"Oh my god!" Chrissy exclaimed. She started to back away from the boy, but he grabbed her arm.
"Don't go!" Marc said, grabbing her arm, "I've been searching for you all day! I saw you this morning. Why were you watching my family when we arrived here?"
Chrissy didn't know what to say. She had never spoken to another person other than her father before.
"You do talk, don't you?" Marc asked.
"Um," Chrissy said, her voice shaking. "Yes...yes, I do. It's just that...I've never spoken to another human being before...other than my father."
"A beautiful girl like you?" Marc asked, "You must be lying. I'm sure you have thousands of boyfriends."
Chrissy was stunned when he called her beautiful, "Obviously, you've never seen my face, Monsieur."
"Well, no." Marc replied, "But, I can tell by the sound of your voice."
They were both silent for a minute. Marc still kept a hold of her arm. Chrissy was glad he did. She had never felt another person's touch before, either. His hands weren't cold like her father's were from being in the laybrinth for so long. They were warm. Chrissy had never felt real, natural warmth before. She and Erik were naturally cold from being underground.
"My name is Marc Viscount de Chagny," Marc finally said.
"Yes, I know," Chrissy replied, "I heard your name this morning after you arrived."
"Well, you have the pleasure of knowing my name," Marc said, "Might I have the pleasure of knowing yours?"
"Um," Chrissy stammered, "Yes, it's Christine."
"Christine!" he said, "That's my mother's name. But, you probably already know that. What's your last name?"
"I don't have a last name," she replied, "It's just Christine. But, my father calls me Chrissy."
"Really?" he said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to call you that as well."
"Of course, Monsieur!" said Chrissy, "You're more than welcome to call me Chrissy!"
Chrissy saw Marc raising his hand in the moonlight. He touched the side of Chrissy's face that wasn't hidden by her mask.
"You're skin is so soft!" he implied, brushing her cheek. Christine kept wishing he'd keep his hand there and, more importantly, not move it to the left side of her face.
"I bet your lips are just as soft," he continued, "I bet they feel like an angel's. Of course, that would make sense since I am touching an angel."
Chrissy was melting from his words. She closed her eyes as her ears soaked in the pleasure of his voice. She felt like Juliet when she met Romeo at the Capulet's party. Marc was inching his face closer and closer to Chrissy's. She didn't care anymore if it was against her father's wishes, or if he found out about her mask. All she wanted was to taste his kiss, to taste a kiss, for the first time.
A second later, Marc's lips pressed against Chrissy's. She pressed back gently, but pulled away, inviting him in closer. He took the message and moved in. Chrissy placed her her hand behind his neck. Marc wrapped his arms around her.
"Chrissy?" someone was calling. It was her father's voice. "Chrissy, where are you?"
Marc finished his kiss. He pulled away from Chrissy.
"My father!" she exclaimed, "I'm sorry, I must go!"
Reluctantly, Chrissy pulled away from Marc's grip.
"Wait!" Marc cried, "You can't leave? What if I never see you again?"
"I'm so very sorry, but my father will be furious if he finds me with you!"
"When shall I see you again?" Marc asked.
Chrissy thought for a minute, "Tomorrow," she said, "at half past the midnight hour. By then, my father shall either be asleep or so emerssed in his work, he won't notice me leave. Meet me in the back of the opera house where the river rans out from underneath it. I'll be there."
Marc kissed her lips again. She wanted to stay with him. She almost did, until she heard her father's voice grow closer.
"Really! I must go!" she urged and she left him alone in the dark. A moment later, the power came back on. Marc looked around him, but Chrissy was gone.
Chrissy stayed in her room most of the next day. She barely had spoken to her father about where she had been when he knocked the power out. She didn't even care about asking him why he did shut down the power for a while. After the power had been fixed, the opera restarted, but Erik was so furious, they both went back to the laybrinth. Chrissy didn't care, she wanted to be alone in her room, anyway. Erik had spent the rest of the night working on his new opera. Chrissy changed into her night dress and layed under her covers dreaming about Marc. She dreamt of his voice, she dreamt of his touch, she dreamt of his kiss.
At breakfast the next morning, which Erik made, Chrissy ate a few bites, but mostly pushed her food around her plate.
"Are you feeling ill, Chrissy?" Erik asked, for it wasn't uncommon for either of them to come down with colds and flus in such a cold environment where they had no doctor or real medicine.
"Not really," Chrissy said, "My stomach just feels a bit naesous. I'm probably coming down with a cold is all, but I'm no stranger to illness." She wasn't about to tell him she was feeling naesous because of the fluttery feeling of Marc in her stomach.
The rest of the day, Chrissy spent in her room. She told her father she was just too ill and tired to sing that day and didn't touch any lunch or dinner. She went to bed early.
Hours later, Chrissy woke up. She looked at the clock that was on the mantle above the fireplace in her bedroom. It said 12:35.
"Oh my gosh, I'm late!" she exclaimed. She dressed quickly. As she reached her door, she listen for a sound of the piano. The room beyond was silent. Chrissy poked her head out. The candles were the only sign of life and movement in the room. Her father had gone to bed.
Chrissy dashed over to the tallest candle in the room. She placed it in a holder and rushed up the stone steps to the door that lead out of the laybrinth. Chrissy darted down the dark tunnels and passage ways until she reached the river bank. Chrissy climbed across the rickety bridge she had secretly built years ago and made it to the stone passage she used to get to the outside world.
Marc was sitting alone by the water's edge. He had brought a candle for a source of light. Marc pulled out his pocket watch. By the dim light of the candle, he could see it was 1:00.
"She must not be coming," he said disappointedly to himself.
Just as he stood up to leave, he heard what sounded like concrete stones moving behind him. Slowly and cautiously, he turned around. By the time he had, Chrissy was standing before him.
"I was afraid you weren't coming!" he said, "I've been waiting here since 11:30, I was so excited."
"I'm so sorry!" Chrissy replied, "I over slept! I didn't sleep much the night before!"
"I didn't sleep a wink!" said Marc, "I couldn't stop thinking about you!"
He walked over to her and kissed her. Apparently, in the dim candle light, Chrissy thought, he couldn't see her mask.
"Wait," she said, pushing Marc away. It took every once of power she had to do so, "Marc, wait! I don't think you know what you are getting yourself into!"
"Chrissy!" he said, "I was at the bay this morning. I walked all the way to the bay at dawn this very morning and I knew that, even though I've only met you once and even though I've never truely seen your face, I want to spend to rest of my life with you!"
"No, you don't!" Chrissy replied.
"Yes, I do!" Marc rebutted.
"No, you don't, Marc. You don't know me! You don't know my father! You don't even know what I look like! Marc, I think you're rushing this just a little fast!"
"You can't honestly tell me you're not the slightest in love me!" Marc urged.
"I don't even know what that feels like, Marc!" Chrissy cried, turning away from him.
"Haven't you ever been in love before, Chrissy?" Marc asked.
"No," she said quietly, not turning around, "I've never spoken to another human being other than my father, you know that! Only he knows I exsist. My mother did at one point...but it didn't last long. She died not even 5 minutes after I was born."
"No one knows you exsist?" Marc asked, "But, how? Why? Surely, people on the street cannot ignore you when you walk by."
"I've never walked on the streets before," Chrissy said, "I only come outside of the opera house at night when no one is around to see me."
"You live in the opera house?" Marc asked, confused, "Why?"
"Look," Chrissy said, turning around, "You were born in France. Have you ever heard of the story of The Phantom of the Opera?"
"Yes," Marc said, "My mother told me about him once, but she didn't tell me much else. She said he disappered and was never heard from again. Why do you ask?"
"She told you how he wore a mask?" Chrissy asked.
"Yes, but, what's that got-"
"It's got everything to do with it!" Chrissy interrupted. She stepped closer to Marc.
Chrissy took Marc's hand. She placed it onto the right side of her cheek. Remember how you only felt this side of my face?"
"Yes," Marc answered.
"What do you feel on this side?" she asked, moving his hand over.
Marc felt his hand press against her face, but instead of feeling the softness of her skin, he felt the hard, smooth surface of a mask upon her face.
"The Phantom of the Opera lives here, Marc." Chrissy said, " and I am his daughter, The Phantess of the Opera."