A/N: I don't know what I'd do without Chris Isaak's music. I write far more when I listen to his music. (Yay for productive weeks!)
Elysse Fray 111: They are cute together, aren't they? And such fun to write this way!
Rose: No worries there, dear; I couldn't stop writing, even if I wanted to. Far too many plot bunnies hopping through my head.
Shadowphantomness: Heh, I don't think anyone reading this story has much sympathy for this Raoul . . . which is as intended, actually . . .
Christine waited in front of the mirror to see if Erik would come for her. Rehearsals had gone smoothly, with no pieces of scenery falling or mysteriously moving out of place. She wondered at that, as unusual occurrences were the usual course of business at the Opera Garnier. She also wondered that none of the other girls had told her fanciful tales of le fantôme haunting them or wreaking havoc in the time that she'd not been at the opera house.
As she took down her hair and rearranged it in a more comfortable bun with a few golden curls framing her face, she thought it odd that, during the time when Erik had so rarely left her side, the opera ghost should be almost unheard of. She resolved to make mention of it later to him.
She thought about how she'd changed since she'd met him. Erik had brought out a part of her that she hadn't even known existed. It was as though he had brought her back to life and she hadn't quite understood what life was before. There were times when mere words were not enough to express her emotions, and she had to rely on song to relay her meaning. Part of her still felt like a girl as she was so much younger and inexperienced in the ways of the world than he, but she wasn't nearly the little girl Raoul had known. She sincerely hoped that the young man would never again attempt to gain an audience with her. No matter what had happened all those years ago, or what was said in their times of play, their friendship was a thing of the past, a thing he himself had allowed to die.
And Christine only wanted to be with Erik now. It was Erik who had helped her stop mourning her father, even though Maman had been a great comfort. The truth was that Maman was too close to a parent to have helped her get past her grief; whenever Christine had looked at Maman, she recalled another memory of her father. But Erik had helped her see that she could honour her father's memory without wallowing in misery. It was those memories of all the happy times that would keep him alive in her heart.
And what he had done for her voice was nothing short of a miracle! A voice others had decried as sounding like a rusty hinge was now soothing and full of emotion. She only hoped she might have another chance to utilise that voice publicly in the near future.
She closed her eyes and began singing a verse from an aria that he had written it for her one night after they'd had a silly little argument over her corset. He wanted her to stop wearing them, but she refused to go a day without one. It simply wasn't done! Besides, she had insisted, the corset helped her posture. He had begrudgingly said that she could, at least, not lace them so tightly. Her voice needed room to breathe!
These ties hold me closer to you
Yet they seem to push you away from me.
How can I stand right beside you
Even when you are as distant as the sea?
I pray you come back to me soon
And revive the life in my heart.
Bring back the love we share,
Never again to part.
She opened her eyes as she allowed her voice to fade out and sighed. She wouldn't admit it to Erik just yet, but leaving her corset slightly looser than she had been wearing it before did help her take deeper breaths. But where was he? He had promised he would continue to visit her in her dressing room. What if something had happened to him? "Oh, Erik, where are you?"
The glass suddenly moved, and she was face to face with her angel. The smile she gave him warmed his heart. He all but forgot about the things he'd confessed to Anne earlier that very day and the business of just an hour ago. He hadn't meant to be so late, but some things simply couldn't be rushed. He struggled to steady his breathing without Christine noticing; he didn't like to make her worry. Wordlessly, he held out a gloved hand to guide her through the dark corridor. They walked in silence, hand in hand. He'd neglected to bring a torch with him to test her abilities to walk in such darkness, even though he was there to aid her should she falter. He had to know she might be able to make her way down to his lair should the need arise for her to make the journey on her own. They went at a more leisurely pace than they had before, pausing to feel the wall at certain intervals.
At last, they reached the lake and the boat moored there. Light emanated from across the water and reflected from its surface, casting an eerie glow upon the pair. Erik, in his black finery, fit the very image of a phantom, dark and menacing. Yet Christine found the sight to be a welcome comfort. She knew that, so long as he was beside her, no harm could touch her. For who would dare challenge someone such as him? He was tall and strong and cut quite the dashing figure.
"Did you have a nice visit with Maman today, Erik?" Christine asked when they'd arrived at the house on the lake.
"Yes. We . . . had a long talk this afternoon," he admitted. "She is a charming woman."
"I'm glad you like her. I'd rather hoped you two would get along." Switching topics, she asked curiously, "Do you have plans for us tonight?"
He chuckled at her enthusiasm and curiosity. Her vibrant attitude was contagious. Oh, would that he were that young again! "Would you not like to return to Mme. Valerius's for the night? You should rest after your long day of auditions and rehearsals."
"Oh, I'm sure she'll understand if I stay here with my tutor . . . that is, if my tutor allows it . . ." she remarked with a coy grin.
"Why, mademoiselle," Erik remarked in mock shock. "How could I deny my precious pupil a place to rest her weary head?" He caught her in a firm, yet brief, embrace. "Christine, I really must remove this wretched mask. I've been wearing it all day."
"Yes, of course, Erik. Shall I apply the salve to your skin?" She lifted a tentative hand to his mask and pried it gently away from his face.
Erik sighed at the soft touch of her delicate hand. "Yes, my dear, that would be nice. I have supper waiting on the table for us, as well as a surprise for dessert in the kitchen."
Christine brightened instantly and nearly jumped for joy at the mention of dessert. He'd spoil her rotten if she let him. And, if that made him happy, she would.
Mignon was surprised to find that she was enjoying Raoul's company, in spite of her earlier trepidation. He made her feel something she'd very nearly forgotten. There was a way that he would gaze into her eyes that reminded her vaguely of . . . she wasn't sure what, but it felt familiar and pleasant. She tried her hardest to follow his story of Arctic expeditions he'd read about, but she still had a bit of trouble with French, especially the more technical terms he tended to use.
"And how long have you been dancing, Mignon?" Raoul finally paused to ask her about herself.
"I . . . a few years, professionally. But I enjoyed it ever since I was a young girl." The second part was a fib. She refused to admit that she scarcely remembered her life before arriving in France a few years previously.
"Really? When did you begin your proper training?" he asked casually.
"Only a few years ago. But I'd had lessons for as long as I can remember. Coming here, to Paris, is an opportunity I never could have dreamed of when I was younger." She flashed him another smile, hoping he would change the subject.
"And the other ballerinas? Have they all been friendly?"
Mignon kept the smile plastered on her face. "I am still new, but they have been. Tell me more, monsieur, about this trip you are planning."
"Oh, there's not much to tell, really. I'm not even sure I will be accepted to join the crew. The captain is quite stern."
"I am sure with your qualifications and experience, you would be accepted anywhere you wanted to be," she remarked with a brief flutter of her eyelashes.
At the next table in the dimly lit restaurant, Sorelli and Philippe managed to carry on their own conversation while maintaining watchful eyes on the younger couple. How long ago had it been that they had begun their little romance? And where was it actually going?
Sorelli, for her part, held no high hopes. She was all too aware that a man in Philippe's position was bound to marry a woman of similar social standing. And she wanted to keep dancing for as long as her body could tolerate it. Her career had another decade, at least, save for any unfortunate accidents.
"Sorelli?" Philippe asked. "What concerns you so?"
She shook herself from her random musings and smiled at him assuredly. "Oh, I was thinking of the changes to the choreography Gabriel made this afternoon. With Christine back, we can perform the second act properly."
Philippe hazarded a glance towards his brother to see what his reaction to hearing about Christine and her mysterious tutor - suitor?- was. Nothing. Or perhaps he simply hadn't heard.
The rest of the evening went smoothly enough. Mignon and Raoul seemed to enjoy each other's company, and they did make a handsome couple alongside Philippe and Sorelli. Whether they would continue to be so remained to be seen.
Christine sighed contentedly as she lowered her fork. Dessert had been a sinfully sumptuous chocolate cake. Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte, Erik had called it.
"Did you like the Kirschtorte, my dear?" Erik asked, already aware of the answer from the look on her face.
"Mmm," she moaned as she wiped crumbs from her lips. "Chocolate cake with cherry liqueur and cherries and cream . . . How could I not like that? I'm just amazed I've never had it before! Or perhaps Maman was worried that it would too easily become my favourite thing to eat!"
Erik couldn't help but chuckle. How did she have that effect on him? He was always happier when she was near. "Yes, my love. It is quite good, but far too extravagant to have very often. We shall save it for special occasions, yes?"
Christine pouted in mock disappointment, then smiled slyly. "Oh, but we have many special occasions to celebrate! Let's see . . . There is the anniversary of the first time you spoke to me through the mirror, the anniversary of the first time I sang the lead in an opera, the anniversary of -"
Erik could not contain his laughter. "I fear that, if you had your way, my sweet, we would have chocolate every day of the week!"
"The better to make you all the sweeter, my angel," she replied, still giggling as she rose to clear the table.
But Erik was quicker. He swiftly stole up behind her and carried her off to the sofa by the fireplace. The chance was one she would not let escape her, and she planted a soft kiss upon his sunken cheek. He sank back into the cushions, Christine comfortably ensconced in his lap.
"Your kisses are all I need to make me sweeter," he murmured before planting a kiss upon her sugared lips. "Your love makes me as gentle as a lamb."