How could I begin to ask the immense question that must come if I were to reveal the contents of my pocket? The tiny velvet jewelry box- something so small could change our fates forever. It seemed all very unusual to me, the aspects of courtship. Perhaps this was due to the fact that I had always lived alone, and had no need for the customs of human interaction. Of course, I was aware of what was considered proper behavior between a man and woman outside of marriage.
Why had I purchased that damned ring? Did I really believe that Christine Daae would assent to be my wife? My wife, indeed! I was aware of just how delusional I had become; imagine a delicate ingenue, a fragile and exquisite young woman of incomparable talent willingly committing her life, her soul, and her body, to a demon and his darkness. It was preposterous, I knew, but I had made the decision to neglect reason for good ever since the girl first entered the Opera House.
"Christine, I have guarded my soul from every human being for so many years. I am not accustomed to sharing even my most trivial emotions with another person."
"But you do, Erik!" She pressed my shoulders, almost shaking my entire body with her enthusiastic support, "Your music. . .I don't know how to say this without feeling that my words are inadequate and unworthy-"
"Unworthy?" I interjected, but she pressed on.
"-to explain the feelings your compositions express!" I could sense the delicious heat rising between our bodies, could feel it traveling from the soft palms pressing into my shoulders to every nerve, to my very core. I knew that my visible cheek must be flushed. I could not recall a time when a compliment had been given to me so eagerly, and in such honest, unclouded terms.
Not "Erik, the sketches for the conservatory look marvelous, but you must realize I can not reveal that you are the architect. The demon child sings like one of God's own cherubs, it's a damn irony that he looks like he's been rotting in the ground more years than he's been alive."
Not from Christine. There were no conditions, no buts, or qualifiers to accompany her gracious words. I could not help but tremble and flush at her sweetness. As new to love as a daft youth newly arrived to Paris from the countryside- no I had far less experience in the exquisite and complex science of love and passion than a Sorbonne-bound boy. I had not the skill of accepting praise untainted by scorn and pity. I said nothing.
Ever so slowly, Christine's right hand slid down the length of my arm, stopping at the cuff of my sleeve. Her fingertips traced the subtle etchings of my onyx cufflink, though her gaze remained fixed upon my reddened and uncertain visage.
"You don't believe me, do you?" Her touch ran over the back of my hand before resting her palm over my own tense fingers.
I found my mouth to be intolerably dry, but managed to somehow stutter a response, "No, not at all. You must not think that to be so."
Her demeanor softened, relief visible in the relaxation of her formerly-taut posture. "I am glad. You say you are unaccustomed to sharing your feelings, Erik, but you have revealed more emotion to me than any friend or acquaintance."
I smiled the smile of the uncomfortable daft gentleman, perpetually ignorant of the intentions of the fairer sex, and unwillingly to test the boundaries planted by the object of his affection.
"You told me once, after one of my first lessons, that music was the greatest of languages, because every person in this vast world, "Her eyes brightened as she spoke, catching the gleam of the startlingly beautiful stained glass.
My adoration and amazement for the woman-child sitting before me, stroking the back of my palm with her thumb, continued to grow. Before the end of the evening, my heart would be full, and incapable of pumping my blood. Carrying my intense love for Christine Daae would be its sole function- a love that I knew would eventually kill us both, somehow.
"Erik, when you speak, it is with greater passion and truth than any other living soul. You must realize the impact that your music-the most sublime of languages- has upon me. I could never allow myself. . .I would," Abruptly, Christine went silent and shuddered. Her body turned, head bent low as in prayer, her caress, a moment made memory.
"What Christine?"
"Surely, it would be improper. You would think me impertinent. I couldn't bear you to think ill of me, Erik."
"I never could." For God's sake, I was pleading!
"You have been so honest with me tonight, Angel-"
"Not an angel, dearest, only Erik."
"But I can not. . .Erik, I am so sorry. . .I lack the courage to do the same. . ."
With all the tenderness I could muster in my current ecstasy, I reached out to her, gently turning her cheek. There were tears welling up in her eyes. What had happened tonight? What had I done to upset her so? I'd never felt so addled and helpless to end my vexation.
I forced her eyes to reside within my own, silently requesting that her tears not fall down the precious contours of her face. "There is nothing you can not do, Christine, nothing you can say would make me think any less of you. You are the world to me. The only thing of any value, any joy I have known- you have been its source."
My hand ignored the protestations of my mind. I pulled the small crimson jewelry box from the refuge of my coat pocket. I could not retreat. My heart had made the decision, neglecting reason and reality with a shameless abandon.
As she took in this new object, as I watched her make the discovery and fathom its possibilities, I believe we both forgot the simple act of breathing.