Happy New Year everyone! Here's to the year that passed and the one to come!
Christine's mood had skyrocketed since their shared evening. Her magical gown was still hanging on the front of her armoire, since she couldn't think of an adequate place to store it and wanted to cherish it for as long as possible.
It was still extremely early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen and the sky was a pale lilac colour, as she looked through the window of her kitchen. It was Christmas Day and she had awaken early to prepare for the upcoming gala. Marie was silently working next to her, helping bake the last tray of Christmas cookies.
She looked at the clock on the counter. Three more hours until she had to meet Erik for their lesson, so she had sworn herself to silence, in preparation for the exhilarating strain tonight's performance would bring to her vocal chords.
The doorbell rang.
"It must be carollers," Marie breathed next to her, wiping her hands in a rush to open the door.
"I have left some francs on the mantelpiece," Christine said, closing the jar of honey and putting a spoonful of the golden syrup in her mouth. Continuing to knead the last pieces of dough, she wondered how quiet the children at the door must be, since their singing could not be heard at all. Perhaps it's a shy child, she thought fondly.
A second later, a flustered Marie burst in the kitchen, worry and confusion twisting her big brown eyes.
"There's a man asking for you. He seems a little shaken up."
Her mind wondered who it could have been, daydreaming numbly that he had come again to pick her up. She sighed and, with the spoon still in her mouth, waltzed into the living room.
To her utter shock and terror, it was not the man she dreamed of, but his Eastern friend, who was looking out of the window, twisting his astracan hat anxiously in his hands. Her heart nearly popped out of its cage.
Once he perceived her presence, he rushed to her, his usually calm demeanor having given its place to hardly restrained panic. Her throat closed up and she removed the silverware from her lips.
"Miss Daae, please escuse my intrusion,"he started politely, in a rush.
"What happened, Monsieur Khan?" she questioned, gripping his forearms with her trembling hands.
"All doors to the lake are closed and Erik is not answering. My mind's gone to the worst," he mumbled.
Draping her large coat over her nightgown, she fished the key for the door to the cellars out of her pocket. "Let's go."
The Persian had to chase her trough the streets of Paris as she ran as fast as she could, unable to stop herself and wait for a carriage. She felt her stomach rise to her throat and she stopped, hunching over a corner of the sidewalk, dry heaving and clutching her stomach, as the sky above her was spinning.
Nadir rushed to her aid, but she shoved his hands away, took a hurried breath and continued to run through the few people casually strolling by.
Why is everyone moving so slowly! She groaned and pushed through them, ignoring their rude remarks. She threw herself in front of a carriage in an effort to cross the street and the Daroga wasn't entirely certain they would reach the opera in one piece.
Finally! In the horizon of the long avenue, she could make out the majestic building and she bolted towards it with all her might, as the passers-by exchanged strange looks at the sight of a madwoman running to the opera with such passion.
She threw herself against the door of the rue Scribe, trying uselessly to shove the brass key inside the lock. Her hands trembled too much as she pushed against the wood.
"Damn it!" she cried out and Nadir took the key from her, trying to gently put it in. Once the final click was heard, Christine shoved him aside and pushed it open, running inside the pitch black belly of the earth.
She knew the way throught the labyrinth blindly. She kicked off her shoes, which were catching on the stones, and ran barefoot in the cellars.
"Erik!"she screamed continuously as she descended deeper and deeper, hoping for his reply, searching for his voice in the silence.
After an eternity, they arrived at the door of the house, which she unlocked with unprecedented force.
Her eyes caught the sight of him thrown across the couch on his stomach, a vial of a deep burgundy liquid fallen next to his hanging hand.
She ran to his toneless body and dragged him to a sitting position, shaking and shouting his name, as tears were streaming down her reddened cheeks. Yet, despite her efforts, his head continued to hang backwards lifelessly.
The daroga approached with caution, letting out a desperate cry at the sight of the liquid. "Stupid, stupid man! Allah help me!" he exclaimed and frantically started to look around the house. "Come help me!" he shouted back at Christine, who was now wailing over the fact that he didn't have a pulse.
"A small black vial with a thick, dark green syrup!" he instructed as if she were a soldier and she obeied without any objection or question.
They threw open cupboards and drawers in the living room, in his room and in the kitchen. Papers were scattering on the floor, as Erik lay lifeless on the couch.
"I can't find it!"she shouted through her panic.
"Keep looking!"
She was kneeling down, inside the cupboard by the organ, when her hand nudged a tiny cool glass. Did she break it?
Grabbing it as fast as she could, she realised it was intact and matched the Daroga's description.
"I found it!" she shouted and ran to Erik.
"Hold his head,"said Nadir, spilling the foul smelling liquid between his thin cold lips.
Christine arranged his long legs on the couch and lay his head on her lap, stroking his inky hair gently and whispering sweet nonsense to him.
The hands on the clock dragged on in breathless anticipation, as Christine grasped his wrist, looking for any flicker of a pulse.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Twenty five.
Underneath her fingertips, she felt the divine flicker of butterfly wings.
"Yes!"she breathed and took him in her arms, allowing her tears to flow freely. His breath was warm, soft against her skin. Alive.
A few moments later he exhaled deeply and slowly opened his eyes, the dim light of the gaslamps hurting his golden eyes. His sleepy gaze fell on Christine, who gave him a watery smile through her tears.
"Christine..."he whispered, his angelic voice weak and coarse.
She stroked his hair again and he closed his eyes, savouring the feeling.
"Hush, my love,"she cooned. "It's alright now. We're alright."
Nadir aproached, standing above the couch and looking down at them.
"Is he any better?" he asked and wiped thick beads of sweat from his forehead.
She only nodded, not daring to peel her eyes from him. Her own humming soon lulled her to sleep, as she cuddled next to Erik.
A sudden nudge woke her up, almost knocking her off the couch.
"The gala..."Erik said, rushing to his feet and losing his balance.
"Take it slow!" she shot up to catch him, feeling her own vision swim slightly.
Trying to regain control of his body, her moved his arms around. "Your rehearsal..."he dragged towards the piano. He raised his hand to rub his eyes and realised the absence of his mask, a fact that upset him, even though he didn't have any power to react.
"Erik..."she muttered dishartened.
He cleared his throat, standing upright. "Don't 'Erik' me, my dear. We have less than eight hours."
She didn't dare to oppose him, so she stood next to him by the piano, as he began their scales.
At the music, Nadir peaked through the door, with a glass of sherry in his hand and a raised thick eyebrow. Erik shouted something persian over the melody and Nadir disappeared without a word.
"Clear intonation, Christine!"
He stopped her every so often for some last minute corrections and the hours passed. Her stomach rumbled.
"You're hungry,"he stated.
She raised her shoulders. "Well, it's been five hours."
The daroga walked in the music room, with a smug look in his emerald eyes.
"There is warm food in the kitchen," he announced and Christine could not contain her hunger.
She sat across the Persian at the table, as Erik climbed onto the counter, popping a couple of pills into his mouth.
The daroga jumped at him, grabbing his hand viciously. "Enough with the drugs, Erik!"
The worn phantom returned to his corner, shooting daggers at his friend. Nadir returned to his seat and started what sounded like a lecture in the language she could not understand.
"In french, daroga," he corrected, "when Christine's here, you'll speak french."
He sighed. "Very well. I can't believe you dared to keep Fatma's brew. You knew it was dangerous."
Christine tried to join the conversation "Fatma?"
The daroga turned to her. "A persian witch. The potion this genius over here took, was a conconction of powerful persian drugs, used to treat soldiers during battle. The liquid you gave him was the antidote."
Erik leaned on his elbow. "I couldn't take her out in my state, daroga. I needed something stronger."
Christine sipped the warm soup Nadir had prepared. "A witch?"
Nadir shrugged. "Erik's friends were not the best of characters."
Erik tied the mask around his face once more. "Obviously. I was fraternising with you."
He rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Erik."
Christine finished her meal and laughed at their childish behaviour. "I'd better be going," she muttered.
Erik climbed off the counter and gave her one last pep talk, before sending her off.