Her Story by GoldenLyre

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Chapter 4

After I had returned from Erik's home, Raoul cornered me and invited me out for dinner – and this time I lacked a valid excuse. We caught up, and it did not turn out as badly as I thought. On the contrary, I grew fond of him again but that was where my feelings for him halted. We became very good friends in a short time, although I got the feeling he wanted to take our relationship further than that.

Erik still gave me lessons but seemed more distant. I was disappointed. On occasion he would take me back down to his home beneath the Opera House and we'd practice for hours on end. When it came to music, Erik would have nothing but perfection and I was all too willing to help him achieve it. However, his gestures and words remained businesslike – cold, almost. I grew frustrated with our situation. One day, we were beneath the Opera House again. I confronted him then.

"Erik, did I do something wrong?" I asked him after we finished a practice round. My brown eyes met his ethereal blue ones. He looked surprised and replied rather incredulously, "Why, no… Of course not, my dear… What makes you think so? You did wonderfully…"

I looked down at my wringing hands nervously and shook my head. "No, that was not what I meant. You've been distant… it's as if… As if you don't care about me anymore…" I swallowed a sob that was threatening to escape me, and tears burned my eyes. I was perfectly aware of the extremely childish, pathetic image I must've portrayed but I couldn't help it! I was so confused!

I looked up at him again and asked insistently, my voice cracking with tears - "Was it because I took off your mask? I'm so sorry for what I've done, please forgive me…" He walked over and knelt before me. A shaking hand reached up and wiped away my tears… and his eyes met mine. They were sad and pleading. "Christine… you're the only one I have ever cared about…" he said softly, wrapping me in a sort of imaginary embrace. This was exactly what I meant! One moment he was the strict teacher I was not very fond of, and then the next he was the sweet and caring man that I was more attracted to than I cared to admit!

I grasped the hand that remained on my cheek, and a warm silence came over us – no words were needed. In that moment I could see Erik's emotional mask slip as tenderness filled the blue depths of his eyes…

All of Joseph Buquet's stories were completely wrong. Erik was anything but a monster… He was but a misunderstood man whom I was learning about with each encounter.

The Opera House's new production of Il Muto was being rehearsed – and I was disappointed to find that I was given the silent role. Carlotta must've gone into one of her diva tantrums for her role again. I sighed. There was nothing I could do, I suppose.

Soon enough, performance night had arrived. Carlotta's Comtesse costume mirrored her personality completely – it was boisterously pink and tastelessly decorated, and her white wig was about her full height! My costume of the pageboy was a mix of white linen lined with gold worn with pastel blue trousers. I was rather fond of it, actually.

As soon as I stepped onto the stage, however, a strange sense of dread overcame me. Suddenly, the stage lights seemed too bright, too warm… I looked up at the audience, and my heart stopped to see Raoul in Box 5… My heart started to race with nervousness. I knew very well how Erik felt about his commands being disobeyed. His exploits as the Opera Ghost scares everyone who resides within the Opera House walls. I only hoped to God that he would not do anything terribly drastic…

My hopes were dashed.

"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?" his voice boomed and echoed off the building's walls, interrupting the performance. Carlotta started over, her throat freshly-sprayed. Suddenly, a most agonizing croak erupted from her as she attempted to reach the high notes. It did not cease, so she ran off the stage in embarrassment. The curtain fell.

I was announced to replace her in the role of Comtesse. Everything else seemed to be a blur – Madame Giry dragged me backstage to dress me up. Erik had left me his trademark rose on my vanity. I repeated over and over in my mind, "Erik, don't do anything… Please, don't do anything!"

Wishful thinking.

The Phantom of the Opera strikes again.

Screams could be heard from the stage – and what I saw nothing short of horrified me to no end. Joseph Buquet hung by his neck in the middle of the stage, his blank eyes staring at nothing. I saw Raoul run towards me, and on instinct I knew we had to flee the scene – Erik was completely unpredictable at this point, and horror had clouded all common sense.

On the roof, I insisted to Raoul over and over that the Phantom was the one who committed that murder. He, on the other hand, keeps insisting in return that he was nothing but a fable. A tale, a figment of my imagination. I say to him that I've been there, to his home, that I had seen his face. I described his face with what I saw with my eyes, not my heart. Because at that point in time, all I felt for him was fear. Numb, blinding fear.

I expressed my confusion by contradicting myself. After I described his outward appearance I went into a trance-like state, gushing about how his voice made my very spirit soar, how he sang to me in the night. A whole storm of emotions made its way to my heart at once – fear, most of all, then confusion, as I did not understand why Erik had to go to such an extent… to kill… then numbness, the aftermath of shock.

I felt Raoul come up behind me. He whispered comforting words to me, honey-coated promises of light and no more loneliness, darkness or anything of the like. In my muddled state I responded with the same kind of words. I wanted comfort and right now Raoul was offering it willingly. It went up to that point when he kissed me. I stiffened in his embrace, my heart and soul screaming for another's. He did not seem to notice, but pulled back anyway.

I stepped out of his embrace and wore a lovesick mask and said to him, "I must go, they will wonder where I am. Come with me Raoul?" His expression softened and whispered, "Christine, I love you…" My heart clenched with guilt at the knowledge that I was leading him on… But my less rational self was oblivious to it, and I took his hand and led him to the door.

On my way down the stairs, I could hear his voice echo on the roof. His words promised impending doom – my heart lurched and bile rose up behind my throat. I had betrayed him, and I knew it – my only petty excuse was that I was afraid of him.

Afraid of the man who had done nothing but teach and care for me.

Afraid of the man I once called the Angel of Music, my teacher who made my voice reach unattainable heights…

I had to talk to him.

TBC

A/n: and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is my first cliffy. Not a very good one, but one nonetheless. Reviews would be much appreciated – cheers!