That morning and for the fortnight following, I experienced an amount of happiness and companionship unknown to even my wildest dreaming. Christine Daae was the light of the coming morning when the sun remained hidden from us, so far below the waking world. Looking back on that precious handful of days, two weeks' time, it now seems quite possible that I experienced my first feelings of peace, the only time in my long years that my soul had ever been at rest and contented- made so by finding its twin in another person.
Not only did she release the tension that had kept me closed from so many of life's pleasures and simple joys, but our relationship began to exorcize the ghosts of sadness and solitude that haunted her own heart. We had met one another as orphans-it was only natural that we would seek one another as a refuge from the homelessness of life without a family.
As soon as the clock chimed six in the morning, Christine would reluctantly slip from my arms and soak in a hot bath adjoining her bedroom. I would hear the water running as the dawn came, and the faint sound of her bare, wet feet padding across the cold floor as she made her way to the boudoir to dress for the day's rehearsal. And as a man who has savored his first real taste of joy, I questioned the reality of my happiness.
I could not stop myself from watching her, marveling over the seemingly ordinary routines of a young woman, such as combing her mussed hair or coordinating her evening attire with the proper set of earrings. A man in love is crazed, but a man who receives the love he so craves, is completely lost to reason-with no desire to recover. Her every pace and smile proved a marvel to me in those halcyon days and clandestine nights. We enjoyed one another, she must have been happy. I could see it in the way she glanced at me across the library whilst turning the pages of a novel she'd picked from my collection-it was a favorite activity of ours; to read in companionable silence before wordlessly making our way to her chambers to relieve the stresses of the day, where we would find solace in the melding of our bodies. I slept through the night when Christine was pressed against me, her steady breathing serving as the lullaby I never heard in childhood.
I know she loved me then. I swear to God, she did. Why else, Christine, why else would you have offered me all you had to give as a woman? Not once, but many times. I thought I was enough for you-how could I believe differently. . .your mouth on my flesh still burns. Only now, it is just the ache of the tender memory. . .a more brutal reminder of pain than any scar upon my face. Yes, you loved me then. What was it that caused you to turn away from me?
Yes, a man in love is crazed, a man who receives the love he so craves is obsessed and void of reason...and the man that loses the love he has managed to taste...if even for a single moment. . .that man is haunted for an eternity. Christine, though you still walk the same streets and corridors, though your voice echoes against the walls of my theatre, you are something intangible. So close to me that I could touch you once more. If you would only remember that time when you wished to prove your feelings to me. I know you loved me then, as I know every note I have ever composed for you, as I know these labyrinthine halls, and the curves and shallows of your body.
And now, you haunt me. Neither one of us shall ever be free of the other.