Erik:
I couldn't sleep that night or for many nights thereafter. I could only slip into a restless trance filled with images of both my wretched past and the beauty of her face. No matter how tired I was, I couldn't rest knowing that she had been up there, under the same roof as I. I always felt vaguely intoxicated after I taught her - drunk on both the music and on the innocent beauty of her voice. It seemed as if the walls still buzzed from the splendor that had escaped her throat. The thought that she had been there at all filled me with joyful contentment; the fact that I had been with her set my mind ablaze.
I didn't dare go up to that room, though, except when I practiced with her. But there was one time that I went up to that passageway without her knowing. Our lesson had run late, and I had left her to herself, retreating to the less-than-comforting blackness of the cellars reluctantly. But as time passed, I found that Sleep would not welcome me into its realm of dreams and nightmares. I set about travelling around my dark underworld kingdom, walking through the corridors like the Minotaur guarding its labyrinth.
Suddenly, I found my hands pressed up against the one-way mirror with no recollection of how I'd gotten there. My fingers were spread apart and I had the urge to push against the barrier that separated me from the dressing room. Obviously she was staying the night in the Opera House - it had gotten much too late for it to be safe for her to hail a carriage when our lesson had ended. As I looked in I saw, in the dim light of a single lamp, the outline of her slumbering form. I was abruptly jealous of the blanket that clung to her body in a mockery of a lover's embrace, touching the soft skin of her arms that I could never feel. I wanted to be close to her, to feel the warmth of her breath against my cheek, the gentleness of her hand on my shoulder; that smothering heat of her kiss. . .
I bit back a sigh until I could taste the blood on my lower lip. My hands were clenched in tight fists as I held my emotions back, trying desperately to keep silent. These wanton urges and desires would be the death of me if I failed to contain them. And yet-! Even while she slept she had the beauty of an angel. I watched as her chest rose and fell with her deep, even breaths; and before I knew it, I heard my voice speak her name.
"Christine. . ."
In horror, I backed away as she stirred, instinctively pulling the brim of my hat lower over my mask. I could not completely force myself to leave yet. My mind was racing, my blood pounding uncomfortably loudly in my ears. Surely my racing heart could be heard all across Paris! I began to hum soothingly, unable to remember the words of that old lullaby even if my life had depended on it. My hands shook as I touched the mirror once more; she sighed quietly and was soon lulled back to sleep by my voice.
I decided that it would be too dangerous to even attempt returning to this room again - even if she wasn't in it. If I continued to act recklessly like this, there was no telling what further damage could be rendered between Christine and I. I had already found what these thoughtless gamblings could do - dare I continue to raise those dire stakes? No, I could only come to this mirror when it was time for her tutoring. Any other time and I would never be able to hold myself back. I allowed myself one last glance before reluctantly turning away and walking back through the passageways. . .
. . . Alone. . .
I was locked in a cage, deprived of my mask - the one and only shield I had against humanity and its probing eyes. There was fear in all of the faces that surrounded me; there was that all-too-powerful hatred in their eyes as they all secretly tried to wish me away. My hands and neck were tied to the bars tightly; I couldn't bow my head, I couldn't cover my grotesque visage. No matter how much I struggled against those bonds, I couldn't free myself. There was a deep cry of animal fury echoing in my ears before I realized it came from my own throat.
I pulled against the ropes that secured me to the cage, kicking the fear-filled air with my legs uselessly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my eyes stinging as the sweat and tears mingled together. I scanned the terrified audience, stared at the open, shrieking mouths; their cries became a hideous cacophony that pained the ears. The air was thick with frightened weeping and those uncontrollable shrieks. Women fainted; children cried out in terror - terror of the living corpse!
I twisted and turned frantically, trying desperately to get away from that hate. . . that loathing. The rope bit into my neck, my skin raw from the constant rubbing of those indiscriminate bonds. My own screams had turned into hysterically sobbing. I couldn't breathe and I began thinking perhaps I would suffocate.
"Let me go home," I cried ineffectually to no one in particular. I pulled against my constraints with all of my strength in vain. "Let me go home! Give me my mask back. . . please! I'm begging you! I don't want to be in here - I don't want to be in this cage!. . ."
"Erik?" Christine murmured when I had missed my cue. I had allowed my mind to wander as she sang, for once ignoring the beauty and the pureness of her voice. "Erik, are you all right? You don't seem yourself today."
I smiled slightly behind the full black mask, musing over her insightfullness. Truth to tell, I had had an awful night - my dreams were filled with the dark phantasms of my bleak past. It had been a week or so after the night I'd watched her behind the mirror, and Faust was soon to be performed. Christine had progressed wonderfully under my tutelage; during those lessons, our conversations consisted of nothing but the opera. This would have been the first time, besides our initial lesson, that she asked a question that wasn't about a chord in the music. I sighed softly and tiredly leaned back in the chair.
"Erik?" she repeated, her voice quivering in what I thought was hidden fear. "Are you ill?"
I swallowed a bitter laugh. As if she truly cared! Doesn't she remember?, I thought acerbically. The Angel of Music never gets sick! And yet, I wanted desperately for her to truly be concerned. No. . . no, this was simply a polite pleasantry. I held back my instinctive sarcastic response.
"No, my child," I said aloud, taking on the same aloofness I had always used with her. Perhaps if I pretended not to care for her, then it would become reality? "I'm quite all right. But. . . thank you for asking."
Christine seemed satisfied with this (how easily the girl could be mollified!), gracing me with a smile that looked too forced. She took a strand of hair, curling it around her fingers, and instantly I recognized the telltale sign that she had more to say. Sure enough, she asked timidly, "Will you be at the performance?"
Sighing inwardly, I realized with some surprise that wasn't what I was hoping she would say, even if I couldn't figure out what I had been expecting. "To listen to Mlle DeVan become the epitome of a bleating cow?" She allowed me the pleasure of hearing her melodious laugh. "Yes, I suppose, if you wish for me to be there."
She nodded slowly in earnest and looked down at her hands on her lap in an endearing way. "Please, if you could. . . That is, if you aren't busy that night. . ."
Oh, such cruel misfortune! I told her silently, Actually, I was, indeed, planning on entertaining that night, my child. I don't suppose you have met Monsieur Nobody and his dear and lovely wife, Madame Nothing? Ah, but I'm more than sure that they can wait; I shall just have to set aside all of my plans for that night. Besides, they do have a child to care for - I can't quite recall, but Naught, I think believe his name was. . .
"It's getting late, my dear," I informed her gently, pressing the switch that would turn the mirror on its pivot. "I suggest that you rest your voice and get some sleep; even if you are not performing in Mlle DeVan's stead. Good night, Christine."
Though she saw me disappear through the mirror, I stayed behind and watched as she tidied that poor excuse for a dressing room. I held my breath when she stared directly at me, even though I knew that she couldn't truly see me through the barrier between us. She dimmed the lamps in her room and draped her cloak over her shoulders. She opened the door and stood there a moment, the light from the hall filtering into the room. She turned to face the room again and, as she pulled the hood over her dark curls, I could have sworn I heard her whisper:
"Good night, my Angel. . ."