Wow, it has been so long since I have updated this story and I sincerely apologize. I wanted to make sure I got this Christmas chapter up in time for the holidays! I wish I could promise updates more regularly, but this is a story I'm working on in between my work and school schedule.
I have really been enjoying writing this. As a former music major, this is the first story I can truly put a lot of my knowledge to use in writing! It has been so much fun being able to get inside the mind of both Lisette and Erik and think like a professional musician!
Again, if you have not listened to Schumann's Dichterliebe, you need to ASAP! The first song, "Im wondershönen Monat Mai" is my absolute favorite of the song cycle! Not the most Christmas appropriate song for this particular chapter, but still one of the most beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard and something I can imagine Erik appreciating!
December, Paris 1880
After the orchestra's Christmas concert, the constant shows and performances came to a halt with the arrival of Christmas Eve. As her church's organist, her Christmas Eve was filled with endless services, but she didn't mind. As she sat at the organ, watching the minister from the mirror mounted just above the music stand, she felt the warmth of the candles and glowing lights on the Christmas trees seemed to blanket her in warmth.
When the service ended, the contentment she had felt began to churn into restlessness. Throughout her entire walk home in the early hours of Christmas morning, she couldn't pinpoint why she felt the way she did. She had been invited to spend Christmas Day with Armel and some other members of the orchestra and was preparing for a month long leave to visit her family in Germany in a few days. All of these things should have brought a sense of joy, but instead she felt a strange tugging in her chest.
It wasn't until she woke up in her bed a few hours later did she come to the realization of what had been bothering her.
It was the coldest Christmas she could remember. All of the windows in the back of her apartment were completely frosted over and she could see her breath even within the bed. She struggled to move her stiff, cold legs as she made a batch of biscuits and a hot cup of coffee. From what she could see between the frost covered glass, it was still the early hours of the morning, the sun not even up yet. She quickly tucked the warm biscuits into a basket, made a small batch of coffee grounds, and grabbed a small book from underneath before ducking out of the apartment.
Being so early on Christmas morning, there was little movement as she made her way through the streets. The street lamps were still lit, covered by icy glass that was somehow unaffected from the glowing flame on the other side. Her eyes felt heavy with lack of sleep and her chest seemed to squeeze shut with each intake of cold air. The cold was so intense that it seemed to draw the very breath from her body, but she smiled seeing that she could still see the stars overhead. That was a sure sign that it was going to be a clear, beautiful day.
Lisette laughed herself when she climbed the stairs to the entrance of the Palais Garnier, shaking her head as she unlocked the large doors and stepped inside. She had sworn to herself just two nights before that she wouldn't put a foot inside this place until she returned from Germany. She should have known better.
The opera house was abandoned. All of the ballet rats had been cast out to give the cleaning crew a break and no one would be around until the start of the New Year. Looking up at the statue of Apollo at the top of the Grand Staircase, she called, "Erik?"
A sight suddenly stood before her that almost made her stumble backwards. In the times that she had been actively looking for Erik, she was used to looking in shadows, corners, or concealed places. But at the top of the Grand Staircase he stood, no longer cloaked in black, but in an outfit that made him look like a normal Parisian, despite the white mask he wore on his face. His stance seemed more relaxed and from the way he began to gracefully descend the stairs, she could tell from his manner that he wasn't on edge, as if afraid someone might see him.
"Fröhliche Weihnachten," he said when he was just a few feet away.
"Fröhliche Weihnachten, Erik," she repeated. "Merry Christmas."
As she spoke, the sun must have finally begun to rise, for light began to stream in through the windows. The gold detailing around the staircase began to catch the sunlight and seemed to sparkle with every turn of Lisette's head. One stream of light caught the unexposed part of Erik's face and for the first time since she had known him, an unabashed smile crossed his lips. He closed his eyes, seemingly taking in the warmth, before the stream of light passed and they were left staring at each other.
"It's cold outside," she said, taking off the shawl she had wrapped around her head.
"Very," he said, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. "Come, I have a fire going. We can warm up there."
She instantly began moving towards one of the statues to the far right, which she knew led to a passage which led to his underground hideaway. However, she was shocked to see him motion up towards the top of the staircase.
Swinging the basket of biscuits over her shoulder, she bounded up the stairs. She was surprised to see him motion towards Piangi's dressing room. Opening the door, the room revealed a roaring fire in the large fireplace with several plush armchairs gathered around. There was a kettle simmering over the hearth with a plate of dried nuts and cherries sitting nearby.
"This is lovely," she said, taking off her shawl and setting down the basket on a nearby table. "Is this how you've decided to spend my Christmas?"
He didn't answer, but smiled once more, and went to the kettle. She sat down in one of the plush armchairs and watched him settle himself in the chair across from her. A smile played on her lips which she was aware did not go unnoticed by Erik. She took the basket in her lap, opening up the cloth to reveal its contents.
"They're not much," she said, taking the basket she had brought with her in her hands, "But I brought you some homemade biscuits and coffee grounds from Berlin. I'm afraid the biscuits have gone cold from the bitter wind outside."
Erik's expression softened when he saw the small basket extended towards him. He took it, thanked her, and placed it on the hearth to help warm them while he took the coffee grounds and began to prepare the coffee..
"Somehow," he said, his voice like music, "I knew you would come by today."
A blush ran from her neck to her cheeks, burning like fire. "I knew you'd be by yourself for Christmas."
He turned to the kettle, turning it just so as it began to whistle and poured the hot water into a small pot sitting nearby. He quickly pressed down on the lid, using the traditional French press, before offering the steaming liquid in a mug to her..
"Ah, pity for the poor Opera Ghost," he said, watching her hands brush his as she took the cup. "Pity for poor Erik."
"No pity," she denied, practically glowing as she took a sip of the rich coffee. "I knew you would appreciate the coffee and I enjoy your company."
"You do?" he said with a laugh. "Even after all the times I've critiqued you and berated you in our lessons together?"
"You may be a little…" She searched for the right words, thoughtfully placing a hand on her upper lip. "Forthright at times. But if anything, it has helped me grow in my playing."
They fell silent as he poured himself a cup of coffee and offered her a biscuit. He offered her a jar of cherry preserves, a rare treat this time of year, and they gaily enjoyed their Christmas treat of biscuits and preserves while they watched the flames flicker within the logs.
"This is delicious," he said, motioning towards the cup of coffee. "Where did you say it was from?"
"Berlin," she replied, draining the last in her own cup. "It's my brothers' favorite brew and what my parents would drink when I was a child. I'd be more than happy to bring some back for you."
His stance suddenly stiffened and he furrowed his brows together unhappily. "Bring some back?"
Lisette quickly realized the change in his demeanor as she had forgotten she had not told him of her trip. "I'll be away for most of January," she said. "It's simply to visit my family in Dresden. I haven't seen them in years!"
Erik's expression remained solemn, but she saw the sadness in his eyes. This surprised her. She wasn't prepared to recognize that Erik might possibly miss her.
"I suppose I'll have to face the diva on my own once more," he said at last, turning to her with a mysterious gleam in his eye.
"It'll only be for a few weeks," she assured him. "I need time away from this place to keep my insanity intact."
Erik remained silent, sipping at his coffee and chewing his biscuit thoughtfully. The color drained from Lisette's face at the realization of what she had just said.
"When was the last time you left this place?" she asked softly.
His eyes darted to hers quickly. "You know the answer to that."
He was right. He shifted so he was facing the fire, his dark hair shining from the reflections of the glowing flames. She watched him intently, daring to guess what he was thinking at that moment. And then, suddenly, she was before him, her arm outstretched.
"I think it's time the Opera Ghost saw some daylight," Lisette remarked.
It was a few minutes later when Erik had saddled up the horses at the back of the opera house, with Lisette sitting next to him in the small carriage. It was still very early in the morning, and the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. Erik had carefully covered his face with a cape so that the white mask was not showing and Lisette watched him with fascination as he maneuvered the large carriage into impossibly small alleyways and seemed to be familiar with all the shortcuts of Paris. It wasn't long until they came to a large park, covered with frozen snow and not a soul in sight. Erik drew the horses to a nearby walkway, before hopping out and extending his arm to her.
"Bois de Vincennes," he said. "My favorite escape."
"Your escape?" she said, taking his hand and letting him help her out of the carriage. "When do you come here?"
"That doesn't matter," he said, turning to face the large, open field surrounding them. "Come, I'll show you my favorite spot."
She followed him along the narrow sidewalk, glancing at the frozen pond. Were there fish trapped underneath there? She couldn't tell. It seemed even nature itself had decided to sleep in this morning, for there wasn't a sound anywhere. Erik kept his gaze in front of him the entire time, never turning around to see if she was following. Lisette's hand felt to the pocket of her skirt, where she had tucked away the small book from before, making sure it was still there. To her surprise, he brought her to a small building, with a rounded roof and columns all around overlooking the lake.
"Le temple romantique de l'île de Reuilly," he said, introducing the small building. "This is where most of my music is composed when I find myself outside the opera house."
The small temple sat on the edge of the lake, one side leading back to the small walkway while the other looked over the water. Despite not having any walls, the columns created a sense of intimacy, as if the rest of the park and the bitter cold didn't exist. She leaned on one of the nearby columns, turning her head to watch the sun beginning to rise over the tops of the trees. She shivered upon touching the frigid stone, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself. Erik moved to the side closest to the water, watching as the sun's rays reflected off of the frozen lake.
"Lisette," he said at last, turning to her. "There's something I haven't told you."
Her ears perked up at his statement. "Haven't told me?"
"Yes," he said, turning back to face the water. He seemed to struggle to find the right words before speaking again. "You need to know the truth about me. It isn't fair to you to bring you into my world and not know anything about who I am."
She moved from the column and sat on the bench just before him, leaning forward and taking one of his hands. "I don't need to know anything you're not ready to tell me," she said at last. "I've hardly told you a thing about myself."
His eyes locked with hers and she felt something grow inside of her. Without breaking his stance, one of his gloved hands and delicately touched her cheek. When he pulled his hand away, she saw the powder she usually wore on the tip of his fingers.
"Why do you wear this?" he said, examining the powder as he wiped it from his hands.
"Because people do not want to see this," she said, motioning towards her scar.
"But why do you wear it around me?" he pressed, taking a step closer to her.
This question took Lisette by surprise. A hand flew to her scar, feeling the bumpy edges and practically feeling the redness coming to life as a bitter wind blew through the temple.
"So it is not a distraction," she said at last. "How can you not stare, Erik? Something like this should not be in a place where glorious music is being made."
Erik's stare hardened. "Why doesn't it belong?"
Tears pricked beneath her eyes and she turned, not daring to let them show. "This scar is vulgar and disgusting. I curse myself everyday for having this hideous thing upon my face." Her fingers twitched at the thought. "Did you know that I used to be beautiful before this? I was one of the prettiest girls in Dresden at the conservatory! In fact, when I came to Paris, many of the boys would fight over me."
She stood, ignoring the pained expression on Erik's face and stepping out of the temple so she was on the soil right by the frozen water. Her arms wrapped themselves around her and she stared into nothingness, feeling nothingness. "I had a sweetheart here in Paris, you know," she said, half laughing. "I thought we were going to get married after graduating from the Conservatoire. But then this happened." She motioned to her face. "He left me because he couldn't stand the sight of me. And ever since then I've learned that I cannot be seen, only heard. That's why playing in the pit orchestra fits me so well. No one ever has to see me and know what I look like."
The only sound she could hear was Erik's gentle breathing behind. Things remained as such for several minutes, until she heard his footsteps and he was beside her. "How wrong you are," he said softly.
She turned to him, surprised at such a statement. "How could you know?" Lisette exclaimed. "How could you possibly understand when you make such glorious music, own such fine clothes, and have such a handsome face!"
The last words out of her mouth caught her by surprise. She almost brought her hands to her lips in horror of her forwardness, but it was much too cold for her hands to leave her shawl. Instead, she kicked a small rock and watched it skate across the ice, nearly reaching the other side of the lake.
"A handsome face?"
Erik's voice was gentle. She remained firm in her stance, unwilling to look at him, but she felt a gloved hand, reach under her chin and she was forced to see him staring closely at her scar. She was absolutely right, though. His eyes were so green they burned, his hair neatly combed with a strong jawline and neatly trimmed sideburns. The side of his nose that was exposed seemed to be carved from marble, and the way his lips twitched at his effort to hide a smile seemed to warm the very core of her being.
"Yes," she answered softly. His gloved hand moved from her chin to her temple. Closing her eyes, she felt him rub away the powder on her face. When his hand fell away, she opened her eyes and sadly stared at his feet.
"This is who I am," Lisette stated meekly. "I can't hide it from anyone, but I can try."
Erik took a step back, making Lisette jump. She watched his eyes change from anger, to sadness, and then to fear. His arms by his side twitched, the powder from her face still on the dark gloves. He seemed to be fighting some inward turmoil, but she was shocked when she saw his hands move to his mask and slowly remove it from his face.
At first, he kept the masked side of his face turned away, as if debating if this was what he intended to do. But after a moment, keeping the mask in his hands, he took a step back towards her, letting a stream of light hit the part of his face that he had hidden from the world.
It was in that moment that Lisette understood everything about who Erik was.
The right side of his face was amassed in scars and bumpy flesh. It almost looked as if that side of his face had been burned off. His right eye drooped ever so slightly and there was a lack of an eyebrow to discern any type of expression. His nose seemed to conform with his cheek without separation and she could see that no hair grew near his right temple. His eyes closed, but she saw him shiver as another gust of wind blew through them. His hands held the mask firmly, almost twisting it in his grasp. Her hands flew to her own scar, thinking of her reflection in the mirror when she woke up. Compared to Erik, her scar was nothing, meaningless. She wondered with horror what this man had gone through.
"I know you want to know."
His eyes remained closed despite the murmur of his lips. She waited until his eyes opened to nod.
"I was born this way," he said, running his hands over the bumpy flesh. "At least, that's what my mother told me. She told me no one would accept me as I am and made me my first mask at a young age. I've been hiding my face ever since."
A gasp caught in her throat, and she wasn't sure if the tears burning in her eyes were due to Erik's revealment of his face or from the biting wind that refused to cease. His gaze fell to her. As if out of habit, while keeping his eyes locked on hers, he turned his head ever so slightly so she could see the unblemished side. "I can't hide it from anyone, but I can try." The repetition of his words made her bring her own fingers to her scar, ashamed of what she had said. Erik knew exactly what she dealt with everyday, and from the way that his scars marred the entire side of his face, she knew that his wounds were much greater than she could ever imagine.
Her hands flew to the book that had been so carefully concealed. With shaking hands, Lisette retrieved the small book and slowly stepped towards him. He was still cautious of letting her stare at the deformed part of his face, but she ignored his avoidance of her gaze and pressed the small book into his hands.
"For you," she said. "Dichterliebe. My favorite song cycle."
As she pressed the book into his hands, she watched him hesitate for a moment with his right hand, where the mask was gripped ever so tightly. But his curiosity must have gotten the best of him, for he set his mask down on the bench Lisette had been sitting on earlier and opened it up.
"Schumann," he said to himself.
"Schumann," she agreed with a smile.
His hands gingerly flicked through the warn pages, staring intently at the notes and staves that decorated the page. "My god," she heard him say. He flipped back a few pages, his fingers resting on the title of the first page. He cleared his throat and began to sing.
"Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, als alle Knospen sprangen, da ist in meinem Herzen die Liebe aufgegangen. Im wunderschönen Monat Mai, als alle Vögel sangen, da hab ich ihr gestanden mein Sehnen und Verlangen."
As his voice soared through the piercingly cold air, bouncing all around the marble temple, she closed her eyes and felt all the breath left her body. Would she ever grow accustomed to the remarkableness of his voice?
"This is what you sang to the count," he said when he had finished. Her memory brought her back when she sat in the orchestra stalls, the count by her side, listening to her unsteady voice trying to create the beauty of the song. Her face contorted into a grimace.
"It is," she said softly. "But I am giving these to you because I know they will mean more to you than they ever could to him."
Erik's face lit into a smile. After keeping his eyes locked on the book for several moments, he finally looked up once more, closing it and putting it inside his jacket pocket.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Taking the mask in her hands, she put it inside her own pocket, before ushering him back to the temple. "Come, Herr Opera Ghost," she teased. "The day is growing brighter and people like us should not be seen out in the daylight."
She could have sworn she saw a full smile break across his face as they made their way back to the carriage.