The dark gloom of the graveyard would normally make Christine feel uneasy, but as she sat on the cold steps in front of her father's mausoleum, she felt a dreadful emptiness. The feeling had started consuming her the previous night when she had turned away from her angel and allowed Raoul to take her away from the Opera Populaire.
Her angel who she had abandoned so she could have a predictable, comfortable life with Raoul, though she wasn't even sure that was what she wanted anymore. The idea of being a Vicomtesse after being a chorus girl most of her life made her feel squeamish. Along with the title were the standards she had to uphold, and performing on a stage was frowned upon.
Everything she had worked for, everything her angel had given to her, gone with one rushed decision. Why couldn't she have just stayed with him when she went back to return the ring?
An onslaught of tears came over her at the image of her angel sitting broken in front of his music box, crying while confessing his love to her. The hope that registered on his face when he had looked up at her had shattered her already fragile heart. Why hadn't she been strong enough to turn Raoul away?
Her body heaved as she sobbed harder and she bowed her head into her freezing hands, allowing her body to be taken by her emotions. She deserved the pain after what she had done to him. A harsh wave of regret hit her with so much force she felt she couldn't breath. The past several months were filled with foolish mistakes and decisions that she wished with all her might that she could take back.
It was that damned night that had started it all! Her morbid curiosity peaked when she laid eyes on his mask and it had been too much to bear and soon, it was torn from his face by her own hands. He had taken to trusting her enough to lead her to his home and she had to hurt him because she couldn't control her impulses. It was a ghastly violation that she should never have committed and she would truly do anything to take it back.
Christine lifted her face when she heard footsteps crunching through the snow and knowing it had to be Raoul, who had stayed in the carriage, she quickly wiped away her tears. He couldn't know she had been crying for the man he hated most.
The footsteps stopped directly behind her and she waited for a touch, a voice, anything from Raoul to break through the haze she was in. Though, after a minute or so, nothing came. It was almost as if nobody stood behind her.
With a sigh, Christine shifted her body to look behind her, "Raoul, I–" but she halted her speech, noticing instead a younger woman, disheveled hair and dark kohl around her bright green eyes. Her clothing was lightly tattered, perhaps a woman without a home who had seen her crying and wanted to offer comfort.
She stared down at Christine with a wide grin, and eyes as if she were looking at a valuable possession. Without saying a word, the woman sat next to Christine on the steps, almost close enough so that their thighs were touching.
"Tell me, why are you crying?" the woman asked, her voice soft and airy, almost ethereal.
Christine looked down at her lap, to her folded hands that she twisted due to nervousness, then she whispered, "I don't wish to speak about it."
The woman nodded and looked over her shoulder at the mausoleum, "Is this your father?"
"Yes, he passed away when I was young, I miss him dearly," Christine peeked up at the woman, unsure of the intentions of the stranger.
"I lost my father when I was young as well," the woman said, taking one of Christine's hands in her own.
The shock of burning heat surprised Christine and she jolted back slightly, pulling her hand from the woman's grasp. She rubbed the spot where a burn would have been, her eyes searching for a mark of any kind, but none was seen.
"I see now, just as I thought," the woman breathed as she leaned towards Christine. "You regret the choice you made last night, down in the bowels of the opera."
Christine looked at the woman with shock horror, her eyes wide and entire body trembling. How could this woman know of what happened down there? It had only been Raoul, her angel, and her.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Christine asked urgently, leaning away from the woman.
A soft smile formed on the strangers lips, "I don't have a name and I'm here to be of assistance it seems. I have no intention of doing you any harm."
"Assistance? How could you possibly fix what I have done?" Christine cried, her tears flowing once again. She was angry, scared, yet hopeful.
Hope? What hope would she have to change the past? There was no such thing, though if there was…
No, she couldn't think of such things! She was a good Catholic woman!
Her angel came to her mind again and Christine shuddered, imagining what it would be like to be back in his arms, holding him, touching him, kissing him. The feverish kiss they shared in the lake still lingered on her lips and she reached up and ran her fingers over the smooth skin. Her heart beat wildly thinking of returning to him and allowing him to take her away, to kiss her again.
She looked at the woman who sat silently, then she started desperately clawing at the cloak the woman wore around her body. Her words were frantic, nearly choked, "Can you help me? Please, I'll pay anything, do anything. Please!"
The woman laughed, "My dear, no payment is expected of you. If you truly want my help, then I will be of assistance, but you must do exactly as I say. Promise me."
"I promise! I promise on my father's grave," Christine cried, prepared to do anything to return to her angel.
"Alright," the woman dug into her pocket, producing a candle the color of blood, "Light this before you sleep next and anything you wish will be yours. No one but you can be in the room while it is lit and once you lay in bed, you cannot get back up or it won't work."
Christine greedily took the candle in her hands, running her fingers over the wax, completely mesmerized at the idea of returning to the night she met her angel face to face for the first time. But, would it work?
"What happens if–" Christine started, but when she looked up, the woman was gone. There weren't even any footsteps in the snow, or an indentation of her sitting on the step next to her. She looked around wildly, standing and turning in circles to see if she could spot the mystery woman, but she was really truly gone.
Suddenly, a loud booming voice overtook the graveyard causing Christine to shriek, nearly dropping the candle in her hand. The only evidence that her encounter had even happened.
"Christine! It's freezing, are you nearly finished?" Raoul asked, rushing towards her.
She shoved the candle between her breasts, not wanting it to be found, after all, she couldn't compromise it if she were to light it that night. She turned fully towards him, smiling at the man she loved dearly, but wasn't in love with.
It would be hard parting with Raoul after all they had been through, after all she had put him through. His gentle spirit and kind heart would be better spent on a woman who loved him as he loved her.
"Yes, let's return to the townhouse, I am very tired," Christine urged, unable to keep her racing thoughts at bay. The candle was all that was on her mind and she was excited, yet scared that it wouldn't work. God, it was absolutely against her beliefs to do such a thing, it was sinful but she didn't care. She needed her angel and the lengths she would go to to have him back were endless.
Raoul wrapped his arm around her shivering form and smiled down at her, "Anything for my future bride, come, let's get you home."
Christine nodded, and allowed him to lead her back to the carriage where he helped her inside before sitting directly across from her. He stared at her with his loving, doting eyes, exactly how her angel had looked at her numerous times. She quickly looked down, unable to look at the man she was going to betray, focusing on the hands she had folded in her lap.
"My love, is something bothering you?" Raoul asked. She could see him lean forward slightly and his hand rested on the fabric covering her knee.
"I'm just tired, when we get back, I will retire for the evening," she said, peeking up at him. He looked worried, his eyes darting back and forth over her face.
He let out a heavy sigh and sat back, "Of course, I understand. I have to make a trip to the opera house to answer a few questions anyway. Will you be alright if I leave you with the servants?"
"Quite alright," she assured him, turning her head to look out the carriage window. She couldn't lay her eyes on him at that moment, it hurt too much.
A comfortable silence fell over them for the rest of the carriage ride and soon, Christine saw the townhouse. She sat up, prepared to get inside and sleep as soon as possible, and opened the door just as the carriage stopped completely.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, Raoul joined her and grabbed her arm, pulling her against him. He was warm and smelled of peppermint, a smell Christine liked very much. She breathed deeply, knowing it was the last time she would be in his arms in such a way, committing the smell to memory.
"You go on inside, I will see you in the morning," Raoul spoke into her hair, placing light kisses on the top of her head.
Christine buried her face farther into his coat, not wanting to show the tears that threatened to well over. He held her tighter in return, and when she felt confident she wouldn't cry, she pulled back, looking up at him.
"I love you, Raoul," she whispered.
Stretching up on her toes, she placed her lips lightly on Raoul's, wanting to give him one last kiss. He pressed into her, parting his lips and allowing her to kiss him passionately, just as they had on the rooftop. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away, staring up at him, memorizing his soft eyes and flushed cheeks. She would surely see him again, in the past that is, so with one last peck on his lips, she turned away.
Once inside the townhouse, Christine bounded up the stairs and into her room where she locked the door to ensure no one would enter, then she removed her cloak, letting it pool to the floor. She reached into her dress and pulled out the blood red candle. She replaced the white one in the candle holder with it and pulled open the drawer of her bedside table, desperately searching for a matchbox.
She came out victorious and with trembling fingers, she struck one of the sticks, setting it aflame. She held it against the wick of the candle and waited until it lit on fire before pulling the match away and shaking it out. The flame was the same color as the candle and taller than she had ever seen. It produced loud crackling noises which died down after several seconds.
A wish, she needed to make a wish. Christine clasped her hands as if she were praying and spoke quietly, "I wish to return to my angel's home, to the moment I woke up in his bed the night of the gala."
Tearing her gaze from the candle, she slipped under her coverlet, hopeful that sleep would take her. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, imagining what she would do if the candle worked. Of course, she would run into her angel's arms and kiss him, but what of the after?
Did he have a home other than the opera house? Surely, he had to have plenty of money for one if not, after all, twenty thousand francs a month for years would be enough for a home for them.
Content, Christine closed her eyes, breathing deeply to soothe her racing heart and waited for sleep to claim her, however long it might take. Her angel would be waiting for her.
xXx
A pleasant familiar melody woke Christine from her sleep and she opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to her surroundings. There were scarlet sheets covering her, and through a black gossamer curtain, her eyes caught sight of a music box, a small monkey sat on top, a cymbal in each hand.
The candle! It worked!
Christine pulled the rope to raise the black curtain before swinging her legs over the side of the bed, rushing to the exit of the room but before she entered the main cavern, she stopped. She took several deep breaths, composing herself and attempting to bring normalcy over her. What would her angel think if she ran directly to him and kissed him? He would surely think of her as a madwoman!
With a shuddering breath, she exited the room, following the same path she took so long ago. As the massive organ came into view, so did the man who sat on the bench, pen in hand, scribbling on a sheet of paper. Her heart was thundering as she stepped closer, then he turned towards her, looking at her from over his shoulder before turning his attention back to his papers.
She moved the rest of the way towards him until she stood directly behind him, then she hesitantly reached out, placing her hands on his shoulders and snaking them up to his neck just as she had that night. His skin was so warm and so soft and he leaned back into her chest, the hair of his wig brushing against her bare chest.
With more confidence, she crept her left hand up to cup his bare cheek, not daring to touch his mask, a small amount of stubble scratching her palm. After a moment, she moved both of her hands down his chest and without a second thought, buried her face in his neck, unable to help herself any longer.
He shuddered and grabbed her forearms with trembling hands, his breath coming out in short stuttering gasps. She took a chance and ran her lips under his jaw, allowing the scent of roses to flood her mind. His hands tightened on her arms then he released her, standing quickly enough for her to lose her footing and fall backwards.
Christine fell on her rear, remembering when he had accidentally pushed her to the floor when she removed his mask. She looked up at him and he was shakily reaching out to her before pulling away, a look of anguish on his face. He opened his mouth several times as if wanting to speak, but before he could, she held out her hand as a silent request for assistance. She wanted so badly to show him that she wasn't upset that she had fallen, or that it was his fault at all.
He stared at her raised hand for a few seconds before grasping it with his own, his bare hand connecting with hers sent a spark through her body, causing her to let out a sigh.
"I apologize, I can be clumsy at times," she whispered, staring into his blue eyes which bore into her with doting adoration. Her angel–no, the man who stood before her moved closer, taking both of her hands in his and staring at them.
"Christine," he breathed, "My Christine, in my home."
She nodded quickly, claiming one of her hands and moving it back to his face, "Yes, I am here. Forever."
He swallowed hard and raised both of his hands to her face, gently taking her cheeks into his palms, caressing them. A quiet gasp escaped his lips as he ran the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones, then he traced her jaw with feather light fingertips which trailed down her neck. The feeling was immaculate and she closed her eyes, groaning at the touch she craved so badly.
Wonder filled her mind as he moved farther, running his hands over her shoulders and down to her sides where he rested on her waist. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, tears dripping from his chin. With her thumbs, she reached up and wiped the tears away, being sure not to touch his mask.
"Please, don't cry, I am here now," she assured him again, her eyes landing on his tear wetted lips. She couldn't take her eyes off of them and her mind strayed to the kiss they would have shared if she didn't light the candle.
Without a second thought she stretched up on her toes and placed a light kiss on his lips before pulling away. She looked down and rubbed her arm, heat rushing across her cheeks.
"Christine, why?" he asked, pulling her gaze up to his by hooking his fingers under her chin.
Her thoughts raced and she wondered if it was the right time to confess her love, after all, she knew he already loved her. Would it hurt if she told him so soon?
Christine darted her eyes over his face, his loving adoring face, and made her decision. With a soft smile, she whispered, "I love you, my angel."
His jaw clenched and he took a step back, releasing her from his hold. She watched as his face twisted and he dropped to his knees in front of her, grasping the skirt of her sleeping gown in his hands, pulling her closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her legs, pressing his bare cheek against her thighs.
"God, say it's true, please do not lie to me!" he cried, pulling her tighter.
Christine managed to free herself and kneel next to him, lifting his head so he was able to see her as she spoke, "Angel, I do not lie to you."
"Erik," he breathed, "Please, my name is Erik. Speak my name, I need to hear you say it."
"Erik," she obeyed, the name falling from her tongue with ease. It was a strange name, one she hadn't expected when she had thought about it in the past, but it was his name and she would say it every day until she drew her last breath.
A wide smile spread on his face and he met her hands on his cheeks. Tears raced down the bare half of his face and wetted her hand. His arms wrapped around her waist and he placed his head against her chest.
"Oh, Christine," he breathed against the bare skin above her breasts. The feeling sent a shiver through her body and he pulled back slightly, a look of apology on his face.
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, a silent assurance that she was completely comfortable with him touching her. In fact, the growing need for more of his touch was building inside of her, much the same as the feeling that had enveloped her during their duet in Don Juan Triumphant! Though, this Erik hadn't performed with her, she was certain that he had always felt such lust for her.
Christine moved her eyes back down to his lips, then she moved her hand to his mouth where she ran her fingertips over his lips. They were soft and warm and slightly wet from his tears. It was absolute perfection.
Erik's hot breath blew across her face and had the effect of anaphrodisiac and her eyes fluttered closed. In an instant, fierce lips were on hers, parting instantly. She could taste him, touch him, feel him, moving urgently against her. The softness of his lips that she missed so much nearly made her faint.
After a few minutes, she pulled away crying, unable to help the overpowering emotion she felt. She caught her breath and whispered, "It worked. It really worked."
"What worked?" Erik asked, taking a hold of her shoulders and pushing her away slightly.
"The candle, it–it brought me back here to be with you!" she cried, desperately clinging to him as if he would reject her for being a madwoman.
He froze, staring at her with confusion in his eyes, "A candle brought you back here? Christine, I–I believe you may need some tea, perhaps you are still–"
"You think I'm mad and I sound mad but–" she paused, thinking of how to tell him what happened to her. "Can we sit on the lounge? I wish to speak with you."
Erik nodded, quickly standing and taking her with him to the lounge that was near his organ. He sat first and she joined him, moving as close to him as she could, not wanting to stop touching him.
"Speak, I will listen, I find myself rather intrigued by this candle you speak of," he said, taking her hands in his.
Christine nodded and told him everything, not leaving out any details of the past several months, even the ones she was ashamed of. Erik stared at her intently the entire time, looking to be deeply analyzing everything she said. When she was finished, she looked away from him, feeling tears welling in her eyes due to the memories.
"That was interesting, you have a very active imagination, perhaps you should write an opera," he muttered, releasing her hands and standing from the lounge.
"You don't believe me?" she whispered, her tears now falling down her cheeks.
Erik shook his head, "What I can't believe, my dear, is that someone who has seen my face would love me. I congratulate you for your storytelling, but I can't believe you. You don't love me, you are only saying so to keep me from harming you."
"You won't harm me and I do love you," she argued, standing and facing towards him. They were only inches apart, his heat radiating against her.
He simply stared down at her, then turned away from her, "We must return." She stepped towards him, taking his shirt sleeve in her hand and pulling on him.
"I do love you, please, I love you, Erik," she whispered softly, hoping that he would believe her.
With an angry grunt, Erik moved his hand to his face, removing his mask and facing towards her. He grabbed her roughly, holding her so she couldn't look away, but she didn't want to. She had seen his face, yes, it was terrifying, but she knew it was the face of the man she was in love with.
"Can you love this, Christine?! Look at me, look at my face and tell me that you love me!" he bellowed, the sound echoing through the cavern.
With a trembling hand, she reached up and took his haunted cheek into her palm, caressing it with a softness that she was sure he had never felt there before. His eyes softened and he released her, stepping back and pressing against the wall.
She met him again, keeping a few inches between them, and looked up at the face he held so much disdain for.
"I love you, Erik," she said again.
He stared at her with shock on his face, as if processing her words, then without warning, he scooped her up, crushing his lips against hers with such force that they would surely bruise. She parted her lips and fervently kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him in place. She felt a primal urge overtaking her again, a deep ache forming in her womanhood.
Erik slowly pulled away, his furrowed brows and smile melting her heart, and whispered, "Christine, I love you."
"Then take me, please take me, Erik," she breathed.
"I–Are you certain that this is what you want?" he asked, searching her face.
Christine nodded quickly, "Make love to me, then take me far away from here."
Erik groaned deeply and found her lips once more, kissing her as he carried her to the bedroom where he laid her down on the bed, covering her body with his own. Christine felt an overwhelming sense of happiness take her as he claimed her body, a feeling of complete joy knowing she was back where she belonged and it was all because of a candle she accepted from a stranger in a graveyard.
/
Of course there had to be an unmasking still, it had to happen!
Moral of the story: Always take candles from strangers in a graveyard.