Thanks for the votes of confidence! I'm building up here...have patience, our lovers will meet!
I hope you're all enjoying this!
This might be one of those chapters where I take creative liberty...just go with it:)
Christine folded her arms around herself and looked around the lavishly appointed room she had been designated to. The men she had paid to move her clothing, toiletries and other person effects had done a wonderful job, placing everything in its place before rehearsal was even over.
She didn't know what had compelled her to make the odd request to her managers. The scenery of Don Juan had overwhelmed her; it seemed that Erik could manage to memorize her still…
Even from beyond the grave.
Christine shivered at the thought.
Once her feet touched the stage, found their way back into the familiar steps of Don Juan Triumphant, she had known she needed to stay within the opera. While she wasn't certain why, the feelings were so powerful she had immediately relented.
She stood before a lavish mirror, its frame pure gold. Christine recognized it immediately as one of the mirrors that was kept in the small chapel deep within the belly of the Opera Populaire.
The chapel. She had almost forgotten it.
Not that she could ever forget it completely. So many nights she had spent staring at the religious statues, lighting candles and talking with…
him.
Her angel.
Christine's eyelids fluttered closed and she allowed herself to briefly visit a memory.
"Angel, is that you?" Her bell-like voice filled the dark room, the one candle she had lit barely illuminating anything.
"Yes child, it is I," the ghostly, yet masculine voice replied.
Sixteen-year-old Christine Daee smiled, her joy overwhelming her.
"Angel, I hear you…speak! I listen!" She called out, a giggle to her pitch.
"Darling child," Erik replied, stepping into the small room. "You danced marvelously this evening."
Christine's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the man before her. He was tall and broad shouldered. Black trousers hugged long legs. A crisp white shirt covered his obviously muscular chest. An elaborate black vest hugged his form and an impressive, flowing cape trailed behind him.
Standing out starkly against the dark figure was a gleaming white mask, which covered almost the entire right side of his face.
The side of his face that was visible always made Christine's heart feel weak. He was beyond handsome. Slick black hair framed a thickly lashed, entrancing eye. His cheek and jaw seemed to be chiseled from stone, yet his full lips looked soft enough to…
Without thinking, the young Christine moved close to her angel and placed a quick, appreciative kiss against the exposed cheek. As she began to back away, the angel grasped her thin wrist.
Christine raised her eyes to his, which were dark and burning with an emotion her young mind could not identify.
His thumb was running over the sensitive skin on her wrist rhythmically, causing a chill to creep up her spine. She licked her lips, unable to pull her gaze from his.
He moved closer to her, placing his cold hands on her exposed shoulders.
Her blood ran icy as he caressed her upper arms lightly, all the while looking at her face.
"Christine!" A bubbling, feminine voice called. "Christine, are you down there?"
"Meg," Christine whispered, still looking at the man before her.
He ran a finger down her cheek softly.
And then he was gone in a flash of black silk.
"Christine?" The same bubbling voice from her memory called from the other side of her new room's door.
"Come in, Meg," Christine called back. The small, curvy blond entered the room, smiling.
"You were wonderful, as always," Meg complimented, her rosy cheeks making Christine smile. Meg was like a sister to her, and Christine loved her immensely.
"As were you, Meg," Christine replied.
"Raoul is looking for you, Christine," Meg informed her. "He's asked me to ask you to meet him on the roof when you're ready."
Christine sighed. Of course he would want to talk to her; to find out why she had decided to relocate to the opera house.
She supposed after all she had put him through, she could at least grant him her presence.
"Alright," Christine relented, grasping a heavy cloak from her wardrobe.
Meg smiled at her friend as they walked out of Christine's new room together.
Erik watched the women leave from behind the large mirror.
Twice he had almost revealed himself; twice he had reached to slide the mirror aside and take Christine in his arms, smelling the roses on her skin and claiming her lips with his own, finishing a kiss that had barely started.
He had refrained, breathlessly watching as she stood before him, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
He could stand an eternity in the darkness if only he could gaze upon the light that was Christine.
His heart had been wrenched as little Meg Giry had entered, informing Christine that the boy wanted to see her. And she had agreed! No hesitation!
Of course she did…
She loved him.
Erik's blood heated at the thought.
He had let her go with him.
He had been the one that granted her this bliss. This love that was apparently stronger than the sway her angel of music had on her.
He would not make the same mistake twice.
With that thought, he easily drifted, unseen, to the roof.