Chapter 33: A Contemptible Curse.
Raoul de Chagny groaned as he stood, stretching his legs for the first time in days. It had taken just over a week of nonstop travel to arrive in Persia and his body was paying the toll for their rushed journey. They hopped from train to train, sleeping in the carriages and eating the scarce meals they offered. Raoul had worn the same clothes for two days now as the last leg of their journey consisted of hiding in the back of a merchant wagon that travelled across the northern Persian Empire. He rubbed his chin, now speckled with prickly hairs, as he stared at his destination.
Throughout his childhood, he had toured all over Europe, but never this far east. His father had been here as a young man and refused to step in the wasteland ever since. It did not bother Raoul, as he had no interest nor motivation to ever come to Persia; until now.
Raoul twisted his back, moaning as it cracked and ached under his stretch. It has taken countless trains and boats to reach this God-forsaken country so quickly, but his Christine needed him. He only hoped they arrived in time.
Phillippe approached him, rolled map crumpled in his hands. "See the golden tower?" He asked, pointing down at the city below. Raoul found it quickly. It was a large, round structure that peaked over the top of the city. Even from this view, Tehran seemed vast and unconquerable.
"That is the mosque." Phillipe informed. "We will meet with Mozaffar there."
He gritted his teeth. The plan was to meet with Mozaffar and discuss the coup against the Shah. Within the struggle, he would personally ensure that Christine and the opera crew escaped. However, the closer he came to Persia, the more anxious he felt. His heart constantly ached, as if it knew that something terrible was about to happen.
He nodded towards his brother. "Then we must hurry."
Christine was somewhere in that madness. It was only a matter of time before he would find her again.
Christine POV:
Christine lay still on the bed, her body contorted yet undeniably comfortable. Her head rested on Meg's lap, who absentmindedly twirled one of Christine's chestnut curls. Jammes and Sorelli laid near them, all of them twisted to ensure the four of them fit on the bed perfectly.
They had remained silent for most of the morning. Christine tried to seem as dissociated as possible. She remained silent, often shrugging or nodding when asked questions. Sometimes she tried to force tears, but her body was too numb. Her tears were dry and her mind was too occupied on the one thing she was supposed to avoid: Erik.
A part of her had wished that she could see him now, just to see if he was alright. The lashings on his back were fierce. It chilled her to think that he took those for her. Those red, angry cuts that stained his pale skin mocked her. How could she ever repay him for all he had done? In the span of a few hours, he had saved her friends from dying of poison, taken a beating for his actions in her defence, saved her from being taken by the Shah and defended her from the vile Sultana. But instead of repaying him, she had to lie about him. The harem grew suffocating behind her smokescreen of deceit. Internally, she begged to be free of it. But if she told the truth, Fazia would alert the Sultana or the Shah of their act. Everything he had done would be for nothing.
Christine reminded herself that worst part of the ordeal was that he occupied her mind in more ways than one. She could not get rid of the image of his back. Though it was speckled with scars, she could not deny the rush that overtook her at the sight of the taught, angular muscles underneath them. She thought about the feel of his hips against hers and the heat she felt when his eyes studied her. His voice rang in her ears and she yearned nothing more than to hear him sing once again.
Christine closed her eyes, doing her best to keep any sense of joy from her face. Why was it that she couldn't control the tracks of her thoughts?
Jammes shuffled slightly, causing the three to look her direction. She cleared her throat. "Christine, how are you feeling?"
Christine stared at her. James barely squeaked out the words, her soft voice clearly quivering. She could feel the eyes of her other two friends on her. Quickly, she tried to regain her composure.
"I am fine." Christine whispered as monotonously as possible. She looked away from Jammes, unable to take the pity in her eyes. It hurt to lie to them, but she heeded Nadir's warning. Fazia sat in the center of the room with the other women, her eyes locked on the four of them. Christine just had to fool them long enough before Erik found a way for them to escape.
Sorelli turned onto her side, facing the three women. "You are not fine." She stated boldly. "You are not fine, and it is okay to feel that way. In fact, you should feel that way."
Christine stared wide eyed. The sincerity of Sorelli's tone rocked her to the core. Even though Erik never did anything to her, she still felt broken by the entire experience. The adrenaline form the performance and the constant terror of the night before had rocked her completely. But she couldn't go into any detail, she she instead swallowed down her emotion. Anxiously, she fiddled her fingers. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Don't keep it inside." Meg pleaded with a hushed voice. "It will only eat you apart."
"This isn't your fault."
"It is okay to feel this way."
Christine shut her eyes. She did her best to change the subject. "I'm just- I just can't wrap my head around anything. Performing for the Shah seemed so long ago, but it was only the other evening… but nothing has changed. We are still trapped here. I just feel like I am suffocating."
It was as close to the truth as she could tell. They remained silent for a few moments until Meg's hushed sniffle caught their attention.
"I'm sorry, I just...I hope mama is alright."
Christine turned to her friend. She had been mostly quiet throughout the morning, an unusual characteristic for the fiery blonde. Her eyes seemed hollow, glazed over with thoughts of something else. Christine felt a pang of guilt pull at her heart. Meg and her mother had been nearly inseparable for almost her entire life. Madame Giry had raised her daughter through every outlet, being her educator, instructor, and mother. Christine understood how it felt to be separated from that lone source of comfort. "I am sure she is alright. They were looked after before, I am sure they will be now."
"You don't know that." Meg retorted, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "We thought he was on our side. But look what he did...to you. How can we trust him to keep her safe?"
Christine gulped. She looked away, unable to respond to her friend's question. She laid back down, her eyes looking at the golden chalice that sat on a table near them. In its reflection, she barely made out a pair of yellow eyes that glared in her direction.
Fazia.
"I wonder if Louis is okay." Jammes whispered. "And Sophia and Ignacio. I wonder if they survived."
"Who cares." Sorelli huffed. "Those traitors deserved what they had coming to them."
"She did it to protect her daughter." Christine mumbled. "People do bizarre things to protect those they love."
Sorelli scoffed, not responding to Christine's statement. They remained silent again, Christine returning to the comfort of her convoluting thoughts. If she stayed lost in her imagination, she could avoid Fazia's glare and the pity in her friends eyes. But instead of day dreaming to escape, her mind became plagued with questions. She thought of the other crew members; Matilda, Reiner, and Bastian. Were able to escape without being caught? Would they be out of Persia by now, or were they somewhere hiding in the city?
She also thought of the crew in the dungeon. She felt guilty. Here she was, lying on a soft bed in the palace while they shivered in the dungeon. The last time she saw Madame Giry, she was screaming as she was dragged from the main hall. Christine could only watch as she remained hidden in her angel's protective shadow.
A tear finally trickled down her cheek. More than anything, she wanted to return into his warm embrace. It was selfish and unfair, but she craved it nonetheless. Words could not describe how she felt about his unholy touch. The way he acted around her was revolting, invasive and unwelcome in every way. Yet, her mind continued to linger on how easily their bodies melted together.
She shook her head. Why did se have such impure thoughts? Instead, she should be grateful that she is safe and untouched. But it came at the price of other's suffering. What would he want her to do? What could she do to make this madness end?
Christine drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the morning. She awoke with a jolt a few hours later, when guards entered the room. Three eunuchs walked in, each holding a tray of food. They brought it into the center of the alcove, all of the women sitting up and murmuring as they stared at the delicious banquet. Christine's stomach instantly felt queasy, the sight of a delicious meal sickening and enrapturing her all at once.
Sorelli stood first, encouraging the others to follow behind. If Christine wasn't so numb, she would have noticed the way Sorelli drooled at the sight of the banquet.
As the four women neared the alcove, many began to gasp and turn to face them. Christine barely had time to process their hesitance until Fazia leapt to her feet. "Stop!"
The four women halted, their eyes wide.
"Do not enter this circle. You are cursed!"
"Cursed?" Jammes questioned.
All of the other women in the circle turned and glared at them. Some of them had fear in their eyes, their wide brown orbs reflecting uneasiness. Yet others glared with pure disgust. Christine felt her skin crawl at the maliciousness she saw there.
Fazia continued, a lone finger pointing towards Christine. "She had laid with the Devil's child. She is cursed for eternity!"
Christine's cheeks reddened. She would never be used to the idea of laying with any man. But her mind lingered on Fazia's words. The Devil's child? As her friends quickly rose to her defense, Christine wrapped her arms around her torso. What had he done that had earned him such terrible titles? Angel of Death? Phantom of the Opera? The Devil's child? Just as she was about to question Fazia, the older beauty stepped forward, a butter knife in her hand.
"You have seen his face. Anyone who sees his face is cursed for eternity. Do not touch us, you disgusting whore!"
Christine gasped. Never had she been called something so harsh. Her skin felt dirty, like she hadn't bathed in years. Sorelli stepped in front of her, vile obscenities spewing from her mouth as she verbally attacked Fazia.
But Christine couldn't jump to her own defense as she was stuck in her own thoughts. That mask; the porcelain barrier that hid so many of her unanswered questions. For so long, she was certain it was just to hide his identity, but all the signs pointed to another alternative. He had threatened to take it off when he 'rescued' her the night before. Fazia seemed horrified of the thought. Yet, in every context, it was as if everyone was terrified of it.
A shiver crawled through her skin as a realization hit her. There must have been something wrong with his face! She took in a sharp inhale, her eyes flaring at the thought. He remained in the shadows to hide his face. He wore a mask to cover up something- something that must have been horrid. She chided herself on her stupidity. How could she be so naïve this entire time?
But a pit grew in the bottom of her stomach. Had that wonderful man been forced to hide in the shadows because of some imperfection on his face? Her heart ached to think of the years of isolation he must have felt.
Pitiful creature of darkness. What kind of life have you known?
"So you are not going to share any food with us?"
Fazia snarled at Sorelli. "You can have our scraps."
Before Sorelli could retort, Christine stepped past her. The women in the alcove gasped, all sliding to the far side of the circle. Fazia held up the small butter knife. "Stay away from me."
"You are right." Christine stated plainly. "I am cursed. My eyes have seen the horrors that hide behind his mask, and I will never be able to rid it from my mind."
It was a complete lie, but Christine couldn't deny she almost enjoyed the way Fazia's jaw unhinged. She felt guilty for saying such defamatory remarks, but she was tired of depending on others to save her.
"Though the harem may seem large, there is nothing you can do to keep me from entering this circle, from touching your clothes, or from laying in your beds."
Fazia gasped. "How dare you-"
"Unless we can reach an agreement. My friends and I will keep our distances. However, we will not be denied food or water. At night, we will remain downstairs and away from the wandering eyes of any man who enters this room. And finally..."
Christine stepped closer to Fazia, the dull blade inches from her breast. "You will order the eunuchs to deliver a message for me… a private message."
Fazia remained silent for a moment. Reluctantly, she agreed to Christine's terms. The four French women received a tray of food and ate on their own near their bed. For the rest of the day, they remained distant from the others. The only contact they had was when Fazia gave her a small scrap of parchment and a pen. Christine thanked her, but the woman stormed off.
"Christine, what are you doing?"
"Trust me, I have an idea."
Erik POV:
The sun was a ghastly thing. It was bright, illuminating every detail of the world. Erik had always despised it, even as a child. It was too hot, not fitting for his customary black clothing. He tried to remain hidden in the shadows as much as possible behind the pillars on the roof of the mosque. Yet the golden painting reflected every damned ray in his direction.
He scribbled down some notes on a parchment, noting another flaw in his design. He had drawn his plans for the renovation of the mosque in precise detail, yet the barbarians the Shah hired were too incompetent to do anything right. His pen scratched furiously against the parchment and it corrected their work.
"Here." He growled, shoving the parchment into the chest of a nearby soldier. "Deliver this to the mason. Tell him to begin working on this immediately." The soldier nodded before hustling out of the little shade towards the stairs. Erik watched him, moaning as he saw the ever dapper silhouette of the daroga approach him from the same direction.
"Can't you see I am working?" Erik snapped as Nadir drew closer.
"Why is it that when I need you, you are never around?"
"You are an adult now, daroga. I didn't expect you to still require a hand to hold."
The daroga chuckled, completely unfazed by Erik's sharp tongue. "You have been up here for three days now. You have left me to fight off the Shah and Sultana on my own. It is time to return to the palace."
Erik set his jaw into place, refusing to meet the man's eyes. He instead leaned over the many maps and drawings of the renovated mosque, a project he had been working on for a few years now. This, along with his music, was his only escape from reality. Three nights ago, he had done something hideous. He had touched his angel in the most vile form. Sometimes he remembered the event as if he was an outsider looking in. It made his stomach twist to watch as he climbed on top of her, forced his lips upon her beautiful skin. The guilt had driven him into madness.
But in music, his Christine was always present. Working on the mosque was the only way to escape the mere thought of her.
"You seem to have survived so far. I believe that is promising." Erik continued flippantly.
Nadir shrugged. "I received quite the unusual message the other day."
Erik's eyes glanced up. "Is it from the prince?"
Nadir smiled. "No. He has remained silent since his arrival, which I believe is wise. I am certain he will signal for us when he is ready. No, this message came from within the palace walls- from a special French concubine."
Erik forgot how to breathe for just a moment. Though there was technically three others, Erik knew it was Christine who wrote to him. The daroga held out a small piece of parchment, one neatly folded in his palm. Erik snatched it from him, slowly unfolding it to study the eloquent curves of her handwriting.
Monsieur Khan,
I write to you as my last resort. I have considered the Angel of Death's proposition and I agree to meet with him again on the terms that he will spare my friends in the dungeon. Please inform him of my decision.
Christine.
Erik felt his fingers tremble as they gripped the parchment. He had made no such offer, though he instantly understood the meaning of her message. She wanted to meet, but used this as a disguise to hide from any prying eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched upward at her resourcefulness.
"Shall I arrange a meeting?" Nadir asked.
Erik tensed. The thought of facing her again felt like a splash of cold water against his face. He refused to let her forgive him or his horrors. "No." Was his curt reply.
Nadir scoffed, raising his arms to the side to let them fall and slap his outer thigh. "No? I thought you loved this girl."
Erik hissed at the word love. "Love is derived from respect and compassion, two words I would not use to describe my previous behaviour."
Nadir placed his hands on the table, leaning forward to face his friend. "It was an act. Yes, your actions were brutish but it was necessary to get her out of there. Our plan worked, did it not?"
"Necessary?" Erik glared at him with fire in his eyes. "I essentially assaulted her, Daroga. None of it was necessary."
"Then apologize to her."
"I can't. It is difficult to apologize for something I do not entirely regret."
Nadir furrowed his brow. But before he could question his friend, Erik interjected. "What I did was wrong. I embodied the monster I try so hard to deny. But I am most terrified of how much I enjoyed it. Nadir, if I had the option a part of me would not have stopped. I would have hurt her, all for my own selfish desire. She is intoxicating and like a syarved animal I craved her tender flesh. I am a monster and do not deserve to be in her presence."
Nadir's eyes softened. "But you didn't hurt her. Yes, you could have demonstrated more self control. But the fat of the matter is you stopped."
"What if next time, I cannot?" The words came out before Erik could stop them. It was a thought that had eaten away at his mind for the past couple days. Nothing in this world would cure him of the guilt and hatred he felt for himself if he ever dishonored her. She deserved all the kindness in the world and he only brought her destruction. His hands were flames to her ethereal soul, one that would burn under his touch. To see her in ashes would kill him.
Erik rolled up the drawings, quickly tying them with string as Nadir paced in front of him. "Communication is key to any relationship."
"We do not have a relationship." Erik snapped.
"A friendship is just as important as a relationship to a lover. She wishes to speak with you and you should respect that.
Erik sealed his lips together as he hurried to tidy his things. Nadir sighed. "She wrote this three days ago, you know."
"Then she is already disappointed. No need for a response."
"I think if you talked about what happened, you would both be able to move on."
Erik stormed past the daroga, who shuffled to keep up.
"I do not know how much longer the Shah will wait before giving your next punishment. But I can guarantee you that it will involve her."
Erik hesitated. He was not scared of the Shah nor the punishments he could give. At this stage, Christine should hate him for the horrors he had committed anyways. There was nothing the Shah could do that would make him hate himself any less.
Nadir grabbed Erik's bicep, urging him to halt and listen. His initial reaction was to pull away, but he refrained from taking his retaliation any further when he locked eyes with the grey haired man.
"I encourage you to refrain from meddling in others affairs, daroga. Gossip is below you." Erik warned.
"I am trying to help-"
"Help me? How is this helping me? You were not there, Nadir. I did the unspeakable. These hands, these skeletal fingers stained her skin with my touch. I was barbaric and she has every right to despise me. In fact, she would be a fool not to!"
"I do not believe that." Nadir denied. "There is only so much time left before she is gone forever. Wouldn't you rather apologize before you lose her?"
Erik felt frozen. His grip around the papers tightened, the sound of the paper crumpling in his palm the only noise passing between the two men. Lose her. Lose his Christine. They were words that had haunted him their entire journey, but he had denied them for so long. Now they were unavoidable; an elephant in the room. Nadir glared into Erik's eyes, challenging him to respond. Yet, Erik felt as though his entire vocabulary had been erased from his mind.
Christine had forgiven him for so much already. She had endeavoured to be kind to him, to accept his presence without screaming. She consumed his every thought, but he refused to yield. He was a dangerous liability that only resulted in her pain.
"She will have to live with disappointment." Erik muttered. Before he could turn, the daroga pushed the note in the tube of one of his maps.
"Read it, my friend. She doesn't want to hate you."
Erik stared down at the note, its corner peeking out from inside the tube formed by his designs. It caused his heart to soar, for just a moment. What if she didn't hate him? He gritted his teeth as he thought about apologizing to her. But before he could make his decision, he spun and turned from Nadir. The daroga did not pursue him this time, but Erik could feel that old fool's eyes on his back. As he climbed down the stairs into the mosque, he wondered if he would he ever escape the burden of responsibility?
Christine POV:
Christine sat on the windowsill and gazed out at the city below. It was a cloudy day in Persia, one that dulled her emotions entirely. She instead chose to sit by herself on the windowsill and take in the bleak views below. Tehran was still alive with energy, despite the foreboding clouds. The grey scale background almost elaborated the bright colours she found in their pottery and clothes. For just a moment, Christine felt the corner of her lip curl upwards.
Christine had waited eagerly for some response. On the night she sent the message, she expected Erik to enter again, claiming her for another night. Yet no one came for her. The four of them remained removed from the others. At first, Christine was hesitant to join them below, in case Erik could not retrieve her. But she remembered Nadir's warning and joined them. The second floor was just as elaborate as the top but lacked the large open patio. Instead it was lit by torches and the little light that came through the large windows. The darkness didn't bother her. In fact, now it felt more comforting than every before.
The four of them had remained in bed for the past couple of days, hiding in the lower section at night. They were never distrubed or even addressed by anyone else, though Fazia continued to watch them like a hawk.
But now she laid against the cool glass. Maybe he was preoccupied with something else. Or maybe the Shah was giving him another punishment? Christine shivered at the thought.
She had to escape the madness of her mind.
"Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed, if I'd just dream, somehow you would be here."
She let her voice fill the room, pushing away the suffocating atmosphere around her. It rang clearly throughout the main area and she lost herself in song. Everyone turned their attention towards her, their hushed conversations slowly dwindling into silence. Even Fazia, her newly sworn enemy, gawked at the singer as she belted out the haunting song. It was a compilation of words in her mind, thoughts that had been eating away at her brain. The tune had appeared from somewhere deep within her. She latched onto it, let it fill the emptiness around her.
Soon she couldn't think of anything else to say. Instead she hummed that gentle tune, singing the women of the harem to sleep. Maybe she was a witch. The women that had feared her for the past three days seemed to smile as they slept to her song. Even her friends fell victim to the honey of her voice as they drifted off without her.
It was only a matter of time before her eyes fluttered shut. She dreamed that he had heard her and that he had come to her. How could they deny each other's music? Even after all these years apart, it was what binded them together so tightly. She dreamed of his presence, of the shadow that encapsulated her. She could almost smell his soft scent and feel his arms around her.
She was weightless again, floating above the clouds.
But a scream brought her back to reality.
Christine jumped, her arms quickly wrapping around a foreign object at her side. Her eyes locked with two amber orbs as the entire harem erupted into a fit of screams.
As she gasped in his arms, she stared at the man who carried her briskly towards the door.
"Angel?"
Words cannot describe how grateful I am for your comments/reviews. This chapter is essentially setting the stage for the events to come, so I apologize if it was a bit slow. Thank you so much!
Guest: Thank you so much!
Lucyole: I am glad these chapters are exciting! This one is definitely a bit slower. I am glad you recognize that Christine has a naive view of love. Love is about overcoming all obstacles, not just going along with whatever is easiest. Thank you!
YinuoTong: Low key terrified of your math teacher. This is not the last we will see of the sultana! (muwhawa) Thank you for your consistent reviews!
Phantomgirl24: Thank you for your reviews! It was definitely the ordeal. Christine is slowly getting there, but she just doesn't recognize her emotions just yet. Not so sure about any peace anytime soon...but we shall see!
Guest: Great question! I think I know what you are referring to. When Christine is thinking about her and Erik's conversation before the Sultana enters, she is having a flash back, or thinking of what he said. It isn't telepathy. Hope this clears up the confusion!
FleshofMidnight: Thank you so much! So glad you are liking this story :)
Sunfish7012: thank you!
Guest: He did go to revolting lengths of pretending, but I hope I kind of addressed his turmoil with his actions. Maybe I am just a glutton for smut *shrug*. thank you for your review!
