Chapter 18
"Yulia, please, I beg you! Let me stay here!"
"No! I'm selling my flat! I need the money," Yulia said.
Christine looked at her with desperation. "Erik has so many things…if I asked, surely, he'd let me give them to you. He has jewels from Persia! Silks from the Orient! Please, Yulia, anything you ask…"
"I ask that you stop this insanity and show some respect for you husband."
"Yulia, what do you think he is? A demigod? I thought he was an angel, but he's a murderer…"
"And your husband. You freely consented to marry; offered to, really. He let you go. You returned of your own free will. Grow up, God damn you!"
They stared at each other for a moment.
"How's the soup?" Yulia asked.
"Fine. Very well seasoned," Christine replied.
Yulia sipped her wine while Christine twiddled her thumbs.
"Where is Meg? She's usually not late."
Yulia shrugged.
Christine sighed. "You didn't answer my question. What do you think of Erik?"
"What do you think I think of him?" Yulia asked, arching a brow.
"Are you in love with him, or you do simply enjoy kissing the men I'm associated with?" Christine asked with uncharacteristic sharpness.
Yulia leaned back in her chair. "I find him…amusing. He fascinates me. Other men are so dull. You're lucky, Daaé. He won't reduce you to merely his property, his trophy, like other men. You can at least be grateful to him for that. Besides, he gave you your voice. Granted, you had talent, but he was the spark that ignited the flame, so to speak."
"He's mad. No sane man would lurk about underground…Lord, what have I done?"
"There's no genius without a hint of madness," Yulia remarked.
"Erik told me to give you a message, a 'bit of wisdom,' as he called it. He doesn't want you to make a fool of yourself in America."
"I've been studying English."
"He said, 'a sharp tongue does not always mean a sharp wit.'"
"Well, I'm sure M. Erik said that, as there's no way you could've come up with that on your own."
"You're so rude! I come here as your guest—"
"You invited yourself over!"
Christine stood up. "Forgive me, Yulia; you're a wonderful cook, but no food is worth this amount of insult…"
She was interrupted by a loud banging on Yulia's door.
"What is it now—oh, hello, Meg," Yulia said.
Meg ran right past her hostess and up to Christine. "Christine! Oh, Christine!" she cried, clearly upset.
"Meg, what is it?" Christine asked, concerned.
"Mother just told me…"
"What is it? Is the Opera bankrupt?" Yulia asked.
"Yulia," Christine warned gravely.
"Oh, Christine, it's Raoul! He's dead!"
"Oh, my God! What did Erik—"
The little dancer shook her head. "It wasn't the Opera ghost; he shot himself!"
Christine fell on the floor, sobbing hysterically. Yulia and Meg helped her into the tiny parlor.
"Why? Why would he do such a thing?"
"He loved you, and you left without reason or notice. Do you understand how fragile men are, now? If I let you go to America in my place, Erik would do the same! You'd have the blood of two men on your hands!"
"It's not my fault!" Christine cried.
"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction," Yulia stated. "Besides, I suppose it was his choice." She sat down next to Christine. "He did seem rather depressed. I'm sorry, Daaé; I know you cared about him," she said with genuine sympathy.
"I loved him—no, I didn't. I didn't love him until I back to Erik and realized what I'd lost. Oh, dear God! Why did this happen? I can't go back…I can't live with no one to turn to…"
"You have me!" Meg said, hugging her.
"What'll I tell Erik? He'll think I'm unhappy with him and…and…I don't know what he'll do!"
"But, you are unhappy with him."
Meg glared at Yulia.
"He was my friend…" Christine said quietly.
"Oh, Christine if there's anything I can do…" Meg offered.
Christine shook her head and wiped her eyes. "No. I…I can handle this on my own; I have to. Erik can't know."
"He probably does, already," Yulia said.
"If he does, I doubt he'll tell me. So…I can't let him know I know."
"Oh, Christine…you can't stay down there with him! I'll ask Mother if you can stay with us…"
"M. Erik knows where you live, and Daaé is his wife. Christine, you need to talk to Erik about this."
"He won't understand!"
"Does he love you?"
"He frightens me…"
"Does he love you?" Yulia demanded.
"I suppose…but he's mad!"
Yulia threw her arms up in disgust. "Would you like me to speak with him?"
"No!" Christine cried.
Meg looked glumly at the floor. "I'm sorry, Christine; we don't have the money to get to safely from here."
"Oh, Meg…you don't have to do anything…"
"Because I'm expected to?" Yulia asked.
Meg glared at her.
"She has to take responsibility—"
"If you were in her situation you'd be trying to get out, too! Even now, you're running away!" Meg snapped.
"Please, stop…both of you," Christine pleaded.
"Christine, please, come with me. You need to at least rest for a while."
"I…I can't stay long. Erik has been making preparations for a secluded residence…to get away from the city, from people…I don't know where…Oh, Meg…but, if I go with you…what will he do? Dear God, help me, help me…"
"It is better to ask for resolve and strength than favors," Yulia said as gently as she could manage.
"I have to go back…he can't see I've been crying…"
Yulia and Meg helped Christine to her feet.
"There. Better, now?" Yulia inquired.
Christine nodded slightly.
"She doesn't love him!" Meg exclaimed.
"She doesn't have to; she merely has to treat him with proper respect and kindness. That will be sufficient."
"Sufficient?" Christine repeated, uncertain. "How long can I bear to live like this?" She looked from Yulia to Meg, her eyes begging them for answers she could accept.
No such answer came. Yulia apologized to both of them, and Meg silently walked Christine back to the Opera.
A week later, Yulia peered out over the deck and breathed in the salty air. Her cousins were far from wealthy, but they had managed to afford a second class ticket for her, which was a far step above those poor wretches down in third class. While she had saved the majority of the money from the sale of her flat, she had bought an expensive looking new outfit for her arrival in the New World.
Her loose hair blew her face as she pondered over the situation she had left behind her. The young Vicomte was dead. Despite his flaws, Yulia couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt over what could have been a happy ending for him, a happy ending for him and Christine. The chorus girl was now married to the man that had both inspired her and terrified her. When she had departed, Daaé seemed only to recall the terror, and was living in a waking nightmare, to her mind. And Erik didn't know. Yulia knew that he had and would continue to go out of his way to make his young bride happy, and Christine would do her best to keep him in his dream world, because, as long as he was happy, she felt a bit safer.
It was cruel twist of fate that her plan had failed. If things had gone her way, Raoul and Christine would be married and she would be with Erik, as a student and companion; Yulia had craved a protector. However, now, instead of her cynicism, Yulia was bringing a newfound confidence with her rather than arrogance. She knew she was at least partly responsible for the situation Christine now faced, and she couldn't rationalize her way out of it.
And that was fine. Her parting words to Christine were that of an apology, which was not only for the argument that had occurred.
Yulia sighed. She doubted she would ever know what would become of Christine and her Angel of Music, and that suited her just fine. Christine would either mature, or another tragedy would take place.
In either case, neither scenario involved Yulia or her meddling.
She pulled out the small bouquet of roses she had bought before boarding to perfume her tiny shared cabin. She picked one red rose out and tossed it over the side into the sea.
"Happily ever after, indeed."
~Fin
"Yulia, please, I beg you! Let me stay here!"
"No! I'm selling my flat! I need the money," Yulia said.
Christine looked at her with desperation. "Erik has so many things…if I asked, surely, he'd let me give them to you. He has jewels from Persia! Silks from the Orient! Please, Yulia, anything you ask…"
"I ask that you stop this insanity and show some respect for you husband."
"Yulia, what do you think he is? A demigod? I thought he was an angel, but he's a murderer…"
"And your husband. You freely consented to marry; offered to, really. He let you go. You returned of your own free will. Grow up, God damn you!"
They stared at each other for a moment.
"How's the soup?" Yulia asked.
"Fine. Very well seasoned," Christine replied.
Yulia sipped her wine while Christine twiddled her thumbs.
"Where is Meg? She's usually not late."
Yulia shrugged.
Christine sighed. "You didn't answer my question. What do you think of Erik?"
"What do you think I think of him?" Yulia asked, arching a brow.
"Are you in love with him, or you do simply enjoy kissing the men I'm associated with?" Christine asked with uncharacteristic sharpness.
Yulia leaned back in her chair. "I find him…amusing. He fascinates me. Other men are so dull. You're lucky, Daaé. He won't reduce you to merely his property, his trophy, like other men. You can at least be grateful to him for that. Besides, he gave you your voice. Granted, you had talent, but he was the spark that ignited the flame, so to speak."
"He's mad. No sane man would lurk about underground…Lord, what have I done?"
"There's no genius without a hint of madness," Yulia remarked.
"Erik told me to give you a message, a 'bit of wisdom,' as he called it. He doesn't want you to make a fool of yourself in America."
"I've been studying English."
"He said, 'a sharp tongue does not always mean a sharp wit.'"
"Well, I'm sure M. Erik said that, as there's no way you could've come up with that on your own."
"You're so rude! I come here as your guest—"
"You invited yourself over!"
Christine stood up. "Forgive me, Yulia; you're a wonderful cook, but no food is worth this amount of insult…"
She was interrupted by a loud banging on Yulia's door.
"What is it now—oh, hello, Meg," Yulia said.
Meg ran right past her hostess and up to Christine. "Christine! Oh, Christine!" she cried, clearly upset.
"Meg, what is it?" Christine asked, concerned.
"Mother just told me…"
"What is it? Is the Opera bankrupt?" Yulia asked.
"Yulia," Christine warned gravely.
"Oh, Christine, it's Raoul! He's dead!"
"Oh, my God! What did Erik—"
The little dancer shook her head. "It wasn't the Opera ghost; he shot himself!"
Christine fell on the floor, sobbing hysterically. Yulia and Meg helped her into the tiny parlor.
"Why? Why would he do such a thing?"
"He loved you, and you left without reason or notice. Do you understand how fragile men are, now? If I let you go to America in my place, Erik would do the same! You'd have the blood of two men on your hands!"
"It's not my fault!" Christine cried.
"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction," Yulia stated. "Besides, I suppose it was his choice." She sat down next to Christine. "He did seem rather depressed. I'm sorry, Daaé; I know you cared about him," she said with genuine sympathy.
"I loved him—no, I didn't. I didn't love him until I back to Erik and realized what I'd lost. Oh, dear God! Why did this happen? I can't go back…I can't live with no one to turn to…"
"You have me!" Meg said, hugging her.
"What'll I tell Erik? He'll think I'm unhappy with him and…and…I don't know what he'll do!"
"But, you are unhappy with him."
Meg glared at Yulia.
"He was my friend…" Christine said quietly.
"Oh, Christine if there's anything I can do…" Meg offered.
Christine shook her head and wiped her eyes. "No. I…I can handle this on my own; I have to. Erik can't know."
"He probably does, already," Yulia said.
"If he does, I doubt he'll tell me. So…I can't let him know I know."
"Oh, Christine…you can't stay down there with him! I'll ask Mother if you can stay with us…"
"M. Erik knows where you live, and Daaé is his wife. Christine, you need to talk to Erik about this."
"He won't understand!"
"Does he love you?"
"He frightens me…"
"Does he love you?" Yulia demanded.
"I suppose…but he's mad!"
Yulia threw her arms up in disgust. "Would you like me to speak with him?"
"No!" Christine cried.
Meg looked glumly at the floor. "I'm sorry, Christine; we don't have the money to get to safely from here."
"Oh, Meg…you don't have to do anything…"
"Because I'm expected to?" Yulia asked.
Meg glared at her.
"She has to take responsibility—"
"If you were in her situation you'd be trying to get out, too! Even now, you're running away!" Meg snapped.
"Please, stop…both of you," Christine pleaded.
"Christine, please, come with me. You need to at least rest for a while."
"I…I can't stay long. Erik has been making preparations for a secluded residence…to get away from the city, from people…I don't know where…Oh, Meg…but, if I go with you…what will he do? Dear God, help me, help me…"
"It is better to ask for resolve and strength than favors," Yulia said as gently as she could manage.
"I have to go back…he can't see I've been crying…"
Yulia and Meg helped Christine to her feet.
"There. Better, now?" Yulia inquired.
Christine nodded slightly.
"She doesn't love him!" Meg exclaimed.
"She doesn't have to; she merely has to treat him with proper respect and kindness. That will be sufficient."
"Sufficient?" Christine repeated, uncertain. "How long can I bear to live like this?" She looked from Yulia to Meg, her eyes begging them for answers she could accept.
No such answer came. Yulia apologized to both of them, and Meg silently walked Christine back to the Opera.
A week later, Yulia peered out over the deck and breathed in the salty air. Her cousins were far from wealthy, but they had managed to afford a second class ticket for her, which was a far step above those poor wretches down in third class. While she had saved the majority of the money from the sale of her flat, she had bought an expensive looking new outfit for her arrival in the New World.
Her loose hair blew her face as she pondered over the situation she had left behind her. The young Vicomte was dead. Despite his flaws, Yulia couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt over what could have been a happy ending for him, a happy ending for him and Christine. The chorus girl was now married to the man that had both inspired her and terrified her. When she had departed, Daaé seemed only to recall the terror, and was living in a waking nightmare, to her mind. And Erik didn't know. Yulia knew that he had and would continue to go out of his way to make his young bride happy, and Christine would do her best to keep him in his dream world, because, as long as he was happy, she felt a bit safer.
It was cruel twist of fate that her plan had failed. If things had gone her way, Raoul and Christine would be married and she would be with Erik, as a student and companion; Yulia had craved a protector. However, now, instead of her cynicism, Yulia was bringing a newfound confidence with her rather than arrogance. She knew she was at least partly responsible for the situation Christine now faced, and she couldn't rationalize her way out of it.
And that was fine. Her parting words to Christine were that of an apology, which was not only for the argument that had occurred.
Yulia sighed. She doubted she would ever know what would become of Christine and her Angel of Music, and that suited her just fine. Christine would either mature, or another tragedy would take place.
In either case, neither scenario involved Yulia or her meddling.
She pulled out the small bouquet of roses she had bought before boarding to perfume her tiny shared cabin. She picked one red rose out and tossed it over the side into the sea.
"Happily ever after, indeed."
~Fin