Confined in his solitary work room he found his fingers interlacing with his long hair. He mumbled something then spat, damn something was not right. Not from how he had thrown books and worthless pieces of paper onto the floor or how he found his company was a large bottle of rum. He ruthlessly unbuttoned his coat and tossed it across the room, the stableman whom had told him that Christine was staying in an local inn was lies. What frustrated the Vicomete most that the other ushers, stablemen, maids and cooks didn't recall a new stableman in the horses attire.
Hell! nimbly taking in the figure cloaked over in black made him in a mood of disgust. The stableman leaned against the wall talking softly while obscuring his face facing downwards, Raoul had indeed paid no attention to that certain man and was just relieved about the news of Christine was in a safe housing.
In furry The vicomete sat up, he had recently dispatched riders to search through all the inns in the town, but they had all returned empty handed. Swatting at the exhausted riders if they where gnats Roual shut himself in a small office to try to escape the plaguing face of the so called "phantom of the opera."
It was her choice, so why did she choose a man whose eye's where a pull towards trickery? looks can be deceiving but also full of someone's life. Staring into the phantoms she got lost in en-lightment but his eyes danced with a past which was let alone a nightmare. Rouals was a quick witted type, his eyes could be blank hiding it's true feelings of pure hate. But always Christine could tell somehow that he was tortured from the thought of that man in the mask.
Her eyes where iced over with memories, everything seemed like a recurring dream. She was just waiting for the nightmare which always came. Nothing seemed right as she held onto a smooth black glove as she was being pulled by a lure. Daytime was a discarded idea, traveling in the open with the phantom was no option. It was the exception of night which was a welcoming.
Night, time to leave. After the church's bell had dimly struck the phantom took Christine by the hand to lead her back to the home without a stir of music. Christine was a open book, her pages creased with a story of compassion. It was how she felt as she arose onto the charred balcony of the opera house when her breath simmered in her throat.
The night was always a cover of relief, the soft tickle of the wind accompanied by a blanket of stars. But touch of the chilled air bit at raw flesh. Christine would not know, warmth from the Opera ghost encircled her body. A snowflake drifted upon Christine's parted lips, it sat stilled as she breathed slowly, the phantom released her but then draped a part of his cloak around her body.
"Tell me, what do you see?" he asked calmly tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear.
"I see no ghost staring back at me. But I see a heart of a man." the young ashen face woman
said leaving her fingers to wander around the startled phantom's face. she stroked his cheek and wryly smiled as she felt his breath stiffen when her fingers traced around the frame of his mask.
"Show no fear, show your face."
"Time to feel the real embrace."
This time without pushing the woman away, the phantom breathed in her voice as she lifted the mask from his face. He ignored the bites of air battering against his tender deformity, and held his tounge as he felt her fingers explore the new skin.
"You our no monster to me, I am the one who is the monster."
Suddenly coming softly he felt her lips meet the tissue of his face. It was the whole night was changed, it was a whole new fable to the tale of the night. Just as the flakes of snow came from the skies above to cover up traces of the old lives, mistakes and unseen lies. This was now a new path being laid out for new chances.