A/N: Be sure to read my one shot if you want to, it's called "The Dying Rose" Fan fiction kept taking it off (for no reason) so all my reviews got erased off the site. I hope you enjoy this chapter. We must remember that Christine was very much a child in spirit and in heart when she ripped off Erik's mask. Only afterwards does she grow up. This is really the turning point in the story...R&R...
The nightmare of darkness had left her and morning had finally dawned. Although there was no sunlight to wake her, Christine awoke early in the morning. If she would have been above ground she would have seen a glorious sun rise above the snow covered streets of Paris. The room was still quite dark, but the darkness of night seeming had been lifted. Erik's house was silent. There was no music drifting through the corridors. "The master of the house must be sleeping." She mused silently. She dressed slowly into a silky azure dress with long sleeves and a sweeping skirt. She put her curly hair up into a bun, and placed a sapphire bejeweled hair comb into it. After smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress she slowly pulled the door open.
"Bonjour, petite chanson oiseau," Erik spoke his greeting in French. Good morning little song bird. She nearly jumped. She quickly gathered her composure befor looking up into his eyes. Still all in it's self the task of raising her eyes to meet his was daunting.
"Erik." She breathed. Her eyes were wide with fright. He smiled darkly and made her spine tingle with the action.
"I'm sorry if I frightened you,"
"I just wasn't expecting you," She said softly looking down at the tips of her satin shoes.
"Please forgive the intrusion. I came to see if you were well. After last night's spell I was wondering if you were ill." Erik put it so lightly. Christine almost blushed at the thought of last night's episode. She hadn't had a spell like that since a few days after her father's death. And then in the dark no one had been there to comfort her. She had almost ended her life that night, only the thought that she would someday soon be greeted by her Ange es Musique, her Angel of Music spurred her onward through life. She remembered the scene far to well.
"I feel well enough," She admitted.
"You're sure?" He asked. Concern darkened his eyes.
"I am being honest with you," She said, chided him for not trusting her.
"In that case, would you join me to break the fast?" He asked her with hesitation hinting in his voice.
"I'd be honored," She smiled and dipped her head shyly. She followed him through the winding corridors and halls towards their destination, the small dining room.
Christine made her way back to her room that afternoon to rest before their lesson that evening. As she sat at the vanity table and took a brush to her hair, taking it down from the bun she began thinking. Erik had always preferred their lessons to be in the evening, before dinner. Their lessons were filled with things she didn't understand. Such as the techniques he used to make her voice stronger. She did not question his judgment. He had far more expertise on such matters than she did. He would always sit at his organ or hold his violin so stoically whenever he was teaching her. She once saw her quite collected teacher glance over at her quite venerably. He was hiding emotions that he was not speaking of to her. He had never touched her. Never let her feel his hand against her palm or shoulder. Whenever he would adjust her posture he would use the edge of his opera cloak over his fingers so that she would only feel the silky softness of the black material. She had noticed his hesitation when it came to being physically close to her. Why did he feel that way? Did he think she would shun him? Why? Christine felt uncertain about it. She was afraid she would hurt him in some way with out realizing it. Their relationship was as thin as fragile glass. One wrong move and the glass would break.
Christine peeked out into the empty hall several hours later. It was only a few minutes before Erik would expect her for her lesson and she had decided to arrive early. He was not waiting for her at her door this time. She couldn't believe his appearance outside her door that morning had truly happened. He was so interested in her well being. She shivered at the way his eyes had lit up when she had appeared. Most of the time she could not tell what he was thinking by looking into his eyes, but sometimes they were the very things that communicated to her what he felt when he looked at her. So much longing and desire was reflected through his yellow-golden orbs in a mere instance. She slowly and silently shut her door behind her. She quickly moved towards the music room. She didn't have that much time to spare, and Erik's temper seemed easily angered so she didn't wish to arrive late.
A soft scratching noise of a quill tip meeting parchment paper met her ears when she entered the music room. After a quick glance at the back of her teacher she realized he was in deep concentration. He was composing on his life's work. He had told her only a few details about his opera, wishing to keep most of it secret until it was finished. He had told her solemnly that once it was finished it would be the end of his life's meaning. Christine quickly hid herself behind a pillar. She didn't know why she felt the need to hide herself, but she acted on this strange emotion. She looked quietly around the pillar so that only half of her face was showing. Erik dipped his quill into the black ink pot that sat on the top of the organ. He played no notes to give her any clue of what exactly he was composing. He turned slightly on the bench showing some of his mask. It's white silk was alluring to her. What was he hiding? What was he trying to keep secret from her?
Erik dipped the quill tip into the small jar of black ink and placed it back up on the parchment paper to shape another note. He hadn't been this focused since Christine had arrived. Usually whenever he composed he went days and even a week without food. His mind and soul were so deeply intertwined into this opera that if it remain unfinished or was ever lost, he would wither away. The opera was about betrayal, lies, and a deep burning passionate desire for another human being. He reached up and grasped another clean page of parchment paper to begin yet another page. Even he did not know how his opera would end. He simply let the story flow from his mind onto the paper. It worked well that way. The characters were perfect, and even he knew that. Their destinies were all intertwined into events that made up his opera. Then suddenly Erik's concentrated thought process left him. A single name, seemingly burned into his mind, once again reappeared and shattered all of the peace he had. Christine. What was she doing that very moment? It was hard not to let himself dwell on her every moment of the day. He was successful at building a wall around himself from thinking about her so much during the day, but at night it was a different story. At night he could not control his dreams. Oh how he wished he could. His dreams always revolved around Christine. Ever since he had heard her sing, her presence was with him whether he wished it or not. She was his obsession, his joy, and his passion. Erik reached back up to dip the quill into the ink once more. He had to dismiss her from his mind, and concentrate on the task at hand. How she lingered in his thoughts...
Christine tilted her head slightly as she gazed at the mask. What would he do if she slipped it off? She shook her head slowly. Wouldn't he have shown what was underneath if he had wanted her to see it? No, he might not have wished to bother her with something she might have thought not at all relevant. But maybe if she slipped it off for him? Maybe he wouldn't mind her doing so. She silently crept out from behind the pillar. Several times she was afraid he was going to turn and catch her, but he never did. This did not at all strengthen her resolve. Something in her heart told her that what she was doing was wrong, but curiosity overruled it. She was behind him now. All she had to do now was reach out. Slowly and with a trembling hand she reached out and whisked the mask away...