored eyes while she ripped the pins out of her hair, and almost lost her way, but it wasn't until she reached the steps of her home that she succeeded in her endeavor. At least in the Opera House, she could feel free to be herself. At least she could escape in the fantasies and forget reality for several hours, if not work towards creating them.
Even if she had to be told to not cross over the orchestra pit and join the elite.
Christine ignored the world around her as she tried to make her way to a place where she could be alone.
"Again with these demands for twenty thousand francs? Who the hell is this person and why haven't they shown their face?!" Firmin demanded to Andre as they nearly crossed paths with the soprano.
Unfortunately, Christine was not going to be granted the mercy of having privacy because, as she made her way through one of the opulent, chandelier lined hallways, a voice called for her.
"Christine, you're back!"
Christine glanced up and saw Rosina with a black book in her hands and Rebecca by her side.
"Oh!" Rebecca cooed at Christine. "That is such a pretty dress!"
"Everyone's been looking for you." Rosina informed Christine. "Apparently you didn't tell anyone where you went, and Madame Giry looks as if she's going to call for the gendarmes again."
Christine winced. "I... didn't realize it would take that long," she confessed as she realized the consequences for her actions. If only her paranoia hadn't gotten the best of her; she just didn't want to draw unwanted attention to herself, and yet she still created an unwanted outcome from her moment of rebellion. She felt guilty for yet again worrying her guardian through her reckless actions.
"You better give them a good explanation." Rosina advised. "After all, I can only guess why you are dressed like that. Of course, after what happened with Meg earlier, you probably won't get too much an earful."
"Meg?" Christine concernedly asked.
"Meg was acting weird today," Rebecca said. "Apparently she came into the studio and was yelling at someone who wasn't there. We think she's going mad, and she's hiding herself in the dormitories; Rosina and I tried to get her to talk but she doesn't want to listen."
"She even bribed me with her collection of Edgar Allen Poe to keep us from asking any questions." Rosina held the book up.
Christine now gave the girls their complete attention. "What did she yell in the studio?"
"Well it had to do with you," Rosina tried to think. "And she was threatening whoever she thought she was speaking to... then she yelled 'go play on your instrument, you have a life.' or something of that sort."
Christine knew all too well from experience that Meg was not going mad. "Is Meg still in the dormitories?" She asked as she knew that Meg would give her the more straightforward answer first.
Christine made sure that no one else was inside the chapel, before she gave the bottle a nervous look. The disguise was absent, and it had returned to its original form, down to the very white jewels that shimmered like sunlight upon water.
Now came the part that she hadn't been looking forward to upon her return. She took a deep breath and summoned Erik out.
The first thing she heard was a familiar organ, and when the smoke cleared away, the music ceased. The player had once again exchanged his more extravagant robe for a white shirt with its sleeves pulled halfway up his arms and a vest. When he sensed what had just happened, he let out a curse and flicked his hand out, before he gave Christine a very displeased glare.
"I already heard Meg's side of the story." Christine crossed her arms against her chest as Erik got up off his seat. "Could you kindly explain why you felt the need to threaten my best friend?"
"Could you explain why you thought it would be wise to leave without saying a word?" he retorted as he mimicked Christine and crossed his arms. "Or perhaps I am correct in assuming that you went against my word and visited the de Chagny brothers? Otherwise, you almost scared everyone who cared about you to death- especially me."
It was just as Meg told her.
"I didn't because I didn't want any gossip spreading," Christine began. "If I had to take a chaperone, they would have known where I was. I couldn't take Meg, because I didn't want her to get dragged into this, and finally, it's because I knew you would either try to stop me or follow me. I have a right to my privacy, thank you very much."
"And it seems that you wanted to make a good impression." Erik almost sneered as he looked at her dress. "Was that the real reason you bought the dress? To impress them with your womanly charm and beauty?"
"Are you really going to do this?!" Christine hissed, but Erik continued on as the fury in his voice increased with his accusations.
"I suppose that you are going to tell me that you'll see your childhood friend on one of your nights off. Next he'll invite you out into the country and you'll be torn between that and a week that could be spent practicing for the upcoming event, if not on that very night. The next thing you'll know, they'll try to force you to choose between your career and-"
"You won!" Christine cried furiously as she threw her hands out. "I'm not going back, because you were right about them!"
She rushed to the nearest stone wall and slammed a fist into it. Pain shot through her hand, but she didn't care. "You got what you wanted!" She tried to fight the tears back. "I don't belong with them! I get it! Is that what you wanted me to say?! Are you satisfied now?!"
She flung her back against the wall. "You won... you won..." Her voice wavered as she slid down the wall and into a sitting position, where she hugged her knees and bowed her head into them in defeat. All the while she held her arms out and gingerly nursed her now injured hand with the other one.
Though Erik knew that he should have been pleased by this, he didn't feel that way. On the contrary, Christine's reactions made him feel hollow, as if he had been granted a pyrrhic victory. He wondered just what on earth happened to cause such a change in the young woman's behavior; it was a rarity for her to become violent.
"What happened?" he slowly asked as his arms dropped to his sides.
"I just... forgot who I was." Christine's exhausted voice came out in a muffled sound.
"Can you please clarify?"
"You probably heard it before." Christine raised her head with a sigh. "Have you... ever been judged for something that's beyond your control? Have you ever felt that nobody can look past all your faults?"
Erik flinched: of all the things he was expecting her to say, that sinister familiarity was not it.
"What are you saying?" Erik demanded.
"I didn't ask to be born into poverty!" Christine yelled in frustration. "I didn't ask to be the daughter of a poor wandering musician who used to tend to the earth for a living!"
She took a deep breath. It hurt to try to keep her tears back, but she didn't want anyone's pity at the moment. Instead, she turned her gaze to the opposing wall.
"Philippe accused my father and me of trying to take advantage of my friendship with Raoul to gain more money! He had the audacity to think that I was trying to further my career through him!" Christine spat. "Then he told me to leave his brother alone because he's trying to get him a fianceé who has more money than I do, if not a different career or background. And this is when he's trying to stay single and play with the hearts of other women!
"God, are they all like that?!" Christine asked. "Are they all so ignorant that they take for granted what people like my father and I didn't have?! What I could only dream about?!
"It could have been so easy!" Christine let out a weak laugh. "I could have stolen from others, and I could have tried to completely turn my back on singing! I could have taken my very life when I lost my father and my desire to sing. I bet I never told you that, did I?! The first time I was near Apollo's Lyre, I was standing on the edge, overlooking all of Paris and I didn't know what else to do-"
She took a deep breath that came out in a series of staccatos and tried to calm down. "No one knows what almost happened up there. Not even Meg." She rested the back of her head against the wall.
"But I didn't fall into temptation because I was taught by my father that it's best to appreciate what you do have and try to make the most out of what life gives to you. I can't ask for wealth because I don't want to take the easy way and I want to earn my dream the right way, without taking any short cuts.
I didn't have an easy childhood, despite what people would think, but I wouldn't trade it, or my father, away for anything in the world, because I loved my father as if he were my whole world, and he knew how to make the most of what little we had. So if someone thinks that I'm worthless because I don't have much to my name, or if my father could have done better when he did the best he could, then what's the point of being anywhere near them?
"I know I'm not rich... I'm not intelligent, and I tend to make bad judgements-" Christine closed her eyes. "You don't understand what I'm saying, do you?"
The moments passed as Erik silently watched Christine, who was exhausted after letting everything she wanted to say come out. She was so lost in her mind that she almost didn't hear his confession.
"I understand how it feels to be judged by another for something that's out of your control... And I know what it's like to be angry at those who take their blessings for granted. To rage against those who belittle and mock you...to lose the desire to live- I know those feelings far more than you could possibly realize, Christine."
He turned back to his organ and when he sat down, he began to play something upon it. He didn't know what he was playing, but it was slow and almost mournful. In each note, he tried to pour out the memories of his own haunted past, which he tried so hard to forget.
Christine finally opened her eyes and glanced at Erik. Without even thinking, she slowly got up on her feet, walked towards him as the music drew her in, and went around the organ to sit beside him.
She watched as his fingers danced across the keys and produced something that resonated with her. As if it could reach into her heart and connect with her frustrations and everything she wanted to forget about herself.
Her eyes glanced to the masked side of Erik that was facing her but she could not read his expression with the mask in the way, and his eyes were closed as he lost himself in his composition. Her eyes tried to drift away until she noticed something that she never saw before: between Erik's mask and the ear that was mostly covered up by his dark hair, was a patch of skin and white scar like tissue that appeared twisted as if he had been burnt.
She briefly recalled the number of times she had been this close to Erik, and the number of times he deliberately kept her from getting a good view of the right side of his face. But instead of focusing on this late discovery- whether it be because her mind was mentally exhausted, or because of some part of her just didn't care anymore- Christine instead glanced to the keys in front of her.
She didn't know how to play, and yet a part of her was desperately wanting to reach out and do something that could make her feel better, and leave her sorrow behind.
Slowly her right hand reached out and played a note on the organ.
At first, her involvement cause a dissonance as her fingers awkwardly stumbled across her set of keys, but then she was able to listen to the melody and play something that could change that dissonance into a harmony. She didn't dare try to use both hands, and instead just played whatever her fingers wanted to play.
So this was what it was like to have mastery over a piano or an organ. To allow one's fingers to produce anything that the heart desired. She could never master such an instrument like Erik had, and there was a huge difference between singing and playing this instrument; To sing was one thing, but to play an instrument was to be given complete control of every note and pitch, without physically struggling to reach for it.
His section of the organ ceased as her simple melody continued on and she could now hear it as clear as day. Those soft high notes played over and over again and tried to break free from simplicity and into mastery... finally, her left hand reached out and played a chord section that could go in time with her melody, which gave it a strength that it was lacking.
Her anger and her sorrow died away as her song played over and over. The music that she so loved was healing her soul and reminding her of why she was still surviving and still going, when all else fell apart.
Finally she felt like she had enough and allowed the notes to float away until she removed her hands from the organ.
"I'm sorry." She quietly apologized. "I don't know what came over me."
"There is nothing to be sorry for," Erik softly replied. "You turned to what gives you joy; you want to forget the world for just one moment, and then the moment will seem to last as if to eternity itself."
"I do feel better." Christine admitted as she lifted her head to the ceiling and closed her eyes. She felt at peace as a quiet passage of time passed between the two performers.
"You're going to join me at Lady DuBois' home, aren't you?" Christine asked as she opened her eyes.
"I will be there only if you want me to," Erik decided. "I lost your trust, and I want to earn it back."
"But will you be there as yourself?" Christine somewhat hopefully asked. "Not in disguise, or unseen to all but me, but just as you the way you are?"
"I..." Erik paused. "That is one request I can never grant to you," He reluctantly told her.
"Why? Are you afraid of someone recognizing you?"
"I'm afraid the root of that problem runs deeper than the fear of recognition. Your future is as good as ruined, if you are seen with me out in public."
"I see..." Christine felt disappointed. She wondered what Erik meant by those enigmatic words, but she didn't want to dare press her luck with him.
After a moment, she got up off the stool, but the moment she stood up, Erik's hand immediately reached out and grabbed her wrist as if she was going to disappear from him for forever. She looked down to see that he was staring off at something ahead of him as if contemplating something very important.
"...After the performance at Lady DuBois," he began as his grip loosened enough for his hand to slide down and hold Christine's hand. "I'll tell you what it is that I would wish for, if given the chance. I made a promise to you, and despite the most likely outcome of what you will discover on that night, it's time that I kept it."
"Do you really mean that?" Christine asked.
"I am also considering myself to be making a foolish mistake," Erik finally glanced up at her "but perhaps I've misjudged you. Maybe I can take a risk with you, if you were willing to open your heart to me the way you just did."
Christine finally managed to smile. "Well... maybe this day didn't turn out so bad after all. I was able to play alongside you, for one thing."
She made to move, but his grip on her tightened and she glanced back down.
"Christine," Erik looked as if he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind as he examined her. "I have to take back a lot of what I said today: that dress and color suit you."
Christine felt a small blush in her cheeks. "Thank you."
He finally let go of her hand and Christine took a few steps back. For one moment, she made as if to head to the door, before she turned back to face him-
-only to see that the musician and the instrument had vanished, as if they were never there to begin with.
Time passed in the opera, and things stayed relatively normal. Hannibal continued without any mishaps, although many members of the audience were curious about the now famous understudy, who was forced back into the chorus while Carlotta sang the part of Elissa. Luckily for them, Christine's talent had not gone unnoticed by Reyer, Gabriel, or Mercier as all three sensed her potential while they began to pin point certain actors who could perform certain parts in the next possible production at the opera.
One night, Lilian watched the performance with little interest, with the sole exception of Christine Daae, the unexpected star with a voice that was almost too divine to belong to a human being. Meanwhile, Christine did not suspect that the researcher had her eyes upon her the entire time.
When night fell to day, everyone went about their ways until the next performance, while Christine practiced her repertoire for the upcoming event at Lady DuBois. Each song had its own challenges, and she wanted to face them head on until she became mistress over them all. Her unusual tutor could not have been more pleased with her eagerness to learn, or her rapid progress. This upcoming performance would win the full support of the connoisseurs of music and the arts, and would ensure that she would get the next major role in whatever production would come next.
And then, one fateful afternoon before the long awaited night...
Meg had snuck into her mother's office and was going through some old souvenirs that Madame Giry kept hidden away behind a locked closet filled with a few coats and hats.
"Where the hell is Buquet?" A voice- one the stagehands of the Opera- grumbled from the door frame as he passed by the hall. "He's been missing all day! He has to get back here before the show starts!"
"He probably went to a tavern to take a break," Was his companion's reply.
Meg gave up on her excursion and was about to leave, when she heard her mother's voice coming from the hallway.
"-she's been doing remarkably well. I suppose it's about time she was given a lead role."
Meg bolted into the closet and closed the door: her mother would gave her a great scolding if she was caught rummaging through her belongings.
"If what they say about you is true, then she will make a fine Prima Ballerina," An unfamiliar male voice with a curious accent replied. It was then that the door to the studio was closed.
There was a pause.
"I'm glad you received my message," the man spoke. "I really did not mean to intrude, after I promised that I wouldn't return, but I have to make sure my suspicions are not correct."
"Suspicions?" her mother asked.
"I think that the first one is here in Paris."
Meg wondered what he meant. What was the first one?
"What?" the man asked in concern. "What is wrong?"
Meg couldn't make out hear her mother's low reply but there was a sharp intake of air from the man.
"I should have known!" He cursed. "If it wasn't for that specter who watched over the cellars at that time-" Another pause. "How do you know that he's not listening to us?"
"I've figured out enough to know that we are safe at this moment in time," Her mother replied. "It's been many years since that time, but I know the signs."
"How-" The man sounded afraid. "How many? You know what I am referring to."
There was a long pause.
"Allah!" He gasped. "I am so sorry, Antoinette! If I knew that this could have happened-" another pause. "Is she safe?"
"It's not just her," Her mother answered with a slight tremble in her voice. "I'm afraid there is someone also dear to me who is in even more trouble."
"I see..." The man sounded helpless.
Another uncomfortable period of silence passed.
"You still have the music box," He suddenly commented.
"I do." Her mother replied. "I hid the note you sent me inside the monkey's robes. The note you sent when we thought... well, you know."
Meg felt her heart race: why did she get the nasty feeling that she knew what they were talking about?
"You have to help me put a stop to all of this," The man determinedly answered. "You know exactly what has to be done-"
"I don't even know where it could be," Madame Giry answered. "Even if I did-"
"I live near the Rue Scribe in the flat with the red stoned wall, in number 506. If I am not there at two in the afternoon, then Darius should be waiting for you."
"I can't let another person I love get hurt because of me."
Another pause.
"Does your daughter know the real reason why your husband died?"
Meg held a hand to her mouth and fought the urge to gasp. What were they talking about?!
"No!" Madame Giry cried. "I can't ever tell her what happened to Jules! Especially considering the situation we are in!" Another pause. "Our time is growing short. We have to take this conversation elsewhere."
"I agree: it's not safe to speak here. Who knows who could be listening to us from the shadows unseen?"
Meg waited until she heard the door close. She chose that moment to leave the closest.
"What on earth?" she wondered out loud until her eyes caught sight of the music box with the monkey inside it on her mother's desk. So there was a note hiding inside it?
She went over and forced the top to come open to reveal the monkey. It glared at her in anger with its glassy looking eyes, but she ignored it and felt around it's clothing, until she found a tiny folded up piece of paper in the back of its jacket and pulled it out..
Her eyes noticed something on the desk that was out of place: normally the picture of her with Christine was propped up, but it was laying on its back. Did one of the two previous occupants of the room look at it?
Meg turned back to the note. With trembling hands, she unfolded the letter to reveal just three words. Three words written in very familiar handwriting that she had only seen once before, when Christine discovered the jasmine gown.
Meg Giry had no clue what to do now, but she knew that she needed answers. She needed to find the man that her mother had spoken to. Most importantly, she needed to know if she and Christine were trapped in a deadly game and were not aware of it.
Three words:
Erik is dead.
It was very rare for Erik to look into a mirror, and this was one of those times.
At first, he wasn't staring at his reflection, but rather he was contemplating the metaphorical mirror that he accidentally awakened.
"Have you... ever been judged for something that's beyond your control? Have you ever felt that nobody can look past all your faults?"
Christine's words played in his head as he thought back to that moment... that moment in which Christine had more or less summed up his own anguish against the world.
Their circumstances were different, of course, but he never imagined that Christine would find some sort of common ground with him. It was an unintentional tie that brought them closer together as kindred spirits, whether he liked it or not.
His thoughts were crashing together: he wanted to kill Philippe for dare insulting Christine and for making her feel as miserable about herself. He wanted to know how close he had been to the moment she felt like taking her own life. He wanted to go back to that moment when he complimented her in her dress and add what he wanted to say: that she was passionate, thoughtful, kind (and beautiful, in both voice and in face) and that any man would be a fool for turning her down for status and wealth. That if he was in the position of either of those two men and had all their advantages, he would chose her over all worldly possessions.
"I love her," Erik helplessly told his reflection. "I love her... I never want her to feel that way she did ever again... I don't want her to feel the way I've felt my throughout my whole existence."
He stared into his reflection again: he could see himself, but he also saw a living illusion as grand as the ones that he could create. For a very long time, this one illusion was maintained in front of all who knew or saw him, with Christine being the longest to date.
Could he remove the illusion from her eyes, and show her who he truly was?
Could he be able to face himself when the illusion was gone?
Slowly, his hands reached for his vest and unbuttoned it.
Outside the bottle, a number of chorus girls and ballerinas were laughing in merriment as they relaxed for the night.
"Il Muto might be the next opera?" Lucille grinned cheekily. "Another opera of infidelity?!"
"A countess cheating on her old rooster of a husband for a mute!" Angelique giggled. "What a delightful mess that story is!"
"Do the thing, do the thing!" Clotilde squealed. "Sing the note, Angelique!"
Angelique stood in the center of the dormitory and arranged herself into a singing position. She then pulled her face into an exaggeration that made her look like old Don Attilio, hunched over like an old man, and she let out her infamous alto voice which she purposefully deepened to sound like a man:
"I suspect my young bride is untrue to me," She sang to the girls as she pointed a finger in the air. "I shall not leave, but shall hide over there to observe herrrrrrrrrr!" She drew out the note for longer than it was supposed to be sung and her voice deepened to the point that it was more of a rumble in the distant mountains. This earned her a series of laughs from the girls.
When the vest fell to the floor, he undid the buttons of the shirt. All the while, he could hear the ballerinas and chorus girls sing from outside his confines.
Erik paused in undoing his shirt when he heard the voice of Angelique. Perhaps there were some surprises in the chorus that deserved to have a bit more recognition, in addition to Christine.
He turned back to the task at hand and resumed undoing the next button.
At this point, Christine entered the room. Lucille grinned and pulled Christine into the room. "Come on, Daae, we need a Countess!" She told her. "We're acting out Il Muto, and your husband is the lovely Angelique!"
Angelique wiggled her fingers at Christine in a perverted manner, and the girl couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Addio!" She crooned.
"Addio," Christine responded as she walked to Angelique, before the girls started to dance in a circle, with the latter pretending to hobble around with a cane in her hand. "Addio!" They sang in a loving manner, before Angelique moved to sit down between Rebecca and Rosina.
The shirt joined the vest on the ground and Erik was given a very good reflection of his appearance. The billowing robe was a big factor in maintaining the illusion, and even the shirt by itself felt large enough to hide what was underneath.
His frame was almost skeletal; everything- from the collar bone to the rib cage- was almost completely sticking out from behind pale flesh that was ridden with multiple scars. Most of the scars looked like angry white splotches or faint line marks from the multiple attempts against his life, and he knew that he carried many more across his back. His hand reached back and his fingers brushed against several lines of scar tissue that built up in the healing process, in addition to a very prominent spine that felt as if it was covered by only a thin layer of skin like parchment.
One very noticeable feature on his body were the markings over his heart: written in the Persian alphabet were the restraints that kept him from going against the rules that were placed upon him, whether he liked it or not. It was supposed to be his personal scarlet letter, but it paled in comparison to the last part of the illusion of his body.
The most important part of the illusion.
"Who is our Serafimo?" Suzanne asked.
"Me!" Clotilde shot up and joined Christine as she pulled her dress up to reveal stocking covered legs, which caused more giggling.
"Serafimo- away with this pretense!" Christine sang. "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!"
Clotilde mockingly kissed Christine's cheek and danced away from Christine, as she slipped into her role with all the charm and airy grace required for her performance.
His eyes raised to his face, which was two thirds hidden under the mask. What was not covered up looked normal, and Christine had apparently found it handsome, if the observations she made when she thought he didn't notice (and he did) was any indication, and the vain side of him was secretly pleased by this. Even her naive friend was open about finding him handsome.
He wanted to laugh at their ignorance, and it was then that the harsh reality set in.
Erik slowly raised his hands up his neck, over his jaw, and over his ears- one normal and one so distorted and twisted on his head that it looked as if it didn't even exist or was melted into his flesh. His hands finally touched the black wig and his fingertips brushed against the wire that held the mask to his face.
He closed his eyes and simultaneously pulled the wig and the mask off.
He could feel everything under be exposed, such as his head, which was covered by a sparse amount of long or wild strands of hair that were either black or white and dead looking.
But the most exposed part of all was his-
"Poor fool he makes me laugh, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"
He heard a familiar voice and glanced over his left shoulder in alarm. From outside his confines, Christine let out more pealing, yet charming laughs. "Time I tried to get a better half!"
His heart twisted as her words came out as more of a mockery towards him than anything else. Of all the songs she could have sang- that they all could have sang in that moment-
Against his better judgement he turned his head and was given a full glance of what was hiding under the mask.
He stood petrified in horror and self-loathing as the mask- the last part of the illusion- slipped out of his hands and fell to the floor at his feet.
For as long as he had been with those two girls- especially with Christine- it had been easy to forget about the truth and he felt as if he was not only accepted, but wanted (and a part of him regretted that what friendship he had with Mademoiselle Giry was in jeopardy because of his recent actions.). He felt normal and almost human when he was with them.
But then, time began to pass, and his feelings towards Christine grew to the point that he desired her in every possible way and he had to fight those urges for her sake. With those feelings of powerful emotion came the realization of the reality of what he was really trying to hide... what he really was.
The reason for his jealousy towards the younger of the de Chagnys... the reason he hated the world... the reason that Christine almost gave him what would have been, in reality, his first true kiss... the very reason behind what he didn't dare tell Christine this whole time, and what he promised to show within a week's time-
Was staring right back at him in the mirror in all it's twisted, hideous glory.
"Poor fool he doesn't know! hohohohoho!" The girls and Christine's innocent singing and mockery turned dark in his ears and came across as something far more twisted and unbearable for him to take. "If he knew the truth, he'd never let her go-"
In a burst of uncontrolled anger and frustration that had been burning inside him for as long as he could remember, Erik let out a long, horrendous cry of anguish that sounded more monstrous and frightening than human as it raised in pitch and he smashed his fists against the mirror.
It was a cry that was so powerful that it escaped his confines and echoed in the dormitories as if he were standing right in the middle of the room.
All the gaiety and laughter turned to panic.
"HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST!" Jammes shrieked while a handful of the younger girls screamed.
All the girls felt as if a ghost were amongst them; a ghost full of hatred and anger as he continuously let out that long, awful wail. A lot of them backed into the walls and into their beds in panic, while some just stayed rooted to the spot where they stood.
Christine was especially shocked at the awful sound. She recognized that voice that was filled with overwhelming anger and utter despair.
She didn't know whether she wanted to comfort the source or run away in fear as that terrible cry finally died away. She was entirely helpless, so long as she had to continue holding her secret from the other girls.
Time passed inside Erik's confines as he slowly dropped to his knees and his fists slid down the cracked mirror. Whatever fragments were left inside the mirror tore at the already damaged and bloodied flesh of his hands, but he could care less. He finally collapsed to the ground in complete defeat and shut his eyes, as he dared not wish to catch another glimpse of himself in any of the shards that were surrounding him.
He told her the closest thing possible to the truth, but if he couldn't handle seeing this... would she be able to do the same?
Time slowly passed, and his mind was blank. There was no music inside his head to comfort him now.
Outside the bottle, Christine had waited until everyone had fallen asleep or had run off to find another, safer place, out of a fear that they were now cursed. She knelt in front of the black bottle and gave it a concerned look.
She had no idea what her true feelings for Erik were. At times, he could almost scare her with his anger, and yet he could be the most amazing person in all of existence. She admired him... she wanted to kiss him, in her moment of weakness.
But now, she was worried for him, and she wanted to understand what caused such a horrendous reaction.
Little did she know, was that if there wasn't a wall separating them, then she might as well have been kneeling right in front of him as he sat all around the shards of a mirror that painfully reminded him of what he really was.
"Erik?" He could have sworn he heard her voice, which was filled with worry. "Erik, are... are you alright?"
He didn't answer, but he did as she did in the chapel: he drew his knees to his body and rested his grotesque head against them, while trying to ignore feeling of two varying textures of flesh against flesh, as well as his injured hands.
Tonight, he would ignore her, for her own safety: let the monster rot in his cell, where he couldn't lash out at the princess.
Uh, guys? This is based off Aladdin, not Frozen; get your Disney movies right!
In all honesty, I couldn't resist providing the mental image: he was actually supposed to be in her dressing room in front of the mirror, before I changed my mind.
I owed one of the guest reviewers a promise to show Erik shirtless, and I delivered. (To an extent, since I don't know if it was what he/she was expecting.) Um... your welcome?
I will have to take a break from this fan fic for at least a month. The reasons being that I need to have chance to work out certain story parts, and this fic (of all the ones I've been working on) can get super addicting. I also need to focus on school work and other things in my life.
I promise I will get back to this fan fic. I refuse to let this be one of the many fan fics that get stuck in permanent hiatus: if I started it, then I must finish it.
I am curious to see what you guys have to say about the story so far, before I post the next chapter. As always, comments, questions and reviews are appreciated, and I will accept constructive criticism.