The doorbell rang and Marie rushed to answer to the young Vicompte, who stood at the threshold. His eyes were downcast, and he wore black, since he understood everything that had transpired below the opera house. In his hand, he clutched a dark thick pack of sheet music a foreigner gave to him right outside the house. He'd introduced himself as Monsieur Khan, but Raoul was already too awkward coming to see Christine in such a state to care how the young ingenue could know a retired Persian.
"Good evening, mademoiselle," he greeted the maid in a low voice, his blue eyes already searching for his love. "I hope I'm not intruding at a back timing."
She raised her shoulders and offered to take his coat. "No, monsieur, not at all. If there's someone who can console her, that is you. We're desperate."
He made his way towards the staircase unaccompanied, certain it would not be considered improper. "She is that bad?"
Marie nodded, following shortly after him. "And worse, monsieur le Vicompte. This morning, she announced to Madame Valerius she'll be joining a convent in Sweden."
Raoul stopped on the first steps. "A convent?"
She only raised her hands in despair. "Please talk to her, monsieur. La Madame would die if she lost her."
Reassuring her he'd try his best to convince Christine, Raoul hurried to the first floor, where he hesitantly made his way towards her room, not knowing which one it was. Thankfully, all the doors were open, save for one. He knocked on it softly.
"Come in," replied a hollow voice from the other side.
He swallowed hard and rubbed his thin mustache, in a final attempt to calm his nerves.
Christine was sitting on the window seat, looking out onto the street, with her head turned away from him. The pale winter light fell on the side of her cheek visible to him, giving her usually porcelain skin a grey hue. He didn't talk and she remained silent, holding a small prayer book piously on her lap.
He cleared his throat. "Hello," he whispered, too afraid not to startle her.
Finally, a pair of red, swollen eyes turned to look at him and he almost felt sorry for the death of his monstrous rival. The frail creature in front of him had withered into a winter's mist, too thin and pale to be thought of as a living person.
"Hello," she replied, lowering her gaze in shame for her excessive grief. "Forgive me, I am tired lately."
"I'm sorry for your loss, Christine," he tried to phrase it as sensitively as possible. "I know he meant a lot to you."
She didn't answer him, only looked intently at the folder in his hands.
"Oh," he remembered, "of course. A monsieur Khan gave it to me. He said you should have it and that you're welcome to contact him whenever you may feel the need to." He made to leave it on the vanity, when her weak arm stretched out only a little to its direction.
"Could I hold it?" She asked, as if it wasn't meant for her.
He gave it to her and she tenderly caressed its front page, with a motherly look often reserved for infants. He noticed one single tear roll down her sunken cheek, without her making any noise to indicate her pain.
"You are so brave and quiet, one could forget you are suffering," was all he found to say, as he sat close to her.
She only breathed and leaned back to rest her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for coming," she said sincerely, "I needed a friend."
He took her small hand in his and rubbed it affectionately. "I'm always here. Marie told me you'll leave for Sweden."
Her hand continued to blindly caress the score. "Yes."
Her declaration stirred the panic in him alive and he turned slightly to face her. "Please don't leave."
She returned in her window corner. "There is nothing to stay here for."
He tried to reach for her, but she shied away from his touch. "You have your career."
She gave a soft, bitter chuckle. "I believe it will take a long time to sing again. If ever." She bent her knees, resting her head on them.
Raoul wanted to desperately grasp her and shake her back to life, but he stopped himself, knowing it would do more harm than good. "He wouldn't want you to abandon your gift," he tried to talk some sense into her.
Christine closed her eyes with her hand, keeping it on them for a long time. "No, he wouldn't." Her small, calculated breaths told him she was barely holding on. "But now it's up to me to make a choice."
"A convent is not a choice, Christine, it's resignation!" He burst.
The sound seemed to make her shrink further back. "My prayers were ignored for the second time here. I have to go closer to Him, or I'll stop believing altogether."
Her eyes trailed down to the pale band of skin around her finger, were a ring used to be and thought that now, she had a scar of her own for her story. He used to be a whole book of scars.
Raoul stood, understanding his presence unnerved her. "I know it seems impossible," he concluded, "but, please, try to remember how to live again. For him. For me."
"Perhaps someday, my friend."
Her door closed shut behind Raoul, leaving her in her whirlpool of emotions she didn't know how to manage. She took Don Juan in her hands once again, tracing the lines of the ink with her finger before opening it, before reading the bloodied score for the first time.
Messy scribles marked a perfectly elegant musical score, the notes almost like an official print. She thought of releasing it and showing the world what true genius was. But, by doing so, she'd vulglarly release another's soul, to which she held no right to. Careful not to break the sheets apart, she leafed through it, as her mind wondered back to the night she turned to the wrong alleyway.
"Please, do not be afraid."
Her chest shook and her eyes burned, without any tears running. There were no more tears left inside her to shed. So, she stood, to store the precious score away, until she would be ready to read it. But, midway into the air, a piece of folded paper escaped and fell to her feet. She bent down and unfolded it, sitting on the floor, too weak to stand for long.
My beloved Christine,
Firstly, I beg you forgive my aloofness, for you know writing is not a talent of mine. If you're reading this, which I doubt you ever will, we've already parted. I do not know if you're sad, or if you cried at all, but I honestly hope you didn't. An angel like you should never cry for a soul already lost.
Right now, you've forced me into your bed and I can hear you sing from the shower, thinking this will be the only sound I'll ever miss from this earth. Upon my honor, I do not know why I'm even writing this letter, except it seemed unnatural to be unable to speak to you for one last time. And to think, I've already began to miss you. Ah, eternity will indeed be very long without you, my love.
I remember like it was yesterday the first time I ever heard you. Cynically observing a rehearsal from box five, I caught a glimpse of you, as the bright stagelight graced your ivory skin and as the air carried your heavenly voice into my arms. In time, you managed to turn a shadow back into a man, my Christine. Ever since the moment I was born I had been running- from myself, from humanity, from God himself- and I thought that was all there was to life. Then I met you, my Angel, and dared to think that perhaps I could finally stop running. You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like, but I think it may feel a lot like you. You opened the most beautiful abyss in me.
In case you mourned for your poor, unhappy Erik, please know that with you, I tasted all the hapiness the world can offer. Be happy, Christine, you deserve it. Continue to grace the world with our Music. And one day, if the tale does not sting too much, repeat the tale of the Angel Of Music to your children, perhaps to guide them, just as you guided me. I hope we do not meet for a very long time, my adored, even if your absence is like a knife inside me. Our song is ended, but the melody lingers on.
I love you,
Erik.
And this concludes D'amor sull'ali rosee. When I began writing this story, a year ago, I was in a dark place, so writing this story helped me deal with my excessive stress and worry. I hope, along with it, I also close all this, and face what's to come with new hope and faith. Thank you for sticking with this story to the end. Until next time!
