Not once did he have to pause, these passages he knew by heart. He made the plans for them, after all. Once they were generous distance from the lair, the subtle sound of rushing water seemed to surround them as they went directly beneath the nearby river only to dip back up toward the surface again. Pausing then, the sound of metal to metal filled the still air as he unlocked the heavy gate, then pulling it open he lead her through. From darkness to light, the fresh air traveled down the remaining length of the tunnel, made crisp by the drawn winter. She had been very quiet as they went, hardly making any sound at all, and he might have thought he'd lost her had her gentle grip not been so ever-present on his arm. The moment that light began to stream through towards them, even dim as it was this time of night, Christine smiled. She could already breathe the fresh air. Letting go of his arm once he led her through the gate, she slid her fingers into her gloves. The air was so crisp around them, the moonlight transparent through thin clouds outside, snow still fresh on the grounds.
Gathering the deep hood, he tugged it upward, covering his head, protecting his ears from the sharp bite of the gentle breeze. Easing the hem of the hood forward to further conceal his face, he took in a slow breath, gathering the freshness of the air. Compared to the air of his home, this was very invigorating. Seemingly coming from the shadows themselves, they would finally exit not too far from the side of the Rue Scribe. The land was covered with ground, only a inch or two, but with the flakes that were falling it was soon to be more by time morning would come. Where he made no sound below, the ice under his feet faintly crunched with his weight. The hood of her own cloak was brought up as well once they exited completely the labyrinth of dark passageways, ill concealing the curls that escaped, falling over her shoulders and chest. Drawing the cloak around her more firmly, she glanced up at him, almost taken aback by the dark sight in such a light atmosphere. It would have been frightening to anyone that might have passed them by -- a beautiful young lady in a warm blue gown accompanied by a man shrouded in darkness with dark gold eyes hidden in the cloak's hooded shadows -- but Christine had almost grown used to it. The cloak with its elaborately beaded collar was familiar, as well as the way he tipped his head against the light to find the best angle for hiding in shadows.
It had become so natural to him that he hardly even noticed that he was doing it. Taking a moment to gather his bearings, mostly to figure out just where the carriages would be at this time of night, he began walking in the direction of the nearest stop. His pace not too quickly to leave her trailing behind, he tried to keep with her own stride, cutting down his longer some so he'd be able to do so. Finally the silence was broken as he observed the surroundings. "Sometimes I forget how drawing snow can be." Turning his head slightly he glanced down to her, then forward again as they began coming closer to one of the main parkways. Tipping his chin, he searched through his pocket for the francs he'd need to pay for the carriage's cabby. Christine walked slowly, taking in the crisp night air. It was so fresh against that of the underground world of the Opera House. Wondering quietly how he could live all the time down there, alone, she followed him towards the carriages, of which there were far fewer out than had it been the daytime or even early evening. She had snuck out a few times with Meg this late, but that was only when she was quite a good deal younger and knew nothing of how dangerous it might be for her at this hour, without a chaperone. Moving away from him just slightly, her eyes roamed the distance. The streets of Paris were always more beautiful at night, somehow. The soft-twinkling lights of a sleeping city under fallen snow...it was quite magical to a girl her age.
The opera house looked so large against the night sky. He always admired the way it appeared, especially within the moonlight, surrounded by snow. He gazed upon it quietly, then turning his head around he continued his path to the lingering carriage. The horses were covered against the chill, and the driver looked to be bundled within several layers of cloth. Once they had reached the carriage, he lifted his hand and opened up the door for her before drawing closer to the driver. Ensuring that his features were covered from most sight, he dropped the heavy weight of a franc against the wood of the seating, waking the man with a sharp start. He peered down toward the cloaked figure, then scooped up the coin with a bite to it. "Bois de Boulogne, Monsieur." Destination given, he moved to the stairs of the carriage to climb in himself. Closing the door behind him before resting near her side, the driver snapped the reins, and with a click of his tongue started off to the park.
Christine stared off into the streets of Paris for a long moment before she climbed into the carriage quietly, studying the way Erik moved and talked in public. He didn't seem nervous about being out, or antsy. He acted as he would any other day within his life of darkness, though there was still that paranoia. Always careful of exposing himself too much to strangers, else they would be curious as to what laid behind the mask. He had no intentions to be listening to the screams of terror from others. Settling her skirts about her, her eyes were on him as he sat beside her, and she did wonder what she meant to him at that very moment. In the world she was used to, this world of light and clean air and smiling faces – however masked those were of true intentions -- what would their relationship be? Erik had insisted it was tutor and student, but he had done so with a look in his eyes that said more than the words off his lips. Looking away with a smile as the carriage moved, she leaned towards the window to look out. "It's beautiful tonight. Almost magical, isn't it? With all this snow and such moonlight."
While she looked out of the window, he rested stoic and silent. The mouth of the cowl turned slightly, drawing back from masked jaw and cheek. He glanced beyond her to what laid beyond the window, then slipped his gaze to her again with a subtle nod. "Very beautiful." Doubled meaning, one of which was held vaguely and easily over looked. Easily overlooked by Christine, certainly. There was nothing that gave his secret meaning away to her. He would likely have to come out and say the words literally for her to understand them, after all, which might have been why she took so effortlessly to Raoul. He was one to say his feelings outright; like his touches, his language was sure of itself. "There is word that it may snow all month. Last year there was not much. Unfortunate that."
Glancing back to him, she smiled brightly and nodded. "I would love to see that." And then turned her attention back to the world outside of the carriage. Often he had asked himself a series of questions, mostly centered around her. Such as why did he bother to try when he had no idea of how to deal with a situation like this. He was rarely given compliments, and those that were given to him were often met with bitterness and a snide tone. Compliments weren't there anymore once they saw his face. Couldn't take, and didn't know how to properly give. With her young mind she probably didn't grasp the concept of the hidden meaning, and truly.. he was glad. Quieting down, he looked toward the wall across from him, and folding his arms across his stomach, the fingers of one hand curled against the cloth, kneading at it lightly. The park wasn't too far away, he would never be at a great distance from his home, and glancing briefly out of the window he could see its beginning and surrounding gates.
Christine's hands settled in her lap and almost like a dance of their eyes, her gaze turned to his nearly the moment he looked away from her. She watched him and then leaned forward to try and follow his gaze, and a sad sort of smile lifted on her lips. "It is not often that you leave your home?" she asked, almost more tenderly than she'd ever asked anything of him. Slowly, she was beginning to understand what a life like his must mean.
"No," he responded quietly, the hood shuddering slightly with the shaking of his head. Steadily drawing from a canter to a trot, the horses were then walked toward a stand still. "We're here, Monsieur, Madame," though he hadn't seen her, he heard her voice within the hollow of the carriage. Glancing toward the slit of a window that separated them from the driver, he shifted closer to the door to press it open. Lowering the stairs, he stepped out, dropping to his feet, then lifting a hand, the gloved fingers splayed gently, awaiting her own palm to be placed so he could assist her down.
Still a tiny frown marring the beauty of what could have been a smile, she forced her lips to raise a little as she scooted close to the door and set her feet carefully on the steps, fingers falling into his easily. After he had helped her down, she breathed in the fresh air, fixing her hood slightly as the snowflakes landed on the curls of her hair that escaped. Pressing up the stairs and shutting the door, he turned around to look over the park. While it was simplistic he always enjoyed the sight of it. Most of it was wood, thin enough where a person wouldn't get lost. There was a large lake, already frozen over, as well as an elaborate fountain. The gates were yawned open, and between the grates he walked, urging her to follow with his slower stride. Dampening his lower lip, getting rid of the dried sensation that lingered upon the skin from the chill of the air, he turned his head to look over to her, studying her reaction to the sight of this place.
Following him, she stayed very close to his side, so that her shoulder nearly brushed his own as she walked. She didn't wish to stray far from him, though in the park, there was little chance of her getting lost. She had been here only a few times, with Meg and the other ballet rats, but never this time of night, and her face seemed to light up at the awe of nighttime. It was only in the day that was suitable for girls like her to wander about, so that was what she was used to, but the darkness held a whole new world for her. A little frightening at times for its newness, but otherwise she was surely charmed. Finding his eyes on her, she looked up to him, curling her fingers along the cloak's side hem to keep it securely around her for warmth. "Do you come here often when you do come out?" Still that timid, quiet, musical lull to her voice.
"I have. Several times." He nodded gently within the shadows of the cowl. Drawing her close to the wood, he lured her to follow, traveling further within. He knew where he wanted to take her, some place 'magical.' Just the thought of taking her there was enough to warm that chill of ice in his chest. "It is said that when it snows, and ice crystals hang from the streets, nymphs and fairies come out to dance within the pale light of the moon," he began quietly, just the beginning of a tale to be woven. "Graceful and melodic, they flow along shadow and light, between trees, just out of the corner of one's eye." He glanced over the grove as the amount of trees began to raise, but it was still comfortable for them to walk without running into a tree or branch. Tiny ice crystals hung like stalactites from the bare branches, and catching the light of the moon, they shimmered gently. Lifting a hand, one finger crossed over his lips as he spoke, his voice hushing. "If you listen, you could hear them now." It didn't take much effort for him to throw his voice, but he did, and if she happened to listen as he told her to, she'd take note of the jovial song that gently echoed off in the distance.
Raoul might have needed to take her arm or hand or face to draw her in, but Erik need only speak, for when he did, it was enough to enthrall the girl beyond what taking her hand might have done. It wasn't just his voice though; it was also the story he told. Surely he knew her weakness for fairy stories, especially the ones dealing with actual fairies, and while she was far too old to believe that they really existed, her eyes widened beautifully at the first mention of their dance in the light of the moon. Her lips parted, breathlessly exhaling white smoke in the cold air, and she nearly felt she was breathing too loudly and would miss their song, and then a sparkle of ice caught her eye, and it was at that moment that Erik's voice was thrown, and to her, the very icicle she was watching twinkled in time to their song. Glancing to him, for she knew it had to be a trick – though she really didn't know at all, for his lips didn't appear to be moving – her smile crept up slight more on the one side. Gazing at him in awe, she turned her eyes to where their song came from, raising both hands to her heart.
When she cast a glance to him he gave a gentle smile, then let it fade away when she looked out to the forest again. "We must keep quiet, or we'll end up scaring them off," he lowered his head, enough where the edge of the cowl would brush against her own. His voice was all the more quiet, even as that song continued. Just how? Perhaps it was just her imagination, because there was no sure way he could talk near her, and sing far away at the same time. Then again, there were those who could drink water and sing. "The fae are beautiful creatures. Wings like dragon flies, glistening wet rainbows that glitter and sparkle with every flutter. They were gowns of silk, spun by the very beams of the moon. Can you see them. Look, there is one." He lifted a hand, pointing off in the distance toward what was only a larger length of jutting ice. The moon hit it just right, and with their walking, it almost seemed as if they were fluttering wings. "The nymphs are often harder to catch. They can lay upon snow covered branches and you would never know they were there until you have ice dumped upon you. Devious little creatures they were." When he quieted, the gift of his song seemed a bit louder. They were drawing close to the glen he wanted to show her.
Christine felt her heartbeat flying away without her. It was almost too exciting, waiting to see the nymphs and fairies dancing through the park. And the song was still there, even as he talked, which drew her in further, so that she glanced from Erik to the ice and back again, trying to disprove him and finding nothing that could do so. But her soul had given up to believe in fairies, and at his prompted pointing, her gaze caressed the icicle that seemed to take the very shape of a little girl with dragonfly wings, beating swiftly and then not, then swiftly again, shaking dew-dropped rainbows from her tiny shoes. Mesmerized, she did not look to Erik again, but breathless surveyed each passing branch with enraptured ecstasy, breath heavy and heart full. If he broke the spell, she might cry for the lack of it. And did her pace seem to pick up just slightly as the song grew louder? As if they were truly drawing closer to the magical creatures, yes, her footsteps increased in earnest.
There had been a time when he had promised himself that he wouldn't enthrall her to his voice, and after earlier events that promise should've been renewed. But there was there was nothing wrong with drawing her into his little fantasy world where all was safe and that once they left the wood it would be over, she'd be nudged back into reality.. into the nasty truth of whom and what she was with. The more her excitement built, the deeper he sought to draw her, and the softness of his voice changed within an enshrouding lilt. It was only one fairy she'd catch brief glimpse of, though as he walked with her, another flicker came to sight, and another, surrounding them more as the moon's light broke through the canopy. They were almost within the bare 'ceiling' area of the glen, and that was where all of the ice crystals would capture the unbridled light. Lifting his hand he brushed the hood back, letting it rest listlessly against the back of his neck. Watching her as her steps built, a faint smile crossed his lips, and now that her attention wasn't focused upon him, he closed his eyes and continued singing. He had suitably been dubbed as the Angel of Music by her. It was rare someone could reach different broad ranges, and the voices off in the waning distance were certainly too light and delicate of a falsetto to be from his throat.
It was easy to be drawn into such exquisite imaginary places when his voice took over in her mind like that. The shroud he let fall over her claimed every inch of her, so that no thoughts were outside the safe little world he'd constructed for her here, with fairies and mischievous nymphs. The moonlight caught another icicle, then another, and Christine felt as if she might cry it was all so beautiful. It seemed as if more and more fairies flew by, their sparkling wings glittered at the tips by snowflakes and bits of ice that caught the moonlight just so. If he could make his mother believe that a little porcelain statuette was a human boy, it had to be frightening just what images he could construct with that voice. Hypnotizing, he could take any tired or weak mind and twist it to his liking. If she had been well rested and well aware that night he was behind her mirror, he might not have been able to capture her, and though she was wide awake now, she was just exhausted enough where he could weave this incredible world for her. Only for one other did he do such a thing before he placed the poor child out of his misery. Let him go with a smile upon his lips.
The
final steps would have her breach the tree line and enter the very
glen he was leading her to. Here the voice was strongest, as well as
the flickering images of flickering wings. Branches cracked and ice
crystals gently shattered from the weight of snow, but they could
have been nothing more than the tinkling laughter of these fleeting
images. To his eye the glen was bare, a broken tree covered with snow
and ice, leaning to an awkward angle was set near its middle.. but to
her... The snow fell just so in the glen, the moonlight hitting
everything just right, so that it wasn't only fairies and nymphs
dancing about -
- it was a whole world opening up before her tired
eyes. To him, to reality, it was only a glen with a broken tree and
crackling ice, but to Christine, it was the most magnificent
playground in the world. Every icicle Erik saw fall was another
singing fairy to her, tiny pairs of wings fluttering to catch the
lights of Paris, with tiny gowns and shoes and locks of hair longer
than their bodies flowing behind them. Her fingers curled around her
lips, eyes searching and wide. Stopping, she couldn't move and was
afraid once she did, she wouldn't be able to see them anymore.
"Oh Erik..." came the cry of utter hopeless desire, fraught with barely-contained physical ecstasy. For the moment, she was content to listen to their happy midnight song and watch each crystal bust against the ground, only to spring to life a hundred more fairies in its dust. He didn't have to see. The look within her eyes and the bright smile on her face was enough to please him. Stepping into the clearing, he made his way over to the leaning tree to lower to a sit upon another portion of old, hollowed log. A tree long ago fallen and left to the ages to rot. He didn't care about the snow that he sat upon, or the crumbling bits of wood, only the way she marveled at every little detail she could make out. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine just for a moment what she might be visioning. A life time in the dark, he had to come up with an elaborate imagination, and rather quickly he drudged up a scene to mind. Though it wasn't winter that he viewed. With each touch of a fairy's foot upon a branch, the snow melted away and a bud or leaf blossomed within its wake. Every where, white turned a vibrant green until the whole glen was covered with flowers and grass in just a manner of minutes. Though it was night, he could almost feel the heat of the sun upon his face. It was no surprise that these very suggestions entered the melodic tone as he continued the breathless, wordless song.
Green moss replaced the ice and snow, flowers sprang in place of dead trees and fallen branches, and icicles melted away under a summer sun. The cold chill of the night was all but forgotten, and she went as far as to lift her hood and let it fall back, snowflakes catching upon her curls to mimic the glittering stars the makeup and wardrobe women had stuck in her hair just earlier this evening. Or was it last night or a month ago? No thoughts of anything but this place were on her mind now. Cautiously, she took a step forward, then another, looking down at herself to see no cloak or gloves or shawl but a summer's dress of a lighter yellow, the sun kissing inches of skin that could not be shown in winter.
He didn't wish to keep the hold upon her for too long, and as much as he'd dislike to break her from it, he did so gently. Reaching up and taking a hold of a larger crystal, he gave it a sharp tug, breaking it from the branch that it was upon. Easing to a stand, he drifted a bit of suspicion within the lyrical sound, fairy becoming aware that they weren't quite alone. He imagined it clearly; the first darting away into the forests, the branch that it was upon sealing over in snow again. Then another, bringing dots of pristine white to once brightly lit grass of green. Slowly he lured her from the dream, keeping just enough of a hold for her to be drawn into the flight of the little creatures. Again, light and jovial, curious, he stood before her, his fingers cupped against the thicker end of the icicle. He tipped it just so, letting it catch the light as the curious winged creature drew close to her face, then after a peck of a kiss, the tip of the ice coming to a quick tap to her noses tip, the beauty fluttered away with her friends, and the illusion was softly shattered with the ice hidden, cupped in his hand.
Christine stopped moving the moment the first fairy flew away and her fingers stuttered forward, as if she could grab them and halt their flight from her. But she'd broken their graceful spell, and the moss and flowers grew over with snow so thick, she couldn't believe it had ever been green before! The look on her face was positively heartbreaking as her eyes centered on the last tiny fairy that fluttered towards her, catching the moonlight just so. Almost sleepily, she reached for it, though what she touched happened to be Erik's knuckles, just as it kissed her on the nose and seemed to disappear as she blinked away the iced feeling it left behind...and the tiny drop of moisture that beaded on her nose. Fingers drawn away, she found herself face-to-face with Erik as the dream departed, and she wiped her nose with one swipe of her fingertip. Silently, she let out a breath she must have been holding since the first fairy had flown off.
