Immediately, I was ashamed for my weakness, my stubborn anger. Christine's hand slowly faded from my contact, and she averted her eyes. I had hurt her again, ruined her evening before it even began. But, I could not do it! I could not go in to that place! Not only did I feel devoid of faith and sacred reverence, but there was something extremely intimate regarding the circumstance. Christine Daae, alone with me in the echoing walls of Sainte Chappelle. With only the company of our own footsteps against the stone floors. And HIM, who had chosen to reject me just as I had him.
A man and woman walking down the aisle of a beautiful cathedral, hand in hand. I was not so beyond the customs and sensibilities of society to ignore what such an image fostered in my soul. But, she could never accept me as her husband. Not only for my deformity, but now for this new weakness she had stumbled upon. Were I as handsome as any other beau, she would never agree to marry a man who denied the God she so loyally served. How could I fail her again?
"Erik?" Those eyes of which always seemed to reflect the innermost truths hanging betwixt us, were now humbly pleading with me for answers. I expected her to be angry with me for not minding her every whim, but Christine was not a shallow chorine- unlike many of her friends at the Opera. She always looked to understand before anger. A trait which I could not admit to possessing. As I attempted to pivot away from her, her insistent little hand took my shoulder and gently urged me to face her. "Have I done something wrong?"
I knew if I were not honest with her, I would lose any infinitesimal chance I still might have at earning her love. I poised myself, assuming the controlled disposition familiar to her, but laced with tenderness. I was not acting for her- the angel made me want to humble myself and all my putrid confessions at her feet. "No," I sighed and caressed the air, mere inches from her cheek. The growing wind quickly mimicked my movements, causing loose tresses to rebel against the hood of her cloak. Relief slowly bloomed across her features, and it spread through the distance between our bodies so that it began to drown my own pain. "I have failed you, Christine."
"I don't understand." Bewilderment blanketed her voice as I led her to sit beside me on the church steps. I was not quite certain how I was going to go through with it; to tell her everything. Yet, it was better to get it over with now, no use prolonging the tenuous game. Her rejection would cause all the more anguish the more time we spent together. If I loved her, I had to stop hiding. It was nothing I had ever done.
"You have a right to know. . .but before you leave. . .I simply ask that you listen to all of it."
"Erik, you're frightening me. What's happened?"
I placed the pad of my thumb on her lips to silence her. It might prove to be the last touch. My fingers roved the glory of her face, as if to convey every ounce of love, every apology I wished to bestow upon the child. "I have failed you in every possible way."