Chapter 14
Yulia settled herself in the passageway from the mirror to Erik's lair, with frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks involuntarily. Even if she went down, she wouldn't be able to make any difference.
All her planning and scheming had been for nothing. She would receive no knowledge or protection from Erik, as he would be dead by the end of the night. As for Daaé, the girl's friendship with her was genuine, and Yulia knew her lies to the child were inexcusable. In any case, the mob would no doubt take her for the Phantom's accomplice. And then there was Raoul. The Vicomte had reacted like a little schoolboy; she had kissed him the way a common harlot would. Any respect he had had for her political mind was certainly gone, as well.
The worst part of the matter was that she cared at all. They were pawns! Even Erik, whom she admired for his genius, was just another worthless person at her disposal. What sort of a fool was she? Cowering in a tunnel while her friends, if she even deserved to call them that, were no doubt being ripped apart at that very moment. It was a disgusting situation she had gotten herself into.
Raoul was too self-assured and pompous, but that was attributable to his noble heritage. He was still a sweet, honorable little boy at heart. Christine was far too naïve and gullible, but she had a sweet and caring nature, and her unwillingness to hurt anyone was probably part of her problem in regards to Raoul and Erik. Yulia sighed. Erik. If ever she needed proof that the world was a cold, dark place, Erik was it. His peculiar nature and episodes of madness were clearly the result of humanity's treatment of him. And yet, despite all that, there was something darkly alluring about him. Yulia was forced to admit to herself, however, that had he lacked his enormous intellect, she would have treated him with the same horrified distain the rest of the world had.
Disgusted with herself and emotionally exhausted, Yulia curled up by her lamp in the passageway and fell asleep.
Meg Giry found herself continually looking over her shoulder as she crept home, a delicate treasure wrapped in her cloak. Every face she saw seemed malicious as she scurried through the night back to her small home.
When she finally stepped through the door, she sighed with relief. Her childish trust in the goodness of the human race had been greatly diminished as she had watched the frenzied company tear their the Opera ghost's underground dwelling.
"Meg?" Mme. Giry called. "Oh, thank God you're alright!"
Her mother embraced her tightly, which shocked the ballet rat slightly.
Mme. Giry quickly regained her exacting manner. "Meg, didn't I tell not to go down there? You could've been injured, or worse…"
Wordlessly, Meg unwrapped the cloth of her cloak to reveal the porcelain mask to her mother.
"Meg…"
"Where is Christine?"
"I don't know."
"And Raoul?"
"I don't…"
"The…ghost?"
Mme. Giry shook her head. "No one knows, Meg. I'm sorry."
The girl sank into a chair. "They're okay. They have to be," she said.
"My child, I—let's wait until morning, shall we? I'm sure everything will be in a brighter light, then."
Meg nodded and obeyed.
"Please just try to get some rest, Christine; you'll feel better in the morning," Raoul said as Christine surveyed the guest room she had been given at her fiancé's estate.
She turned to him and stated, "You're angry with me."
"No, I'm not. Christine, I'm just relieved you got out of there safely! It'll be okay, now. We're together."
"Why? Why are you angry?"
"I—" He sighed. "The way you kissed him, and held him…it was a shock. But it's all right! You saved us!"
"Oh." Christine sat on the bed. "But, you can kiss Yulia?"
Raoul stepped back. "Christine? You think I kissed her? Christine, I love you! It was Mlle. Kazakova who—"
Christine raised her hand. "I'm sorry, Raoul. Tonight has been…please, I just want some rest."
He nodded. "I understand." He kissed her on the forward and left.
The young woman sighed. She only wanted a simple life; why were things so complicated? She couldn't marry Raoul; she would not be reduced to being a trophy wife. She couldn't go back to the Opera, either. That much was certain.
Christine's eyes began to well up with tears. She had nothing, neither a career nor a husband. She was alone and had nothing left to live for. She curled up into a fetal position, hugging her pillow.
Yulia woke up in the dark with a very stiff neck. Remembering what had happened, she triggered the mirror, re-lit her lamp, and rushed down to the lair, even forgoing her usual hesitation about the boat.
Yulia was horrified when she saw the state of Erik's abode; it was worse than she had thought it would be.
"M. Erik!" she called.
Nothing.
"Please, sir! Please come out! Please be alive…"
"Your concern is truly touching, Yulia Alexandrovna," a voice drawled.
"M. Erik? Please, come out!"
"Come out? How? You can't see ghosts, Mademoiselle."
"You're not dead! I swear, I won't tell a soul you're still here! Please, show yourself!"
She felt an icy hand on her bare shoulder, as she was still in her costume from Don Juan.
Yulia spun around to see a drained, unmasked phantom.
"Content, Yulia Alexandrovna?" he asked wearily.
"Erik, you idiot!" She hugged him, and he quickly pulled away.
"Mademoiselle?"
"Please, you can't stay here. Come with me; you'll be safe at my flat. Please, M. Erik…"
"I will not put you at risk. In any case, I have no use for your sympathy; you can't replace what I've lost."
"Your home?"
He shook his head. "I have no home, certainly not this underground prison. Go home, child; forget me."
"I won't think less of you if you accept my help. Please, you can't stay down here!"
"I shall do what I see fit, Yulia Alexandrovna!"
Yulia backed down. "Forgive me my intrusion; I know you hate to be bothered, but if you ever need anything, anything at all, I would gladly—"
"Erik!"
They both turned to see a flustered Christine.
Yulia's stomach fell to the floor. What was Daaé doing here?
She approached them. "Erik, forgive me. I shouldn't have been so…childish."
"Christine, you never have to ask for my forgiveness. I will always…" He remembered his mask was gone and turned away from her, covered his face with his hands.
"It's okay," Christine said quietly.
He turned to her slowly. "Christine?"
"Erik, I'll…I'll…" She took a breath and bowed her head. "I'll be your wife."
Yulia's jaw dropped, but Erik was so overcome with genuine joy he didn't seem to want to notice or acknowledge her hesitation. The man fell at the chorus girl's feet, sobbing from happiness.
Yulia gritted her teeth, but then said convincingly, "I'm happy for you. I'll…go now. Best of luck…" She began to fumble out of the lair.
"Yulka!"
She turned to face Erik, shocked that he had finally addressed her as such. "Yes?"
"T-thank you."
Yulia nodded and then fled, her conflicting emotions eating away at her.
Yulia fell on her bed, crying hysterically. It wasn't fair! Daaé was supposed to look for comfort, not marriage! Now they'd be together, and she knew she had no right to infringe on that happiness. At least Erik would finally be happy.
Yulia wiped her eyes. Christine had looked dead. Then again, it was probably because of some fight with Raoul.
"So be it," Yulia thought bitterly, "let them be happy. I'll win his favor by singing. Even if he doesn't care for me, he'll care for my voice. I'll be the best singer in France!"
"No, that isn't right. Why should I care what he thinks of me? I'll go home…"
The girl began sorting out her situation. Christine and Erik would be married. She wasn't in love with the man, and she couldn't be counted as friend to either of them. It was merely vexing that, Yulia knew, Christine was not ready for such a commitment, to anyone.
She sighed. "At least they're alive," she thought. With that thought, she fell into a restless sleep.
Yulia settled herself in the passageway from the mirror to Erik's lair, with frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks involuntarily. Even if she went down, she wouldn't be able to make any difference.
All her planning and scheming had been for nothing. She would receive no knowledge or protection from Erik, as he would be dead by the end of the night. As for Daaé, the girl's friendship with her was genuine, and Yulia knew her lies to the child were inexcusable. In any case, the mob would no doubt take her for the Phantom's accomplice. And then there was Raoul. The Vicomte had reacted like a little schoolboy; she had kissed him the way a common harlot would. Any respect he had had for her political mind was certainly gone, as well.
The worst part of the matter was that she cared at all. They were pawns! Even Erik, whom she admired for his genius, was just another worthless person at her disposal. What sort of a fool was she? Cowering in a tunnel while her friends, if she even deserved to call them that, were no doubt being ripped apart at that very moment. It was a disgusting situation she had gotten herself into.
Raoul was too self-assured and pompous, but that was attributable to his noble heritage. He was still a sweet, honorable little boy at heart. Christine was far too naïve and gullible, but she had a sweet and caring nature, and her unwillingness to hurt anyone was probably part of her problem in regards to Raoul and Erik. Yulia sighed. Erik. If ever she needed proof that the world was a cold, dark place, Erik was it. His peculiar nature and episodes of madness were clearly the result of humanity's treatment of him. And yet, despite all that, there was something darkly alluring about him. Yulia was forced to admit to herself, however, that had he lacked his enormous intellect, she would have treated him with the same horrified distain the rest of the world had.
Disgusted with herself and emotionally exhausted, Yulia curled up by her lamp in the passageway and fell asleep.
Meg Giry found herself continually looking over her shoulder as she crept home, a delicate treasure wrapped in her cloak. Every face she saw seemed malicious as she scurried through the night back to her small home.
When she finally stepped through the door, she sighed with relief. Her childish trust in the goodness of the human race had been greatly diminished as she had watched the frenzied company tear their the Opera ghost's underground dwelling.
"Meg?" Mme. Giry called. "Oh, thank God you're alright!"
Her mother embraced her tightly, which shocked the ballet rat slightly.
Mme. Giry quickly regained her exacting manner. "Meg, didn't I tell not to go down there? You could've been injured, or worse…"
Wordlessly, Meg unwrapped the cloth of her cloak to reveal the porcelain mask to her mother.
"Meg…"
"Where is Christine?"
"I don't know."
"And Raoul?"
"I don't…"
"The…ghost?"
Mme. Giry shook her head. "No one knows, Meg. I'm sorry."
The girl sank into a chair. "They're okay. They have to be," she said.
"My child, I—let's wait until morning, shall we? I'm sure everything will be in a brighter light, then."
Meg nodded and obeyed.
"Please just try to get some rest, Christine; you'll feel better in the morning," Raoul said as Christine surveyed the guest room she had been given at her fiancé's estate.
She turned to him and stated, "You're angry with me."
"No, I'm not. Christine, I'm just relieved you got out of there safely! It'll be okay, now. We're together."
"Why? Why are you angry?"
"I—" He sighed. "The way you kissed him, and held him…it was a shock. But it's all right! You saved us!"
"Oh." Christine sat on the bed. "But, you can kiss Yulia?"
Raoul stepped back. "Christine? You think I kissed her? Christine, I love you! It was Mlle. Kazakova who—"
Christine raised her hand. "I'm sorry, Raoul. Tonight has been…please, I just want some rest."
He nodded. "I understand." He kissed her on the forward and left.
The young woman sighed. She only wanted a simple life; why were things so complicated? She couldn't marry Raoul; she would not be reduced to being a trophy wife. She couldn't go back to the Opera, either. That much was certain.
Christine's eyes began to well up with tears. She had nothing, neither a career nor a husband. She was alone and had nothing left to live for. She curled up into a fetal position, hugging her pillow.
Yulia woke up in the dark with a very stiff neck. Remembering what had happened, she triggered the mirror, re-lit her lamp, and rushed down to the lair, even forgoing her usual hesitation about the boat.
Yulia was horrified when she saw the state of Erik's abode; it was worse than she had thought it would be.
"M. Erik!" she called.
Nothing.
"Please, sir! Please come out! Please be alive…"
"Your concern is truly touching, Yulia Alexandrovna," a voice drawled.
"M. Erik? Please, come out!"
"Come out? How? You can't see ghosts, Mademoiselle."
"You're not dead! I swear, I won't tell a soul you're still here! Please, show yourself!"
She felt an icy hand on her bare shoulder, as she was still in her costume from Don Juan.
Yulia spun around to see a drained, unmasked phantom.
"Content, Yulia Alexandrovna?" he asked wearily.
"Erik, you idiot!" She hugged him, and he quickly pulled away.
"Mademoiselle?"
"Please, you can't stay here. Come with me; you'll be safe at my flat. Please, M. Erik…"
"I will not put you at risk. In any case, I have no use for your sympathy; you can't replace what I've lost."
"Your home?"
He shook his head. "I have no home, certainly not this underground prison. Go home, child; forget me."
"I won't think less of you if you accept my help. Please, you can't stay down here!"
"I shall do what I see fit, Yulia Alexandrovna!"
Yulia backed down. "Forgive me my intrusion; I know you hate to be bothered, but if you ever need anything, anything at all, I would gladly—"
"Erik!"
They both turned to see a flustered Christine.
Yulia's stomach fell to the floor. What was Daaé doing here?
She approached them. "Erik, forgive me. I shouldn't have been so…childish."
"Christine, you never have to ask for my forgiveness. I will always…" He remembered his mask was gone and turned away from her, covered his face with his hands.
"It's okay," Christine said quietly.
He turned to her slowly. "Christine?"
"Erik, I'll…I'll…" She took a breath and bowed her head. "I'll be your wife."
Yulia's jaw dropped, but Erik was so overcome with genuine joy he didn't seem to want to notice or acknowledge her hesitation. The man fell at the chorus girl's feet, sobbing from happiness.
Yulia gritted her teeth, but then said convincingly, "I'm happy for you. I'll…go now. Best of luck…" She began to fumble out of the lair.
"Yulka!"
She turned to face Erik, shocked that he had finally addressed her as such. "Yes?"
"T-thank you."
Yulia nodded and then fled, her conflicting emotions eating away at her.
Yulia fell on her bed, crying hysterically. It wasn't fair! Daaé was supposed to look for comfort, not marriage! Now they'd be together, and she knew she had no right to infringe on that happiness. At least Erik would finally be happy.
Yulia wiped her eyes. Christine had looked dead. Then again, it was probably because of some fight with Raoul.
"So be it," Yulia thought bitterly, "let them be happy. I'll win his favor by singing. Even if he doesn't care for me, he'll care for my voice. I'll be the best singer in France!"
"No, that isn't right. Why should I care what he thinks of me? I'll go home…"
The girl began sorting out her situation. Christine and Erik would be married. She wasn't in love with the man, and she couldn't be counted as friend to either of them. It was merely vexing that, Yulia knew, Christine was not ready for such a commitment, to anyone.
She sighed. "At least they're alive," she thought. With that thought, she fell into a restless sleep.