Portrait of a December
"Yuck." Angelique sat in the bathroom, peevishly dabbing at the red ink she had spilled down the front of her dress. Erik wasn't home at the moment, and she thought she heard him coming in the front door. In her haste to answer the door, she had bumped the inkpot with her hand and spilled it down her front.
Berating herself for being so jumpy, she decided it would be easier to clean the dress if she just took it off. Once the dress was lying over the rim of the bathtub, Angelique went into her room to find another dress. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, though, she noticed that the ink had seeped through onto her slip. Cursing in a way a lady shouldn't, she stripped off the thin slip and rummaged through her things.
Her closet was full of new dresses and shoes, but for some reason she had neglected to purchase another slip. Angelique wanted to kick herself as she remembered all the times she had been in the ladies' shops and thought she would just buy one later. After all, now that she had an actual nightdress she didn't need to wear her slip to bed. Erik had brought her a pointlessly frilly thing one time, which she had worn a few times to make him feel better, but she had gone and bought a plainer one quickly.
This didn't make up for the fact that she didn't have a slip to wear under her clothes, and she frowned. Maybe it wouldn't be too obvious. Selecting a nice striped dress, Angelique put it on and stood before the mirror. It didn't look too bad…except… Blushing, Angelique took off the dress and hung it up. There was no use in pretending. Even through the material of the heavy winter dress it was embarrassingly obvious that she wasn't wearing anything beneath it.
Smacking the row of dresses with annoyance, she wondered how long she could sit around the house in her cloak before Erik got suspicious. Suddenly her eyes lit upon the Gypsy dress she had bought in a fit of impulse. The patterns of the dress were so wild that no one would notice the absence of a slip, at least long enough for her to run out and buy one. Wriggling into the dress, Angelique was pleased with her spark of ingenuity. As soon as Erik came back, she would go up to the Rue Scribe and buy a slip.
Going back to the study, she made sure the scarf was positioned properly over her bosom so as not to give any indication of her lack of undergarments. She would have to hurry, since she knew that if Erik took one look at her she would turn crimson with embarrassment. Sometimes it seemed as if that man knew everything. Determined that she wouldn't give him enough time to know everything this time, Angelique went back to work on the opera.
It was already more than half finished, and with every song she loved it more and more. The music was hers, but Erik's lyrics made her notes come alive with emotion. Sometimes, though, it felt as if he was reading her mind when he wrote Quasimodo's ballads, putting into words the longing she had begun to feel more and more often when she was with him. Since her revelation on the night she had finally seen behind the mask, it was becoming difficult to be in the same room with him.
Having no practical experience with romance, Angelique was having to rely simply on the odd emotions she was feeling for guidance. Unfortunately, her emotions never wanted to guide her anywhere but into Erik's arms, and this was becoming a source of distraction. But of course she couldn't just tell him how she felt. Who would want a lovesick little fool following them around the house?
Immersed in these thoughts, Angelique didn't hear the front door open. Her emotions were leaking onto the paper as she wrote, and when Erik appeared in the doorway of the study, she was too focused on the aria to realize he was there.
When she looked up to try and capture a thought, Angelique noticed that Erik was standing in the doorway, a look of complete surprise on his masked face. It took her a moment to remember that she was without undergarment, but when she did she jumped up and shot past him out the door, her cheeks burning.
Erik didn't even have a chance to ask her if she remembered what day it was before she was gone, out the front door and into the boat. Figuring she must have had a good reason for not even bothering to say goodbye, he went to his room and took off his cloak and hat.
When he was up in the opera house, he had realized with some surprise that it was the anniversary of the very day that he had first seen Angelique. Unable to believe that she had already been down there almost a year, Erik had rushed back to tell her. Since she was gone, though, he opened the leather folder and removed the drawings he had done of her. Although his hand had created more of them since that night, his favorite picture by far was still the one he had drawn on the night that he had been injured.
Like a guardian angel she had taken care of him, and in that particular drawing it was the way he had chosen to portray her. Her gentle eyes were smiling as her hands worked at mending his torn shirt, and a pair of intricately feathered wings was visible around her shoulders. It was as close to a religious picture as Erik was ever going to get, but he was pleased with it nonetheless.
But when he had walked into the study and saw her in that Gypsy dress, Erik had frozen. He didn't know where she had gotten it, or even why she was wearing it, but images had flooded back into his mind of a time in his life that he tried quite hard not to remember. The screams of women and bargains he had made to spare himself the humiliation of those cries rushed back with terrible power, and Erik buried his face in his hands. Just a child.
It wasn't the dress, but the realization that she looked right in it. Shaking his head, Erik couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. The blue of her eyes had thrown him off, but he should have known by their shape, as well as the shape of her face, that he had the answer to the question that seemed to be written on her face more frequently as of late. And from the color of her eyes and the lightness of her skin, he was fairly certain he knew why she had been cast aside like a piece of trash when she was a baby.
The Romany people frowned upon mixed blood; a pure lineage was something to be proud of. And while they were religious in their own right, Gypsies sometimes weren't as compelled to keep around an unwanted child as the self-righteous Catholics who overran Paris. Erik had learned at an early age that if it were not for the strict beliefs of the Catholic Church, his mother would have done away with him as carelessly as Angelique's mother had done. Sometimes, when he was a boy, he wondered whether it would have been better for her to have done so.
Now the only question was whether to tell her or not. Angelique had a very tenuous grasp of her childhood as it was, and he didn't want to ruin any illusions she might still be harboring about her real parents. He didn't want to hurt her in any way, but he also didn't want to hide anything from her.
Such was the dilemma of falling in love. Though he had tried his best to keep himself from developing such powerful feelings for her, her beauty and intelligence had opened the door to his heart just a crack, and over the months she had been with him, her uncontrived kindness had wedged its little foot in the door until he was unable to conceive of not loving her.
The night she had so gently cared for him and watched over him, even after seeing him without his mask, had been the true trial of her compassion as far as he was concerned. No woman, or man for that matter, had ever been able to look upon his face with anything but fear or repulsion. But Angelique never left his side until she was sure he was well again. And when she had put her face so close to his and told him that he was exceptional…it was almost unthinkable.
An undisclosed amount of time later, Erik heard the front door slam. Snapping out of his trance-like state, he quickly put away the drawings before she could come in and see them. But Angelique didn't come into his room as she usually did, and her footsteps passed his door without stopping.
Standing slowly, Erik went to her door. Hesitating for a moment, he decided that Angelique herself would help him judge whether or not he would bring up the subject. Knocking softly on the heavy wood that his own hands had fashioned so many years ago, Erik took a deep breath.
"Just a moment!" There was a muffled rustling and scraping behind the door, and a moment later it opened. Angelique stood before him, leisurely brushing her thick hair. At once Erik saw it again, even though she had discarded the Gypsy dress for a fashionably checkered French dress. In her wavy, dark hair, the shape of her eyes, even the soft curve of her lips, he could see the lines of her ancestry. "Is something wrong?" Erik realized that he had been staring at her.
"No…that dress looks quite pretty on you." A smile spread across Angelique's face, and he knew at once that he had to tell her.
"Thank you." She went to put the brush down, and Erik cleared his throat.
"Angelique, it is quite important that I speak to you." His voice sounded much more serious than before, and Angelique nodded.
"Certainly. Shall we go to the study?" Closing her door, Angelique took his arm. "Can we go to the opera tonight?"
"Of course, my dear. But I thought the opera had ceased to entertain you." Leading her into the study, Erik wondered what brought on her sudden change of heart about the opera.
"Tonight they are giving Prophete, not one of those terrible new pieces. Also, today is my birthday." Reminded of the news he had intended to tell her earlier, Erik nodded. "You knew?"
"Actually, I was going to mention that today was the anniversary of the day…" Suddenly it occurred to Erik that she didn't know that he had been watching her for days before they had actually met. "…That you saw your first opera. I was unaware that this was your birthday."
"It is. And today I shall be twenty-three." She sounded so proud of this fact that Erik knew he had to think of a diplomatic way of telling her that she had been dumped into what her mother no doubt thought was a sewer twenty-three years earlier just because she wasn't a pure-blooded Gypsy.
"Perhaps you should take a seat," he said rather softly. Angelique pressed a hand to his arm, her eyes worried.
"Erik, is something wrong?"
"Please, just have a seat." He was still having a difficult time trying to figure out what to say to her. "Forgive me for what I'm about to tell you, Angelique. It occurred to me earlier when I saw you in that dress just who your parents may have been." Clearing his throat again nervously, Erik prodded himself onward as he turned towards the bookshelf. "When I was a boy, I was…living…with a band of Gypsies."
"You?" Angelique seemed incredulous about this, and Erik looked away from her. She could see that his hands were clenched into fists. One of her hands went up to cover her mouth. "Oh…I think I understand."
"They had me on display like an animal," Erik spat angrily. He hadn't ever intended to tell her about his past, especially his childhood, but somehow it began to spill out. "I hated them, every damned one of them."
"If it still bothers you so much, I don't want you to talk about it." Getting up, she crossed the room to where Erik was standing. Gently, she took his arm and pulled him over to the chair. "Here, sit down."
"This really isn't…"
"You're upset. Would you like some wine?" Without waiting for an answer, Angelique poured a glass of red wine and pressed it into his hand. "There." Smiling, she took his face into her hands. "Erik…if I could, I would take away everything that hurt you. But I can't…so all I can do is promise that as long as I'm here, I'll do my best not to ever let anyone else hurt you again."
"Angelique…" Not knowing exactly what to say, Erik was silent for a moment. Her hands were cool and soft against the exposed parts of his face, and her thumb lightly traced the strong line of his jaw. With this single gesture of affection, he suddenly knew what to do. Erik stood up and took her hand. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?" Laughing gently, Angelique followed him as they ran out the door to the boat. "Erik, what is this about?"
"You'll see." Behind the mask, he couldn't hide his smile. In the front of the boat, Angelique sat on the pillows, arms folded. The boat never seemed to move so slowly through the darkened waters as it did at that moment, and when its bow finally bumped against the stone boundary of the lake, she jumped up. Erik laughed. "My dear, you're going to tip over the boat!"
"Then tell me where we're going!" Her eyes were blazing with excitement, and Erik laughed softly.
"All right, all right. Let's get out, shall we?" Stepping out of the boat, he offered a hand to Angelique. She eagerly grabbed it and jumped out of the boat as well. Unlocking the gate to the Rue Scribe entrance, Erik led her through. "We're here."
"Rue Scribe? What's special about this place?"
"This is the place where I found you twenty-three years ago." His voice was soft as he took her arm and led her to the dank corner where her cries had led him. "You were crying…wrapped in a piece of newspaper."
"Here?" Sinking to her knees on the cold stone floor, Angelique looked into the corner. It was wet with melted snow that had leaked through the entrance, and a small amount of decomposing leaves sat in the corner, blackish remnants of autumn comings and goings by the very two people who stood before them now. With a shaking hand, Angelique brushed the leaves away from the corner and gazed at the empty space.
"Gypsy people don't look kindly upon children of mixed blood. There's a good chance your mother planned to leave you here from the day she found out she was pregnant by a man who wasn't of Romany descent." His voice was low, and Angelique nodded without turning her head. There was a heavy silence, and Erik walked over to place a hand on her shoulder.
"It's funny," she said, her voice breaking with tears. "But I'm not really mad at her. Because…because if she hadn't left me here…" Turning to him at last, Erik could see that tears were streaming down her face like a waterfall. "Then I might never have known you."
"Angelique…" Not sure what to do, Erik knelt beside her. As he did, he noticed that she was shivering. Removing his jacket, he placed it around her shoulders gently. "I should never have brought you without a cloak. Let's get you back to the house." Angelique did not protest as he led her back to the boat. She turned to look at the spot again, then clung to Erik's arm tightly as he helped her into the boat.
* * *
Somehow, she managed to cheer up as soon as they stepped through the doors of the house. Nodding towards the upstairs, she said she was going to get ready for the opera. In the discussion of her origin, he had completely forgotten about the opera.
A sharp pang of guilt was working its way through Erik's person. This was her birthday, her special day, and he had gone and ruined it with this talk of past. Why had he felt the need to tell her about her mother? If she were to ask him this very moment about his own mother, he was sure that he would rebuke her with nothing short of his bitterest anger. His own mother…
Wanting to make it up to her somehow, Erik put on his cloak and headed for the boat. Angelique's tears had struck so deeply into his heart, but her words…her strange words were almost comforting. If her mother had never left her, she might never have met him. By themselves, the words weren't so terribly odd. But when they were being aimed at a monster such as himself, at a place which was as chafingly solemn as the place where she had been found, they seemed so appallingly ambiguous.
Trying to put the words from his mind, he began the journey across the lake. Remembering a far-off story, he knew exactly what to give her.
As Erik made his way beyond the lake, Angelique was carefully selecting a dress from the ones in her closet. Whenever a new dress appeared in her closet, it was always certain to be the very picture of modern fashion. Many things continued to amaze her about the man in the mask, one of which was his impeccable taste in clothing. Nothing less than the best for her, it seemed, and the thought was both warming and unnerving. Selecting a lovely blue evening dress, so dark it seemed as if it were black, she lay the garment over her bed and started for the bathroom.
Somehow, she was managing to keep from thinking about her mother. She knew if she allowed those thoughts into her mind, it would only upset her again. Although she knew that these emotions couldn't stay bottled up forever, it wouldn't do any good to make another scene. Especially not at the opera.
Undressing slowly, she noticed that it was as lavish in furnishing, as her room, and Angelique wondered briefly about the article she had read so long ago about the mysterious Phantom of the Opera stealing away a beautiful young diva. Was this once her bathroom as well?
Realizing that she was out of soap, Angelique pulled a dressing gown over her slender frame and cinched the sash tightly. Wishing that she hadn't undressed so quickly, but feeling as if there weren't enough time to put her dress back on, she opened her door carefully and went into the hall.
"Erik? Erik, where are you? I've run out of soap, and…" No one answered her call, and she decided that he must be gone. Wishing that he would tell her when he was leaving, she proceeded to search for the soap. After a thorough search of all the places a person usually keeps soap, she entered into his room.
Somehow, once she was in his room, she managed to find the soap quite easily. In a small, short cabinet she found a box of the sweet-smelling colored soaps that he usually placed in her bathroom. Picking one up, Angelique started out of the room again. Being in Erik's room without his knowledge didn't feel right at all, and she was just about to head back into her room when she noticed that the shirt she had so carefully washed and mended was lying on a couch in the corner.
That night, she had been so consumed with worry and exhaustion that she couldn't even remember how she got the blood out of his shirt. Now, she brushed the shirt with her fingers gently. Erik hadn't worn it yet…it was separate from his other clothes, as if he had singled it out for some reason.
Beside it was a long, intricately patterned man's dressing gown. Angelique picked it up, letting the soft material run through her fingers. It was so supple, so delicate, that it was almost like liquid in her hands. Of course it was Erik's, who else's could it be? Pressing the material to her face, Angelique inhaled. At once she was inundated with his scent, lightheaded and warm feeling with the spicy aroma of the Oriental attar she had come to associate with his strong arms and deep, sensual voice. Angelique wondered if he knew just how incredible his voice was as she continued to rub the gown over her face. It had to be silk. Nothing but silk felt this soft. Did Erik wear this at night?
A sudden desire to wrap the material around her body, to be enveloped by his smell and feel the whispery fabric caress her skin, came over her. The very thought of this minor indulgence made her knees feel a little weak. Carefully folding the dressing gown, Angelique put it back on the chair and headed to her room. If Erik found her in his room mauling his dressing gown, he would unquestionably think she was mad.
Stepping out of her own dressing gown, Angelique slipped into the hot water. The heat quickly turned her skin bright red, and she ran her hands over the cool marble, whose color was as pink as the newborn dawn. No doubt this bathroom was made especially for a woman with its elegant fixtures and delicate trim, and her mind wandered aimlessly in circles. Twenty-three years old, and this was the first real time she had ever been in love. That silly infatuation with her cousin's friend didn't count; she had never gotten up the nerve to tell him about her feelings. Angelique sighed softly.
But this…this was different. This was delicate. This was…Erik.
* * *
Feeling greatly refreshed after her bath, Angelique descended the stairs to find Erik standing next to the dining table. He looked as if he had been waiting for her, and she smiled brightly as she hurried down the last few stairs.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're back!" As she approached him, Erik pulled her chair out from under the table with a pleasant nod.
"And I am quite glad to be back. In fact, I have brought you a small gift." Across her place was lying a bundle of red roses, which Angelique picked up with a gasp. "I remembered a beautiful legend I once heard about red roses. So beautiful…and yet so sad." Gently, he reached out to touch a petal of one of the roses. A lovely face turned up to look at him.
"What was the legend?" Her voice was soft, awed by the gesture. Erik looked sad for a moment, as if remembering something. But the smile returned to his face as quickly as it had faded, and he shook his head.
"Another time, perhaps. But for now, I have prepared a lovely dinner especially for your birthday. And if we are going to have time to eat and go to the Opera Populaire, I shall hurry and bring you the first course now." Disappearing down the hall, Erik continued to speak. Angelique looked at the roses.
"First course? You make me feel like royalty!" Carefully looking at the roses, she noticed there were exactly twenty-three of them. This detail did not escape her attention, and Angelique buried her face in the red petals. A legend? Why had he looked so sad?
"We shall begin with a small antipasto. I do hope you like prosciutto. Some claim it's an acquired taste, I shall let you decide for yourself." There was something in Erik's voice she hadn't heard in a while, complete excitement. Behind the mask she knew he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Angelique resolved that for tonight she would let him treat her like the princess he seemed to think she was. "What kind of wine would you like with your dinner, my dear?"
"You know I don't know a thing about wine! Pick out whatever you think is best, and I shall drink it."
"Of course! How could I have forgotten!" Erik made a small bow of courtesy to her. "I shall return in a moment, then. Do not bother to wait for me." Setting aside the roses, Angelique picked up a fork and speared a piece of the strange pink and white meat. Satisfied that she was trying it, he disappeared down the hallway to the wine cellar.
The instant he was gone, Angelique proceeded to put down the prosciutto and poke at it with a fork. She had no earthly idea what this was, and it seemed to be wound around something. Carefully disentangling the marbled meat from its core, she found that it was a small slice of melon. Certain that she liked melon, Angelique ate it happily as she tried to figure out what this pink thing was. Erik had called it some odd Italian name… she supposed it was a delicacy there. Here it just looked like uncooked bacon.
Pushing it around the perimeter of her plate, Angelique decided that it was probably harmless. After all, Erik wouldn't feed her anything that would do her damage. Biting the end off of it, she was pleased to discover that it was the richest tasting meat she had ever had the good fortune to put into her mouth. Though she wasn't sure how it would taste with the melon, Angelique picked up another one and stared at it. Of course Erik would know what he was doing…he wouldn't give her something odd just as an experiment. Of course he wouldn't!
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she poked the mouthful of melon and meat into her mouth and chewed vigorously, hoping she wouldn't gag. That was one indignity she would never suffer before a man like him.
* * *
Not wanting to keep Angelique waiting for her beverage, Erik took the steps up from the wine cellar two at a time. As he did so, he reflected on just how much more difficult this became with every year. Certainly, he wasn't getting any younger. But his memory and mind were as sharp as ever.
The legend of the red rose had come into his mind for no good reason, but once he had remembered it, roses seemed like the perfect way to commemorate the passage of another year. Twenty-three of them; one for each year she had lived on this earth. As he brought them back to her, though, he thought of the single rose that signified the year she had been with him. It didn't feel like enough.
According to the old legend, the red rose was the result of the illicit love between a white rose and a nightingale. The scarlet petals of the flower that was born of the affair had come to signify a forbidden love, a longing that could neither be contained or confessed…the perfect blossom for the occasion.
He hated thinking this way. It just made him melancholy, and he didn't need to upset Angelique any further on her birthday. Erik knew it would make her unhappy just to see him in a bad humor, and he pushed all thoughts of the rose out of his mind. While he was with her, he would try his best not to look unhappy.
As he emerged into the dining room, however, Erik realized at once that he wouldn't have to bother with pretending. Angelique had the queerest look on her face, telling him that she had tried the prosciutto. She was chewing slowly, causing Erik to wonder whether or not she'd been working on the same piece since he had left. Noticing that he was in the room, Angelique swallowed quickly and gave him a rather guilty smile, causing Erik to laugh. Trying her best to look cross, she folded her arms.
"Am I really so very amusing?"
"Indeed," he said, continuing to laugh as he opened and poured the wine into her glass. "If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it on my behalf." In response to his remark, Angelique proceeded to seize the stem of the glass and gulp down the rest of the wine. Shaking his head as she held up the glass for more, he refilled her glass. "You really must slow down, Angelique. I have no intention of hauling an intoxicated woman around all night, as you give the impression you would be quite a noisy drunk."
"You would do well to stop while you're ahead, Erik dearest, or I shall show you just what a noisy drunk I can be." Grinning at him as he went back to his chair, Angelique made a point of taking another sip of wine.
"What a trying woman you are," he sighed, sitting down. "Would you like me to bring you something else to eat?"
"No. The melon and the prosciutto," Angelique stumbled over the word, "are very good by themselves, but together they taste…strange." She picked up another piece unsurely. "Is it impolite to simply separate them?"
"My dear, if it makes you happy to disunite them, then by all means do so." His permission to do little more than play with her food seemed to make her more at ease, and Angelique proceeded to go about placing the melon and the meat into separate piles before eating them. Erik decided to place this into the category of 'beloved peculiarities' as he went into the kitchen to get the next course.
By the time she was finished, she was looking happy as a clam. Erik brought her cloak and they headed for the boat. As she stepped into the boat, Angelique made a remark about sinking before they even got to the opera house. This earned her a shake of the head from Erik, who rebutted with the comment that she could stand to gain a few more pounds. Angelique tried to look offended, but couldn't help smiling a little.
Making it across the lake at a leisurely pace, the boat finally knocked against the space he had made for it, and Erik helped Angelique out so he could tie the boat up. While she was standing, waiting for him to finish, Angelique thought she heard something. Picking up her head, she saw that Erik did the same.
"The music…the opera has begun already!" Still unfamiliar with the passages beneath the opera house, Angelique looked around for a place to go. Erik grabbed her hand gently and pulled her in the opposite direction.
"Come, I know a better way." Slipping behind a wall, he began to run. As Erik's legs were a great deal longer than hers, Angelique stumbled behind him in an attempt to keep his pace. The rich food and wine, along with the layers of winter clothes didn't help matters at all, and she dragged behind Erik as lightly as a doll.
Still, there was something thrilling about running behind the walls of the opera house with Erik. For those few minutes, she felt as if she were closer to him than she had ever been, and it was nice. Angelique gently squeezed his hand as they hurried up a long flight of stairs, and he looked back to see her smiling, flushed face close behind him.
When they reached the end of the passage, Erik opened the wall to lead her into the great hall. The opera had already begun, so the hall was completely deserted, and Angelique took a moment to fix her hair before the round mirror over a small table. From the entrance to the patron's boxes, Mme Giry suddenly appeared. One of her withered hands flew up to cover her mouth as she realized who was standing before her.
"Monsieur!" Her voice was no more than a whisper, and Erik turned to look at her. Bowing cordially to her, he smiled.
"Good evening, Mme Giry. I trust our seats are reserved for the performance?" To this morbidly dressed woman, Angelique had noticed that he was always completely gregarious. Glad that he was in a better mood, she turned back to the mirror to finish arranging her hair. All that running had put it out of place, and she wished a little that she had a brush.
"Monsieur…you haven't been attending the performances lately…for several weeks now it seems! The managers, you see…they thought it would be better to…" From what Angelique knew of Mme Giry, she had always presented herself as being a grand dame of the theatre, never flagging or giving the least sign of surrender in any situation. Many times, she had stood up to the managers without even a second thought. But now something was wrong. Angelique could tell from the woman's voice that she was flustered, and it was unlike Mme Giry to lose her composure. Sensing the immediate tension that began to radiate from Erik's dark figure, Angelique moved to his side to place a calming hand on his arm.
"So you are saying they have sold our box." The exactness of his words made the amount of restraint he was demonstrating quite evident.
"I tried my best to convince them otherwise," she said, spreading out her hands in a gesture of frustration. "But they would not listen to reason…they would not have any of it and swore that you must surely be dead!"
"I see." Beneath her hand, Erik's arm was beginning to tremble, and Angelique could see that his powerful hands were clenched into fists. She knew something was going to happen, and she was fairly certain she knew what. "Tonight of all nights, they pull this fool stunt. I bring my Angelique here tonight in order to celebrate her birthday, and those damnable idiots will not even allow me a seat in my own theatre?" Building to a truly dangerous crescendo, Erik's voice thundered through the hallway. Fortunately, the orchestra's music was too loud in the theatre for his voice to be heard inside, but Mme Giry realized with horror that the man who had never shown her a thing but kindness was slowly advancing on her.
"Believe me, Monsieur, I had nothing to do with it! You know I should never be part of such a thing!" Backing hurriedly out of the hall, Mme Giry fled for her place in the wings of the stage. There was not even the faintest spark of sanity in Erik's eyes at that moment, and she had seen this before. The best thing was to stay out of his way.
With an angry roar, Erik proceeded to grab a nearby vase and slam it against the wall. The managers should have known better than to direct such an affront at him, and the thing that made him the angriest was the fact that they knew he wasn't dead. He had picked up his salary only about a week earlier and reminded them to keep his box open. The vase shattered against the door, and he picked up the table that it had been sitting on to give it the same treatment.
Standing helpless nearby, Angelique knew there was nothing he could do as he went about the hall, picking up nearly anything that wasn't bolted down and hurling it at the walls. The strains of music filtered out into the hallway, mixing with Erik's rage to produce a worrying cacophony that showed no signs of stopping. Angelique didn't know how the patrons within the theatre were not hearing this commotion, but the last thing she needed was for someone to come out and see him. In this state, she knew Erik was capable of anything, and though if they had been in his house she would have been able to let him simply release his frustrations on their fine china, she knew that up here she had to do something.
"Erik!" Angelique ran over and grabbed his arm, hoping to break him out of the fury he had worked himself into. "Stop this nonsense at once!" The eyes that turned to her showed no signs of recognition, and he responded by jerking his arm away from her little hands. As he pulled away from her, his hand reflexively flew back and slapped her across the face. Reeling from the strength of the unanticipated strike, she stumbled clumsily backwards a few steps with a small cry of surprise. The muted sound seemed to snap Erik out of his blind rage, and his eyes focused on the small figure that stood stoically before him, pressing a hand to her cheek.
"Oh!" Realizing at once what he had done, Erik gasped as he hurried to her. Hearing his footsteps approaching, Angelique's eyes opened, causing Erik to stop in his tracks. There was an unnamable hurt in her eyes that she seemed desperately trying to conceal. "My darling, are you alright?" To his amazement, she nodded.
"Yes, I'm fine. Let's hurry out of here before someone comes out and sees this awful mess you made." Still holding a hand to her stinging cheek, Angelique pulled Erik towards the passage in the wall. Erik shook his head.
"To hell with them!" Feeling a bit sick, Erik pulled her fingers away from her cheek to discover that it was marked with the reddish imprint of his hand. "How could I have done this? Can you ever begin to forgive me?"
"I said I'm fine. Please, let's just go!" Her voice held a note of impatience as she began feeling the perimeter of the wall for the trigger of the passage. Becoming quickly frustrated with the whole thing, she kicked it with some annoyance. With a single smooth motion, Erik set off the mechanism and followed her into the wall. Once the passage had closed around them, she seemed more comfortable as she looked up at him. "Really, I'm not hurt at all."
"You know the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you…" Erik's voice was shaking as he reached over to touch her cheek, stopping only a few millimetres short. "I can't…please forgive me…"
"Erik, dear…don't give it another thought." Gently, Angelique took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. Her skin was as soft as ever, but there was a slow heat emanating from the mark which could not be ignored, and which Erik hated to think that he was responsible for. "See, I'm fine."
"Forgive me," he murmured over her little face sadly. "I'm so terribly, terribly sorry about this, Angelique."
"Let's just go back to the house, okay?" Her whispered voice seemed to echo through the passage, and Erik nodded slowly.
"Yes…that's probably best, isn't it?"
* * *
Once they were back in the house, Angelique insisted upon going to her room for a little bit. Her roses were still lying on the dining room table, and she picked them up before going up the stairs and to her room.
After the door closed, she set the roses down and looked at them. It was so cool down here that they hadn't yet begun to wilt, and she wondered if she could find a nice vase for them downstairs.
Her cheek was throbbing from the slap, and she took a moment to look at it in the mirror. There was still a red mark there, but it was quickly fading. Reaching up to her face, Angelique carefully placed her fingers on the imprint of his fingers. His hands were so much bigger, his fingers longer and more graceful than hers…and also capable of inflicting more pain.
Though she had known perfectly well that he hadn't been aware of what he was doing, the fact that he had raised a hand to her was no less painful. Angelique told herself that she was being overly worried, that Erik would never hurt her if he were…if he were in his right mind.
Just the thought of questioning his sanity felt like a betrayal, and she sank onto her bed. Of course Erik was sane. Whenever he was with her, writing the opera or even simply reading a book before the fire, he was nothing short of the perfect gentleman. It was just sometimes, when he lost his temper, that he seemed to forget who she was. Usually she tried to stay out of his way when he got to that point, but sometimes it wasn't possible. Still, he had never struck her before.
Slipping her gown off her shoulders, she pulled the unnecessarily lacy nightgown Erik had bought for her out of the closet and put it on. Sighing heavily, she pulled the dressing gown over it and started downstairs to look for a vase for her flowers. She noticed that Erik's door was closed, and she assumed that he had decided to hide in his own room for a little while. Moving slowly down the stairs, she wondered what exactly he was thinking at that moment.
* * *
Alone in his room, Erik was in despair. Every time he thought of how he had struck his beloved Angelique, he felt sick all over again. And she had taken it! He could think of few other women who would stand such treatment from a man, especially from a man like him, without anger.
The most worrisome thing was that he couldn't remember what had happened before that. He had no inkling as to why the Opera Populaire's beautiful ornaments were smashed into little bits, and he had no idea as to why Angelique had been in the path of his hand in the first place. All he could really remember about it was that the managers had sold his box that night, and then everything was a blur until he had heard Angelique cry out, felt the soft warmth of her cheek yielding to his angry hand. When he had realized what he had done, he had immediately come to his senses. Seeing the hurt in Angelique's eyes had almost been too much for him, and he didn't know what to do. He had wanted to take her into his arms and tell her how sorry he was, but he couldn't.
Completely disgusted with his own behavior, Erik turned away from the organ. Right now she was probably in her room, thinking of when she was going to leave. Surely she wouldn't want to stay after this.
There was a little scuffling sound from downstairs, followed by a shriek of terror that chilled Erik's blood. Snatching his dressing gown, he cinched the belt around his waist as he hurried to see what the problem was.
When he found her in the kitchen in her nightgown, perched upon one of the cabinets like a cat, the wave of relief that washed over him was almost indescribable. Erik laughed gently and began searching the floor for the spider. Her voice shaking uncontrollably, Angelique pointed at the cabinet.
"U-u-under there…when I reached for the v-v-vase, he f-f-fell on my hand." The poor girl looked as if she were about to cry, and Erik knelt down to pick up the spider. Upon doing so, he realized that it was quite dead.
"You have nothing to fear from this one, Angelique, he's already passed on." Pretending for a moment to inspect the spider, Erik looked up at her with a smile. "Possibly from fright."
"C-c-can you put him out anyway?" Not catching his joke, her blue eyes remained wide. Erik nodded.
"Of course. I shall even give him a little requiem." With that, Erik disappeared for a few moments, returning empty handed. Breathing a sigh of relief, Angelique watched him wash his hands in the basin before reaching up to help her down. "It is safe again for you to come down. No spider shall bother your sleep tonight." Scooting out a little from the cabinet, Angelique's legs dangled from the cupboard for a moment as Erik's hands nearly encircled her waist and brought her down to the floor. "I don't understand, my dear, how you manage to get up there in the first place."
"To be honest, I don't know. It's just a reflex, I believe. I get scared and the next thing I know, I'm up on a cabinet. But you always come to save me…you have since I was a baby." At this last part, her voice dropped. Erik motioned to the upstairs.
"Shall we go up to the study?"
"Yes, please. It's a little chilly down here." They walked slowly up the stairs together, neither knowing exactly what to say. In the fireplace, a small fire was burning brightly. Erik made sure that Angelique was sitting comfortably in one of the arm chairs before moving over to throw another log on the fire. As he knelt to do so, he continued to stare into the fire. Somehow, he couldn't bear to look her in the eye at that moment.
"Angelique…I don't know how I can even begin to apologize for the truly abominable way I behaved earlier. To treat you like I did was completely unforgivable." The firelight flickered around him, and Angelique stood up slowly. "I don't understand why you're still here."
"How many times must I tell you that you needn't worry about it before you believe me, Erik?" Going to him slowly, Angelique gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up at her, not knowing what he would find in her eyes. "At the theatre, when I saw your eyes…you didn't know me. It wasn't you that I saw at all." Kneeling down beside him, Angelique smiled. "And it's going to take more than a little tap on the cheek to get rid of me."
"My dear…" There was something intimate about being together by the fireplace in their nightclothes, and Erik looked at her with a smile. "About your mother…I'm sorry I brought it up on your birthday."
"Don't be. I'm glad you told me, because at least now I know who I have to thank for bringing me to you." Her eyes were shining with tears, and Erik decided to ask her something he had meant to ask for quite some time.
"You truly like living here with me?" Carefully, he pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and Angelique looked at him as if he was asking her if she liked breathing.
"There is no other place I would rather be than with you," she said softly. Though she wasn't sure why she was saying these things all of a sudden, the look that came onto Erik's face was more than enough encouragement. "If I could, I think I'd like to be with you forever."
"Then…you don't feel obligated to stay?" A deep sigh escaped Angelique's lips as she closed her eyes.
"For such an intelligent man, you can be so dense sometimes!" Leaning forward, she gently rested her forehead against his. The hard porcelain of the mask was slightly uncomfortable against her skin, and she wondered how Erik was able to stand it all day. "My name isn't Persephone. I'm here because I like being with you, not because of any silly obligation." Her voice was soft, and she met his gaze. "From the first time I heard your voice in the opera house…I wanted to be with you. Now, I can't imagine living without you." This caused Erik to move away from her and look down into his hands.
"But why? Why would a woman like you want to be locked away down here with a creature like me?" His voice threatened to crack, but Angelique simply reached over to take his hands.
"You're not a creature. You're a wonderful man. And I stay because I like the way you laugh. I like the way you get rid of spiders for me and I like the way you make me feel safe all the time." Just the sound of her voice sent waves of warmth through Erik's chest. "Every time you smile at me, you make me want to be the lady that you think I am." A little grin crossed her face. "And you ate my crepes."
"They were wonderful."
"They were vile." Raising an eyebrow, she shook her head. "I should have dropped them into the fire. You just don't want to hurt my feelings."
"Angelique," he began uncertainly, his soft voice causing her to lean a bit closer to him. The gentle, conversational way she was talking to him, coupled with the way that the firelight played on her face inspired a sudden burst of confidence. "Do you…think you could ever come to love a man like me?" Finally spoken, the words hung in the air like a cloud of smoke, and Erik shook his head before she even had a chance to answer. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have…"
"A man like you?" Angelique's eyes softened as she reached for his mask. Erik didn't protest when she removed it, then set it aside. Tenderly, she stroked his cheek with her fingertips as she gazed into his eyes. "I believe I already have."
"You…can't possibly mean…" With a solemn nod, Angelique leaned forward to gently kiss him on the cheek. Somehow, there was something different about her lips that night. Unbidden, tears began to fall over Erik's face. Looking a little worried, Angelique reached up and touched his cheek gently.
"Erik…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to make you cry." Wiping his face with the sleeve of her dressing gown, she looked as if she were about to cry herself.
"Forgive me," he managed through his tears. "I cannot help them. I simply…" Voice heavy with emotion, he reached up to touch her face. Pulling his hand away before he could touch her, Erik fumbled for his mask. He had a sudden need for her not to see him crying. Firmly, Angelique grabbed his wrist.
"I want to see your face. If you cry, I want to be able to wipe your tears away…even if they're my fault." For a moment, she was silent. Erik could see that her eyes were beginning to overflow with tears, and he let go of the mask to brush her cheek with his fingertips.
"Angelique…my precious angel. How could I ever deny you anything? You're the only truly good thing in my life. If you want to look upon my loathsome face, then I won't stop you." Finally, the tears spilled over onto her cheeks.
"I'm not an angel, Erik..." Tears as warm as summer rain fell over his fingers, and a small hand reached up to cover his hand. Her face was still so close to his, the scent of her perfume and her tears mingling together into a strangely beautiful fragrance, which he breathed of deeply. "To me, you could never be a mere creature. And I don't care if you think I'm nothing but a silly little fool…I love you." Though her words were nothing more than a whisper, they seemed to ring into infinity through the house. Before he even had a chance to respond, Angelique pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
At the moment her lips pressed softly against his, Erik's entire body tensed. He didn't know how to respond, it had been eight years since a woman had done such a thing. Rather awkwardly, he put his arms around her and pulled her as close as he possibly could. She felt so small in his arms, and Erik could feel her heart beating against his chest like a little bird's. It was a sensation he wanted to remember until the day he died. Everything felt so right, but Angelique looked up at him a little uncertainly as they parted. Her cheeks were bright with color, and she looked away from him.
"I'm sorry…I don't know what came over me." Trembling, Angelique couldn't believe what she had just done. It was possibly the most unladylike thing she had ever done, but Erik didn't seem to care. Gently, he tilted her face up to his. The flickering light made odd little shadows across his distorted features, and she wondered if she had always been capable of love this strong. "That was terribly forward of me…"
"My darling angel," he murmured softly as he looked into her eyes, "If I was ever unsure that I loved you before, I'm certain now." Leaning down a little, he kissed her once more, expressing to her in the clearest of terms that he was completely devoted to her, that he had been since the day they had met.
Behind them, the fire burned ever brighter as it watched over the two people who seemed to have finally found one another. The minutes turned into hours, and even after the fire became nothing more than a few scattered embers in the hearth, Angelique and Erik sat together in reverent silence, content simply with the acknowledgement of each other's affection. Leaning happily against Erik's shoulder in front of the cooling fireplace, Angelique couldn't help but smile.
Surrounded by the silence of the house, she thanked her unknown mother for this one thing. This one perfect thing that she had no intention of ever giving up; the chance to love a man who she knew would love her for the rest of their lives just as passionately as he did at that moment. With this thought in her mind, Angelique fell asleep in a state of pure happiness.
Beside her, Erik contented himself with the feeling of her beloved figure pressing against his. There was nothing in the world that could compare with this moment. Reluctant to lose the warmth of her body, Erik carefully gathered the sleeping woman into his arms and carried her to bed.
As he walked down the hall to his room, he realized that her roses were still lying on her bedside table. Going back downstairs to fetch the vase, he laughed softly. Red roses. Perhaps one day he would tell her the legend after all.