"Swing it more to the left, Christine."
Erik and Christine were shovel fighting, their spades clashing over and over, though Christine's wooden pole had gotten some nasty slash marks on it from Erik's passionate attacks.
Both were new at this, but, of course, Erik was already wonderful at it, and Christine was…well… not.
Christine ducked down swiped at his feet, but he simply tapped her bowed head and she was knocked down. They were practicing by the lake, and her shovel slid across the sandy, rocky shore towards the inky water. Erik, his cloak swirling around his shoulders, plucked up the shovel before it could drop into the lake.
"Christine, are you angry at me? Anger is not something to keep in a practice arena. Perfect practice makes perfect fights- don't listen to the rubbish their saying about that if you practice enough you'll get good. Not true, Mon Amie- and I do think you're angry with me."
"I'm not," Christine lied, getting up and rubbing the back of her head. She took her shovel from him briskly, but, before she could go, Erik grabbed her arm, which was covered in orange silk from the dress she was wearing; she only got a leave from the fiery dresses on her birthdays, Erik had said.
"Christine, I demand you to tell me what is wrong." Erik's voice was gentle enough, but Christine knew if she denied telling him her problem he would get a little too frustrated.
"I'm mad that you're already so good at fighting with a shovel." She admitted, and slipped her arm from his. Wearing the slippery silk did have its advantages. "Happy?" She added, a bit more bitterly.
"Oh, Christine," He sighed. "You have time to practice. Your young- you have time."
Christine turned, and gripped her shovel a bit more tightly. Then, she lunged, slapping his side with the spade viciously. Erik was stunned, and stumbled back… back into the lake.
"Erik!" Christine screamed, dropping the shovel and running towards the lake. He had disappeared into the black water, not a single ripple on the surface indicating what had happened.
"Erik! You haven't taught me to swim yet!" Christine yelled at the surface, thinking that he might be able to hear her.
But, nothing happened.
Christine waited for him to reappear at the surface, brown locks of hair pressed damply against his head, lips spitting out water… but nothing happened.
Christine put her fingers into the water. It was amazing water, she had to admit- most of it was freezing, but there were drifts of warm water swirling around in the black basin.
Fear made her brave. Christine jumped in, and, almost instantaneously, the icy water closed over her head, and she was left, yet again, in darkness.
She tried to say his name, but only precious bubbles drifted out of her mouth. She was lost… lost without any air… she was going to die. She clawed at the water, tried to swim up… but, she couldn't swim… and where was up?
Then, she felt something grabbing her, pulling her somewhere; she closed her eyes and let it. She really had no choice.
Her dizzy head soon broke the surface of the water, and she coughed out the blackness that choked her. The thing that held her brought her to the shore, and put her softly on top of it. Then, it pushed on her chest roughly. She coughed up more water.
Erik lay beside her once she was down coughing, wet arms around her. She put her head against his chest, relishing in the security she felt when she was beside him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and he forgave her by holding her tighter to him- he too was scared. He had almost lost her- she had almost lost him.
"Erik?" She murmured, feeling weakness turn to sleepiness in her mind.
"Shh… save your breath… sleep now…" He whispered in reply.
"Erik… I love you…"
His chest stopped moving up and down as his breath caught in his shock. Happy, Christine let herself fall asleep.
Erik dressed their wounds the next few days; he healed the spot where she had smacked him with her spade, and then took Christine out for fresh air whenever she asked for it. The cold, autumn air cleared her head of all of the black water's fogginess. Erik sang to her more, his songs more beautiful then before. They worked on Don Juan Triumphant sparingly, also- but an odd stiffness had fallen between him, wrecking thier hard work. Erik grew somber and brooding. Christine winced every time she thought of her careless words: I love you? Why had she said that?
One day, as they sat in the carriage that took them around Paris whenever she asked for it, Christine's mind wondered. Wind blew at her hair through the open window, and she gazed longingly at the open countryside, with its rolling jade-colored hills, dotted with white flowers.
Christine's mind wandered out far enough from her body that it thought about how it would be like at finishing school. She was sure she'd always be surrounded by beauty, other women, and flowers- not now, when she was trapped in the stone walls with only the Persian and Erik as company… and the only flower she ever knew were Erik's blood-red roses with the black ribbons tied around them.
Though she cherished the man next to her… she longed for the rolling green hills with their tiny white flowers… she longed for strolls in the park under pale indigo skies… and so, Christine sent one look at Erik, who was gazing at the country flashing past at not her, and then she looked back out her window.
And Christine wished to be at finishing school, which was, in her mind, perfection.
The fit image of fourteen-year-old Christine Daae came into view, her newly cut brown hair swishing over shoulders swathed in pure black. A shovel was strapped across her back, and she was talking swiftly with a man that resembled a pole- he was long, tall, and terribly slender. They walked in broad daylight, cutting through crowds of people who stared after them.
She had needed a haircut, so he had dame it happen.
"It's like they've never seen ghosts before!" Christine whispered a whisper that anyone but Erik wouldn't have been able to hear. He smiled, though his hood hid his face from view- but she could feel the air lighten suddenly as he grinned. She was always able to tell.
"It is hard to think that you are leaving tomorrow." Eirk murmured back, a bit louder for her less sensitive ears. Christine nodded, forcing down the lump that had risen in her throat. For years she had been with Erik, slowly but steadily becoming smarter… not too mention lethal.
"You are the reason I am leaving, you know. If you hadn't signed me up for finishing school…" She trailed off with a cheeky smile. They were two arrogant people who were constantly together- it was a simple fact that they'd get in fights. The image of the sharply cut opera house came into view, the statues on top of it glistening gold and silver in sunlight, their silhouettes barely visible from where the two were.
They slipped into a garden, then to the hole in the wall. Through tunnels and tunnels of darkness they went, Christine depending on Erik to lead her through. Her eyes were responsive to the dark, but she did not know the way through the corridors.
When they were back in her room, seated on her bed, Christine let a small sniff of sorrow out. All other emotions were okay- happiness, anger, pride- but sadness was the one feeling both had tried to push from their lives in their last dwindling months together.
"I will… miss you." Erik whispered, taking off his black cloak to reveal his only white shirt and black pants. He folded the cloak and put it to his side, then fixed his pale gold eyes on hers.
"I will miss you too." She put a hand on his, taking off the silk glove so that she could hold his real hand. She had taken comfort in it, just like he had in her fingers long ago. She could almost look at his face and not wince, too. His cold skin was nice, always cold against her always-warm flesh.
"Do you promise that you'll write to me, poor, sad, lonely Erik?" He asked.
"If you promise to always write back."
He said nothing.
"Promise?"
"I'll try. But, writing frustrates me. And I do not always feel like drawing blood." His eyes wondered to the ornate wall hanging of flowers and birds that draped over a wall. Larks, finches, and cardinals, their chirps hushed, posed for the hanging.
Christine used her other hand to loosen the stripe of cloth tied around the shovel to keep it to her back. "Won't be needing this." She handed him the long stick of wood with the iron spade on top, and then looked away.
Then, Christine did something that she had not done since she was very young. She flung her arms around her angel and clung to him, sobbing. He stroked her hair, and told her how pleasant it would be at school, and how she would get to meet other people. He said this in a very encouraging way.
"But,
I want to stay with you!" She cried, tears soaking the white cloth
across his chest. "I know… I know… but this is for your own
good! You will always be my little phantomess, Mon Amie."
"And
you will always be my Angel." She wiped away the tears, but did not
move her head from his torso. She could hear something that resembled
a heartbeat there, beating for her to hear.
"Good. But, it is time you sleep." His voice was stern, fatherly. He put an arm around her waist, and on hand still held hers.
"Can I sleep in the coffin tonight?"
Erik hesitated. He wanted her in his room with him the last night badly- he didn't even have to be near her, just for her to be there would be heaven! Her warmth would stay on the cold wood for all the years that she would be gone. But then Christine might not feel good in the morning… maybe he would just go to her bed…
"I'm sorry, but no. You have to get up early, and the coffin is not a nice place to sleep. You are always stiff after, yes?"
Christine sighed sadly, and leaned up so that she could kiss a white cheek. "Yes, Erik. Good night, Monsieur Angel."
"Good night, protégé."
End of part one: Protégé
("One
can get used to everything… if one wishes…"
Erik, Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux version.
End of Part one! Wow! At this time, I'd like to thank my loyal reviewer rapidfangirl67, whose always reviewed when no on else has. :sniffle:
Okay. Part two coming up soon, even if I only have one reviewer! Also, I'm going to come back once I'm done with the story and write much more in this part, but for now I'm moving on. I can't help it, I want to write about the Phantomess. But, can't now. Must... move... on...
Cheers -Lux)
