This story is just falling out of my fingers...here's my last update of the day!
Hope you like it!
The roof of the Opera Populaire was just about the only structurally unaffected portion of the building. Somehow, the licking flames that erupted that night three years ago failed to climb as high as the roof.
It looked exactly the same.
Raoul was standing several feet in front of her, turning to the sound of Christine's presence.
"Hello Raoul," she said softly.
Raoul held her gaze for a moment, too entranced by her smooth face to speak.
When he finally found his voice, it was no more than a whisper.
"Why," he asked quietly. "Why would you want to sleep under this roof once more?"
Christine looked up at the night sky. "I don't know," she replied. Raoul walked closer to her.
"After all that happened in this place…all the pain…all the hurt," he said, his voice emotional. "Why would you want to surround yourself with it?"
Christine didn't respond.
"I don't pretend to understand why you do the things you do, Christine," Raoul said after a few silent moments. "God knows I practically drove myself mad trying to figure out why you risked your life for me and then called off our engagement."
"Raoul…" Christine interrupted, guilt clutching at her throat again.
"No, Christine. I've been silent long enough," Raoul continued, sounding stronger. He moved closer to her, brushing a wayward curl from her forehead. "I love you Christine. Even after all this time, after all that has happened, I love you still."
Tears were brimming on her eyelashes.
"We belong together," Raoul pressed, grasping her upper arms, becoming a bit firmer. "And you will realize that," he said, his eyes a bit crazed.
He tightened his grip, causing Christine to wince involuntarily.
Seeing the pain he was causing her, he released her, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice tense. Christine rubbed her arms, trying to erase the feeling of his hold on her.
He cleared his throat and looked at her, his eyes still slightly unfamiliar. "I must go," he said suddenly and turned, quickly leaving Christine alone.
She sat at the base of a large gargoyle, still absentmindedly rubbing her arms.
It seemed that Raoul had been right.
Christine's angel of music would indeed haunt them both until they were dead.
Footsteps brought her to her feet.
They were even.
Familiar.
Deadly.
"Who's there?" Christine's voice sounded panicked. "Please, reveal yourself!" She called into the darkness.
"Do I need revealing, Christine?"
It was just a voice, but it brought Christine to her knees.
"Angel…" She whispered, her heart slamming against her chest. "What endless longings echo in this whisper," she continued, reciting lines from a song he had written for her.
Silence.
She rose to her feet.
"Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me," she continued, her voice finding the melody. "Enter at last, master…"
The footsteps approached.
Out of the swirling mist came a figure. It moved determinedly towards her…
Until she was in full view of him.
Her breath hitched on a sob.
"Erik…" she choked. "But you're dead."
Erik smiled, halting in his procession, his dark cape settling around his long, muscular form.
"Angels cannot die, Christine," he replied lyrically, his tongue rolling around her name.
For a moment neither moved. Neither spoke. Tears flowed steadily down Christine's face.
"Am I mad," she wondered aloud. "Is this real?"
She moved towards him, stopping about a foot away. His breath was coming as harshly as hers. He was looking down at her, his eyes nearly obscured by the dark lashes outlining the lids. His strong chest rose and fell evenly.
He watched as Christine's thin arm rose, her hand coming close to him.
And landing on his cheek.
His eyes slid closed for a moment. He could hear Christine sobbing freely; the realization that Erik was alive was too much for her body to withhold.
He let her small palm cup his cheek for a moment before opening his eyes again.
He saw her damp face, her red-rimmed eyes.
He saw her full mouth, slightly parted in silence.
He saw her hair, full around her small face.
Memories began to flood his mind.
She left you. She left you. She left you.
Erik pulled away from her, trying to silence the voice chanting in his head. He regarded her.
So she had not married the boy after all.
When he had heard Raoul reveal that fact, he had clutched at his heart. The elation he felt had been short lived, however, when Raoul had professed his love.
Erik had sensed the man's desperation; it was a feeling Erik himself was all too familiar with.
He knew what it felt like to hold Christine close to him.
To feel her lips on his own.
His jealously had almost won out on his understanding when Erik saw the flash of fear cross Christine's face as Raoul held her arms.
But just as Erik was about to pounce, rapier in hand, Raoul had released his hold, exiting quickly.
Erik knew that the boy's desperation could only be stifled for so long.
After all, one man obsessed differs little from the next.
She was staring at him, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he was here…to explain the tombstone bearing his identification.
She left you. She left you. She left you.
"Why have you agreed to this performance," Erik demanded suddenly. Christine backed up slightly at the sound of his sharp tone.
"I…I would do anything to preserve this opera," she replied, her voice quiet.
"But why this…why agree to this?" He rounded on her, moving close once again.
Christine gasped.
"Do you seek to mock me, Christine?" Erik growled. "Do you seek to humiliate me by performing Don Juan? Is this another part of the punishment you presented to me when you left me to die in the putrid bowels of this place!"
He had pinned her against a statue, his eyes wild, his face inches from her own. Her breath was coming in desperate gasps.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she offered helplessly. "I'm not trying to do any of those things…"
"You can so easily relive this performance, Christine?" Erik asked lowly. "You can block out the memories of you and I… together on that bridge…"
He paused to touch a gloved hand to her hair.
"To be able to live it again…to be able to sing those words to another man," his voice pleading. He looked deep into her eyes, breaking her heart. "Did it all mean so little to you, Christine?"