To Nina, and to Erik especially, summer passed in moments, and the autumn was unusually cold. Neither one minded much, however, as they both pondered where exactly they had been one year prior. Nina had been shut up in a mad man's manor and was just beginning to recognize the signs of madness in the depraved Rousseau. And as for Erik, he had been where he had always been: lost deep in the cavernous undergrounds of the Parisian opera, only surfacing occasionally to check upon his beloved Swedish soprano or bask in the glory of her chorus dancing. A chill had taken homage in both of their souls, but as they spent the frigid fall nights and mornings wrapped within one anothers arms, the chill in their soul had gone, and the physical coldness was not noticed. They were too enraptured with one another to notice something as trivial as temperature.
To Nina, matrimony was happiness, and to Erik, matrimony was bliss.
Victor and Emily watched them both carefully, and, after the first shock of such a change in the life of a dear friend, they became accustomed to the rushed marriage, and accustomed to Erik and eccentricities. And now, as Nina and her friends planned the proposed 'coming into society' party, Erik stood in the servant's quarters. Anshel sat on the edge of his bed, slim hands clenching his knees tightly, eying Erik with a mollified sort of expression as the grave man stood and observed his surroundings disdainfully.
Erik could see the young servant's distress quite well, and though he knew it would be easier for the both of them to not do this, he had promised Victor and Emily that he would speak to Anshel about his strange behavior, and now, after several weeks, he was finally forcing himself to do so.
His surroundings were simple but held an ere of shtetl charm to the room. Plain bed covers swathed the bed, and there was no decoration save for a bookshelf swollen with ancient and important looking leather tomes and a frayed and battered leather chair set before an equally frayed and battered desk. What interested Erik most was the open Talmud lying over the desk, and the carefully folded and stored prayer shawl beside it. As he walked through the minute room, his footsteps seemed loud and menacing, and when he came to the desk he looked at the large and sacred book carefully. Skimming the massive pages, Erik's feline like eyes deciphered one sentence among the hundreds and held onto it fast.
"He who saves one man saves the world entire." He heard himself murmur, but Anshel gave him no reply. When the darkly dressed man turned, the servant was still sitting on the edge of his bed. His face was pale, his eyes cloudy, and for a moment Erik thought he might be ill. "You have been close with the Daroga lately." He said, loudly, and the boy was evidently startled and looked towards the door, seeming relieved when he saw it was closed. "I have seen you both in the shadows of his tavern, and again two thursdays ago you caught one anothers gazes while in my home with your employer."
Erik leaned against the desk, his long gloved fingers curving around the worn edges like spiders. He was very tired. He and Nina had been specially occupied with each other the night before, and then the clever mask on his face was annoying and uncomfortable. He had not been wearing it as often lately, as Nina assured him there was no need when it was just the two of them in his home, and he was not as accustomed to it as he had been before when he wore it everyday.
"You know, I am quite impressed that you have managed to garner the Daroga's attention so." Erik began when Anshel insisted on retaining his terrified silence. "He has never been one to take a particular interest in anyone, especially the kind who wear cravats and trousers."
"I do not see what I have done for you to antagonize me so." Anshel whispered, and for a moment Erik caught hint of what the servant actually sounded like. Instead of the forced alto he always seemed to assume, a quavering mezzo fell against Erik's ears, and he looked at Anshel carefully. "You find this so amusing, don't you? Yes, I see it in your eyes whenever you see me. I feel your eyes burning into me, wondering perhaps what I might look like should I dress normally. And you will tell them both soon, Victor and Emily. And then I will have no where to go."
"I will not tell them that secret you guard so preciously, Anshel." Erik said, quietly, and the young man looked up at him.
Anshl's eyelashes were long over his piercing blue eyes, no where nearly as long as Nina's, but still charming. Erik could understand the Daroga's attentions, even if they were somewhat warped, and he sighed.
"I would pay attention to your behavior presently." Erik drawled, folding his arms behind his back and stepping in front of the still worried servant. "You are beginning to arouse the suspicions of your master and mistress, and this is not healthy for someone in your position. Tread lightly, young man. Do not involve others in your own personal affairs."
"Yes." Anshel muttered, more to himself than to the other man. "Thank you, Sir."
Erik made to quit the room, his gloved hand wrapping around the brass door knob before he craned his neck back, looking at Anshel disdainfully. "Whatever are you thanking me for?"
"For not ruining my life when it would be so easy to do so."
"My dear boy," Erik began, smiling to himself at his small joke. "I am only returning the favor.
When Erik slipped back into the parlor, where his wife and friends sat, conversing, he stood for a long while, his arms still folded behind his back, and was silent. He was in a pensive mood, and every occupant of the room knew that it would be best to just let him pace about and think to himself. As more and more time passed, however, Nina noticed quite well that her husband's anxiety only seemed to increase, and when she at last spoke to him, he gave a small jump before looking at her, incredulously.
"You are yearning to go home." Nina said, and when he turned to look at her a small smile curved her lips. Her hands were held around a tea cup and its saucer, bent gently and carefully, and he could not help but think that she looked spectacularily mature that morning, with her hair swept into a french twist, the curled ends of her hair poking out at the top charmingly. Her dress was a deep shade of red, a color only proper for a married woman, and to him she was the most marvelous being in the world.
And she was right, of course. To anyone else he was the most cryptic ruin in the world, but Nina's violet gaze saw through him well enough.
"I would not like to interrupt anything." He said, quietly, and his politeness somewhat shocked Nina. She had expected him to simply nod, but then, he had been exceptionlly warm to her friends lately.
"Oh, nonsense." Victor said, smiling as always. "We have a family portrait to pose for quite soon, and I am sure you would be as entertained as us."
Erik managed a small, somewhat exhausted smile at this, and gave a quiet, "Yes."
When he and Nina had said their goodbyes, they stepped outside and Nina remarked to him the sudden drop of temperature in the air.
"It's positively Antarctic for autumn." She said as he helped her into the carriage and then stepped in himself. "I should have brought more than this wrap." As she spoke, Erik discovered that her lips were the exact shade of red as her dress, and he wondered how she had found a paint to match so perfectly. In silence, he looked at her lips and took off his jacket, passing it to her with a glazed over expression.
"Thank you." She whispered, taking the jacket and smiling at his dazed eyes. "You are thinking about music." She said, softly, pulling the jacket around her shoulders.
Erik again managed a small smile and whispered back, "Yes." He slipped into silence again, looking at the curves of her face and body and the red of her lips and the black of her curls. And then he spoke again, saying, "I have something to show you when we come home. Something I have been working on for sometime."
"It would be my greatest pleasure, dear one." She murmured, and he dwelled carefully over the last two syllables. She had not called him that before, but he decided that he quite liked it, and his hands reached to hold hers in the dimness of the carriage.
When they finally returned home, she set herself in the damask couch, and smiled when he sat before the piano. There was no singing this time, only music. Beautiful notes serenading her, notes which felt like cool crystals falling over her flesh, and when he changed the key quite suddenly she felt a chill run down her spine. And when it was over she had tears in her eyes and felt as if she had just witnessed something special.
"Mios Dios. . . ." She whispered, one hand holding itself to her chest as the other knotted itself in her skirts.
"You like it?" Erik said, smiling as he turned to look at her.
"It was beautiful. It is beautiful." She whispered, standing to fall in his arms, clutching herself closely to his chest.
She thought that he might whisk her upstairs to make love right at that moment, but instead he bent his lips close to her ear, and asked in his silken voice, "What should I name it?"
Nina thought for a long time, and while she was thinking Erik placed his lips over her smooth forehead, tracing his flesh against hers. "Autumn Snow." She said, finally, and he sighed at the words.
"Do you care for the snow, Nina?" He asked, gently, still holding her fast.
"As much as I care for the stars." She replied, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. He shuddered at the glorious sensation of her warm breath on his cool skin.
"Would you like me to make it snow for you?" Erik asked, his voice lilting warmly as he kissed her smooth cheek and placed his gloved hand over the back of her head, feeling the raven curls gathered there. In response, she smiled deeply, and he said, "They called me the Phantom for a reason. Not only could I traipse about undetected, but I was also known for my magic."
"Then make it snow for me, Erik."
"Your wish is my command." He said, holding her tight. "But first you must keep your eyes closed."
She did as he commanded, and, perhaps in an attempt to add to his mysteriousness, he spun her several times in a circle and muttered a few words in a language she did not recognize. And when he told her to open her eyes, she was facing the window, and it was indeed snowing outside.
"Oh. . . ." She exclaimed softly, her hand covering her red lips as she stumbled towards the window. "Oh, Erik, how. . . ?"
"I am a man of many secrets, and of many talents." He said, slyly, releasing her so that she ran out of the room, into the hallway, and out the front door.
Outside, she stood for a moment in the ground that was already turning white. Slowly, she raised her hands above her head and began to dance, twirling in a silent ballet. The sky was gray, and the snow was white, and her dress was red, and her hair was black, and while Erik watched he thought he was witnessing perhaps the most beautiful thing since the creation of man. And when she fell into his arms and threw her head back, laughing a beautiful, graceful laugh, he laughed with her, catching her lips in his as he did so.
"You are the most magical man in the world!" She shouted, spinning again with her arms above her head.
"Ah, yes, but I perform such feats for only the most beautiful creature in the world."
"Oh, I love you, you fantastic man!" Nina shouted.
"And I you." Erik whispered before capturing her lips with his for the second time. When he broke, he laughed, long and deep and happy until a high, gentle voice interrupted them.
"Angel?"
Slowly, and with a horrible feeling in his stomach, he turned, his arms wrapped around Nina, and saw two figures standing near the gate of their garden, just a few feet away from them both. Nina, at first, did not hear the soft, feminine voice, and was confused as to why Erik had suddenly become rigid. But when she turned towards where his stormy eyes were fixated, she saw quite clearly a round, pale face framed by brown curls, and brown, doe like eyes set deep into a doll's face. And when Nina turned to look at Erik, she found him equally as aghast as the girl. He was pale, speechless, and looked positively confused by what he saw before him. For a moment he appeared as if he was about to say something, but then shut his mouth and simply stared at the girl.
"Christine Daae?" Nina whispered, struck with disbelief that it was really the infamous soprano.
"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, and tears suddenly welled in her large brown eyes. "Oh, mon ange, it is you!" The girl reached out, as if to grab onto the man's arms, but he jerked away from her. Instead, her fingers closed on air, and Erik was hastily backing away from her.
"You. . . ." He whispered, his majestic voice filled with a bitterness neither girl had ever witnessed before. "You stay away from here. Can't you leave me be?"
"Ange. . . Ange, your face. . . ." The girl whimpered, pressing into the gate as if to become closer to him. "Ange, God has healed you, he has healed you at last, and now-"
"Leave me be!" He shouted, rage suddenly overtaking him, shaking his every muscle so that he was positively trembling. "Haven't you already tortured me enough?!"
Before Nina could say anything, he was almost tripping in his desire to get away from Christine Daae, and before she could move he had already disappeared within their home, the sound of th door slamming echoing across the streets. Shocked at his sudden aggressiveness, an aggressiveness she had not seen for some time, Nina turned back to the girl at the gate, who looked downright distraught. The other figure next to her, a girl with a mop of blond curls, looked nearly horrified.
"I would suggest, Madame and Mademoiselle, that you forget this address for your health and the health of others." Nina said, impassively, gathering her skirts in her hands to make her own hasty retreat from the distraught girl and her companion. She was walking away when the girl's pretty voice stopped her for the second time that night.
"That is my ring." Christine Daae said, quite loudly, her voice almost accusatory in its harshness. "You are wearing my ring."
"It is to my understanding, , that you gave it back." Nina said this, and instead of copying the other girl's harsh tone, she instead spoke calmly and clearly. Looking back, she realized that the girl was indeed older than herself, but when she looked into the doe like eyes she saw only a child looking back. A scared and confused child, who looked on the verge of tears, as if she might suddenly call in the night for a parent, stammering about monsters in the dark.
"Who are you?" The other girl, the one with blond curls, said, perhaps because she sensed that her companion very much wanted to know but did not have the nerve to ask.
"Forgive me," Nina said, coldly. "I called you . By all means, Madame De Chagny and her companion, I should like to introduce myself." Taking a deep breath, Nina took a step back and turned her to head one side, looking at the girls with one eye, much like a horse. "I am Saturnina Ward. And my husband, I believe, is someone you know as the angel of music."
"His wife. . . ." The blond haired girl murmured, clutching a fine looking cloak tightly around her neck as the snow continued to fall around them, making everything sound eerily quiet.
"And his face. . . how. . . .?"
"That, I am afraid, Madame De Chagny, is none of your concern." Nina inhaled deeply, beginning to shake from the ferocious cold. "And I do not wish to speak to either you or your companion any longer. I will only say that if you ever harm my husband ever again, I will personally wring your neck. And I will not see you again." The last sentence was a command and, both girls being seasoned ballet brats, they recognized an order when they heard one.
Stepping away from them both, Nina paused in front of her doorway and looked back to see both women were still staring at her, aghast. Pursing her still painted lips, her violet eyes grazed them both as she said, softly, "I apologize for any foul words or threats. But that being said, I cannot let my husband be harmed any more. I am very sorry, Madame De Chagny. Perhaps. . . one day. . . we may be friends."
With a bang, the door snapped open and Erik pulled her relatively small body inside, wrapping her possessively in his long arms. Nina stood on the very tips of her toes, and pulled his neck down so that his lips could meet hers again, and he closed the door on the perplexed faces of both Christine de Chagny and Meg Giry.
