The night had withered away to the dark hours of morning. Christine had long fallen asleep with Ayesha curled up at the foot of the bed. The candles in the main room had been blown out and the dying embers of the fireplace glowed red. Soft music drifted through the air as Erik tried to play his piano as soft as possible not wanting to wake Christine. The late nights never seemed to cease for him.
Erik finally came to a stop, listening dolefully as the grandfather clock chimed for the third hour. He ran a hand through his black hair, feeling the strings of his mask gaze across his palm. He let out a sigh, pulling his hands quickly from his hair as if the feelings of the strings had hurt him. He had always remembered wearing the mask, the first gift he ever truly recollects. Erik knew that what lay behind the mask had frightened so many people and no one was immune to it. He was frightened about getting close to Christine, yet he wanted to grow closer yet.
Shutting up the keys to his piano Erik slowly moved out of his room. He walked quietly through the main chamber, missing every piece of furniture and missing every creaking floorboard, all from memory. His ungloved hands found his violin case resting on a small table. Erik paused, looking at the closed door to Christine's room; it was partially open from Ayesha wandering in earlier that evening. With a sigh he slipped out of the house without a single sound.
Unlit candelabras stood near the trail that leads to Erik's home beneath the Paris Opera House. Erik walked slowly down the path, not bothering to light any of the candles. All he wanted was the feeling of the darkness to take him away from his memories. The sound of rippling water guided him towards the edge of the lake that separated him from the rest of the world. The simple wooden boat he had struck the dock he made in the spare time years before; it got him to the labyrinth that led to Christine's mirror. Other than that exist there was the pathway that led to one of the streets above.
Coming to a stop on the dock's edge, Erik sat down. The bottom of his shoes skimmed over the glassy surface of the lake, causing a ripple to spring forth. Listening to the sounds of the water, Erik pulled his violin from its case. The wood felt cold beneath his fair skinned hands, a soothing feeling after hours of playing the piano. He closed his eyes and brought the instrument to his chin.
After a moment of silence, a beautiful sound escaped the strings of the instrument. The song flowed from the violin, encasing Erik in a world he had once known and loved. He stood with ease, swaying with the soft music as it echoed off the lake and stonewalls of his creation. Memories of operas past and the hymns from Notre Dame de Paris poured from memories almost forgotten. He had traveled to the cathedral many times, just to listen to the organ and choir sing; a few times he even ventured into the cathedral at night to play the organ just to listen to the instrument sing.
Tears slowly began to trickle down Erik's cheeks as the fond memories seemed to mock him. He pushed the horrid thoughts away and focused on the song. The world seemed to slow as the song quickened with the sweet sound. His heart quickened with the music and his breath came out as hums as the music enveloped him in a cocoon of euphoria; his mind was filled with complete happiness.
"You play beautifully."
Erik's eyes flew open, but he didn't bother to stop playing. Christine was at the end of the dock watching him, still wearing the nightgown Erik insisted she wore, for the other one had yet to be clean. Her feet were bare and her mane of raven ed hair was pulled away from her face. In her eyes, though, Erik could see that Christine was still fogged by her slumber.
"What is it called?" Christine asked, her voice soft and riddled with sleep.
Erik slowly came to a stop, pulling the violin away from his chin. "It's a song by Bach; a very lovely piece. It was one of the first I learned when I was a child." He knelt down and put the violin in its case. He eyed Christine for a moment; she hadn't moved, her hands fidgeting with the cuffs of her dress like they usually did. A smile came across Erik's face, but he hid it quickly. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep, so I came out here to play. I'm sorry that I woke you, Christine; I didn't know I was playing so loud."
Christine shook her head, a few strands of her curly hair falling into her face. "I've never heard anything like it; it was beautiful. It wasn't upsetting to wake to something like that." She took a step closer to him. Her eyes looked over his white mask but tried not to linger on it. "An angel can't help but do what he has been set out to fulfill."
With a slender finger, Erik brushed away the free strands of Christine's hair. Her cheeks flushed and her hand grazed across the hair that he had touched. She lowered her eyes, bashful of her display of childlike emotions.
"Both of us should get some sleep." Erik said, turning his face away from Christine. He could feel his own cheeks flush and give warmth to the mask that was facing Christine. "Your lesson took a lot out of you, Christine, and it would be best if you rested your voice. I will return you to the opera house tomorrow."
Christine studied Erik for a moment, watching his every movement closely. Her eyes were always drawn to the mask he wore, though. Erik never mentioned it or why it was there, but Christine could only imagine that he was accustomed to the stares and questions one would ask about such a thing. The mask was the item that had frightened her the night she had first seen him. Why would anyone wear a mask? Christine thought it was for a masquerade but when she saw him again, he still wore the mask. Erik was hiding something, she knew that much and she wanted to know what he hid but fear of what could happen was always echoing in her mind.
As Erik slowly moved past Christine, she reached for him but her hand was too high to touch his shoulder; instead her hand grazed the cold skin of the white mask. Erik felt the soft touch and spun around with reflexes mimicking a cat's. He grabbed Christine by the wrist, catching her off guard and causing her to let out a cry of surprise. A look of fear washed over the girl's face as the feelings of anger and betrayal began to well inside of Erik.
"What do you think you were trying to do?" Erik snarled, his eyes boring into Christine's.
Christine whimpered and tried to pull free of Erik's grasp, but he was too strong. "I was just trying to touch your shoulder. I didn't mean to make you angry."
Erik quickly dropped Christine's hand. He cursed himself beneath his breath, his eyes turning to Christine as she looked at him in fear. "I'm sorry, Christine." Erik whispered averting his eyes hastily. "I felt you touch my mask and I thought you were trying to remove it. Promise me, Christine," he said, "that you'll never try to remove my mask."
All Christine could do was nod in agreement, a sense of fear still present with the memory of Erik's angry gaze. He took a step towards her but she recoiled quickly, hugging herself and turning her eyes away. Erik moved forwards once more, his hand outreaching and touching her cheek softly. That simple touch turned Christine's attention back to Erik. He smiled softly and took another step towards her, slowly wrapping his arms around her and she didn't fight; she shook, not from fear but from the chilled air that rolled across the lake.
"Erik?" Christine whispered.
"Yes?" Erik said.
"I'm sorry if I made you angry," Christine said softly. Erik didn't reply and the two stood in silence for a moment. "Do angels convey emotions?" she asked softly and breaking the silence between them.
Erik nodded. "Every creature has the capability of emotions, Christine; no matter what they look like or what they are." The answer said more than he intended but it didn't seem to matter. "Why do you ask?"
"Can angels love?"
"I suppose they can."
"Do you?"
Erik didn't reply. He could feel Christine shift uneasily in the silence. Erik pulled away and looked down at Christine. She looked up at him, her eyes examining his face. A soft smile slowly spread across her face and Erik returned it. He had never noticed how small Christine was before that moment. Then again, he had never been so close to a woman before and by no means had the chance to observe such a thing.
Without a word Erik took Christine's face into his hands. She let out a gasp at the sudden touch and coldness of Erik's skin. She hadn't noticed it when he had taken her wrist because fear raced through her body. Now it was frightening but his touch quickly warmed to her skin and the feeling was quickly a memory. Christine's heart fluttered as Erik's face grew closer to hers. Christine closed her eyes, hoping that this wasn't a dream. Their lips met and in that first instance Christine stiffened at the alien touch, something Erik's subconscious took note of.
Erik's hands held Christine in place; one around her waist and the other on the nape of her neck. Christine's arms were wrapped around his neck, trying to hold her up; her legs were weak and her mind in a spin of emotions. After only four days of knowing this man, this angel, and hindering feelings of love, her questions were answered.
Slowly Erik pulled away, still holding Christine close to his body. He closed his eyes, feeling that strange sense for tears. In that fleeting second of rapture, their lives seemed to meet and their souls forever joined. He didn't know what to do with those feelings, having never felt or received love from a woman in his life. That moment, though, was filled with too many emotions and it left him drained in a sense.
"Have you ever loved?" Christine asked, finally breaking their silence. She didn't look at Erik and he didn't look at her.
Erik whispered his reply, afraid that she would hear what he dreaded. "No, Christine, and no one has loved me. I have lived that way all my life, and expect nothing more." He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness before him. His hand clutched at the fabric of Christine's nightdress and he sighed heavily. "As beautiful as I may seem, there is a creature that lurks inside me. Those who have seen this creature for themselves have never looked at me the same; my voice and my music can never erase those memories. I am not the angel you think I am."
Saying nothing more Erik pulled away from Christine, his eyes never making contact with hers. He was confused and tired; he wanted to be alone. Erik turned away from her and seized his violin case. Whispering a good night he retreated into the house and locked himself away in his room.
Christine soon followed, returning to her room and to the familiar bed. She slid beneath the covers, her mind still a blur with what just happened but sleep was slowly taking over. Before Christine slipped into the depths of her dreams she could hear the sound of someone crying and she could only wonder if it was her angel who wept.
Erik finally came to a stop, listening dolefully as the grandfather clock chimed for the third hour. He ran a hand through his black hair, feeling the strings of his mask gaze across his palm. He let out a sigh, pulling his hands quickly from his hair as if the feelings of the strings had hurt him. He had always remembered wearing the mask, the first gift he ever truly recollects. Erik knew that what lay behind the mask had frightened so many people and no one was immune to it. He was frightened about getting close to Christine, yet he wanted to grow closer yet.
Shutting up the keys to his piano Erik slowly moved out of his room. He walked quietly through the main chamber, missing every piece of furniture and missing every creaking floorboard, all from memory. His ungloved hands found his violin case resting on a small table. Erik paused, looking at the closed door to Christine's room; it was partially open from Ayesha wandering in earlier that evening. With a sigh he slipped out of the house without a single sound.
Unlit candelabras stood near the trail that leads to Erik's home beneath the Paris Opera House. Erik walked slowly down the path, not bothering to light any of the candles. All he wanted was the feeling of the darkness to take him away from his memories. The sound of rippling water guided him towards the edge of the lake that separated him from the rest of the world. The simple wooden boat he had struck the dock he made in the spare time years before; it got him to the labyrinth that led to Christine's mirror. Other than that exist there was the pathway that led to one of the streets above.
Coming to a stop on the dock's edge, Erik sat down. The bottom of his shoes skimmed over the glassy surface of the lake, causing a ripple to spring forth. Listening to the sounds of the water, Erik pulled his violin from its case. The wood felt cold beneath his fair skinned hands, a soothing feeling after hours of playing the piano. He closed his eyes and brought the instrument to his chin.
After a moment of silence, a beautiful sound escaped the strings of the instrument. The song flowed from the violin, encasing Erik in a world he had once known and loved. He stood with ease, swaying with the soft music as it echoed off the lake and stonewalls of his creation. Memories of operas past and the hymns from Notre Dame de Paris poured from memories almost forgotten. He had traveled to the cathedral many times, just to listen to the organ and choir sing; a few times he even ventured into the cathedral at night to play the organ just to listen to the instrument sing.
Tears slowly began to trickle down Erik's cheeks as the fond memories seemed to mock him. He pushed the horrid thoughts away and focused on the song. The world seemed to slow as the song quickened with the sweet sound. His heart quickened with the music and his breath came out as hums as the music enveloped him in a cocoon of euphoria; his mind was filled with complete happiness.
"You play beautifully."
Erik's eyes flew open, but he didn't bother to stop playing. Christine was at the end of the dock watching him, still wearing the nightgown Erik insisted she wore, for the other one had yet to be clean. Her feet were bare and her mane of raven ed hair was pulled away from her face. In her eyes, though, Erik could see that Christine was still fogged by her slumber.
"What is it called?" Christine asked, her voice soft and riddled with sleep.
Erik slowly came to a stop, pulling the violin away from his chin. "It's a song by Bach; a very lovely piece. It was one of the first I learned when I was a child." He knelt down and put the violin in its case. He eyed Christine for a moment; she hadn't moved, her hands fidgeting with the cuffs of her dress like they usually did. A smile came across Erik's face, but he hid it quickly. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep, so I came out here to play. I'm sorry that I woke you, Christine; I didn't know I was playing so loud."
Christine shook her head, a few strands of her curly hair falling into her face. "I've never heard anything like it; it was beautiful. It wasn't upsetting to wake to something like that." She took a step closer to him. Her eyes looked over his white mask but tried not to linger on it. "An angel can't help but do what he has been set out to fulfill."
With a slender finger, Erik brushed away the free strands of Christine's hair. Her cheeks flushed and her hand grazed across the hair that he had touched. She lowered her eyes, bashful of her display of childlike emotions.
"Both of us should get some sleep." Erik said, turning his face away from Christine. He could feel his own cheeks flush and give warmth to the mask that was facing Christine. "Your lesson took a lot out of you, Christine, and it would be best if you rested your voice. I will return you to the opera house tomorrow."
Christine studied Erik for a moment, watching his every movement closely. Her eyes were always drawn to the mask he wore, though. Erik never mentioned it or why it was there, but Christine could only imagine that he was accustomed to the stares and questions one would ask about such a thing. The mask was the item that had frightened her the night she had first seen him. Why would anyone wear a mask? Christine thought it was for a masquerade but when she saw him again, he still wore the mask. Erik was hiding something, she knew that much and she wanted to know what he hid but fear of what could happen was always echoing in her mind.
As Erik slowly moved past Christine, she reached for him but her hand was too high to touch his shoulder; instead her hand grazed the cold skin of the white mask. Erik felt the soft touch and spun around with reflexes mimicking a cat's. He grabbed Christine by the wrist, catching her off guard and causing her to let out a cry of surprise. A look of fear washed over the girl's face as the feelings of anger and betrayal began to well inside of Erik.
"What do you think you were trying to do?" Erik snarled, his eyes boring into Christine's.
Christine whimpered and tried to pull free of Erik's grasp, but he was too strong. "I was just trying to touch your shoulder. I didn't mean to make you angry."
Erik quickly dropped Christine's hand. He cursed himself beneath his breath, his eyes turning to Christine as she looked at him in fear. "I'm sorry, Christine." Erik whispered averting his eyes hastily. "I felt you touch my mask and I thought you were trying to remove it. Promise me, Christine," he said, "that you'll never try to remove my mask."
All Christine could do was nod in agreement, a sense of fear still present with the memory of Erik's angry gaze. He took a step towards her but she recoiled quickly, hugging herself and turning her eyes away. Erik moved forwards once more, his hand outreaching and touching her cheek softly. That simple touch turned Christine's attention back to Erik. He smiled softly and took another step towards her, slowly wrapping his arms around her and she didn't fight; she shook, not from fear but from the chilled air that rolled across the lake.
"Erik?" Christine whispered.
"Yes?" Erik said.
"I'm sorry if I made you angry," Christine said softly. Erik didn't reply and the two stood in silence for a moment. "Do angels convey emotions?" she asked softly and breaking the silence between them.
Erik nodded. "Every creature has the capability of emotions, Christine; no matter what they look like or what they are." The answer said more than he intended but it didn't seem to matter. "Why do you ask?"
"Can angels love?"
"I suppose they can."
"Do you?"
Erik didn't reply. He could feel Christine shift uneasily in the silence. Erik pulled away and looked down at Christine. She looked up at him, her eyes examining his face. A soft smile slowly spread across her face and Erik returned it. He had never noticed how small Christine was before that moment. Then again, he had never been so close to a woman before and by no means had the chance to observe such a thing.
Without a word Erik took Christine's face into his hands. She let out a gasp at the sudden touch and coldness of Erik's skin. She hadn't noticed it when he had taken her wrist because fear raced through her body. Now it was frightening but his touch quickly warmed to her skin and the feeling was quickly a memory. Christine's heart fluttered as Erik's face grew closer to hers. Christine closed her eyes, hoping that this wasn't a dream. Their lips met and in that first instance Christine stiffened at the alien touch, something Erik's subconscious took note of.
Erik's hands held Christine in place; one around her waist and the other on the nape of her neck. Christine's arms were wrapped around his neck, trying to hold her up; her legs were weak and her mind in a spin of emotions. After only four days of knowing this man, this angel, and hindering feelings of love, her questions were answered.
Slowly Erik pulled away, still holding Christine close to his body. He closed his eyes, feeling that strange sense for tears. In that fleeting second of rapture, their lives seemed to meet and their souls forever joined. He didn't know what to do with those feelings, having never felt or received love from a woman in his life. That moment, though, was filled with too many emotions and it left him drained in a sense.
"Have you ever loved?" Christine asked, finally breaking their silence. She didn't look at Erik and he didn't look at her.
Erik whispered his reply, afraid that she would hear what he dreaded. "No, Christine, and no one has loved me. I have lived that way all my life, and expect nothing more." He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness before him. His hand clutched at the fabric of Christine's nightdress and he sighed heavily. "As beautiful as I may seem, there is a creature that lurks inside me. Those who have seen this creature for themselves have never looked at me the same; my voice and my music can never erase those memories. I am not the angel you think I am."
Saying nothing more Erik pulled away from Christine, his eyes never making contact with hers. He was confused and tired; he wanted to be alone. Erik turned away from her and seized his violin case. Whispering a good night he retreated into the house and locked himself away in his room.
Christine soon followed, returning to her room and to the familiar bed. She slid beneath the covers, her mind still a blur with what just happened but sleep was slowly taking over. Before Christine slipped into the depths of her dreams she could hear the sound of someone crying and she could only wonder if it was her angel who wept.