'Dear Édmond,
The truth is I do not know where to begin with…
Everything's been too complicated for me these passed days. Raoul is not amongst us anymore and it's so very difficult to bear. Regarding what you say in the letter I've just received, I'd prefer to discuss that matter with you personally.
I understand that the fact of finding out about your role in this family not so long ago must have upset you but I believe that with civilized dialogue and good disposition on both parts everything can be sorted out in time.
Please, do not take my words too badly, for you know that, in spite of your circumstances of your conception, you are, in great part, someone very close to me.'
Those were the exact words, signed by her late husband's mother, that had taken her to that moment, determined to discover who he was, what he was hidding and what his intentions were. He was still in front of her and she was still waiting for an answer. Tension could have been cut with a kitchen knife quite easily…
'What happens, Christine?', something in his tone of voice made her body shiver. 'Don't you trust anymore in everything that I offered you when I took you in?'. A smirk adorned his darkened features.
She looked at him with equal parts of distrust and strength. 'There are a couple of things that I do not have very clear about yourself yet. If you'd tell me, I would not obstruct your plans. I'll leave, if you want'.
Even she was surprised with the unknown courage she was exhibiting but she was still trembling inside because of the uncertainty of not knowing how he would react if she confessed what she had seen.
But he already knew very well how he would have to play his cards from then on…
The moon wrapped the city of Paris in her precious cloak. The tall elegant figure of a man strolled gracefully along the park. His cape floated behind him in the cool breeze that was blowing in the beautiful night. Under the soft glow of the moonlight, his porcelain mask looked as if it was made of the most delicate material ever known to man. That was his secret hideway, the place he always ran to when he felt the need to walk, think or simply clear his thoughts.
A cloud sailed the sky, playfully trying to obscure the splendorous glow of what seemed to be her greatest rival that night. The natural views reminded him of the artificial scenery which had been chosen for the gala night. The night when her voice, that wonderful voice he had instructed to reach perfection, had soared through the audience and made every witness of that magnificent spectacle bow and kneel in front of her talents. He could still remember her…He had been listening ecstatically from his miserable yet fantastic shelter, every perfect note she sang seeping through every fibre of his being. He believed no one had ever been so proud of someone else than he had been in that moment. Right then he would have given her anything she wished, he had been determined to give the world for her love, her presence or a simple caress… Another memory replayed in his mind's eye, that of the day she had asked him what his name was. At first, she had been shier as ever, as if she had been about to commit the most unforgivable sacrilege. When he had questioned her about her uneasiness, she just smiled and leant a hand on his shoulder, the most innocent of requests coming out from her lips.
'I only wanted to know your name, you must have one, even if you are my angel you must have a name…'.
He smiled and timidly hold the hand that she had posed on his shoulder. 'Erik…'.
His eyes glazed over but managed to swallow his tears with a single gesture. She was nothing but a dream, an illusion. He would never see her again. Coincidence had made their paths cross again that fateful day when he had seen her running away, crying her heart out…but it had meant nothing. They would never meet again. She was too good, she did not deserve someone like him.
His thoughts were immediately invaded with visions of Angie and of all the new things she had brought into his life since they first met each other. What had he done? That was his greatest doubt regarding her. How had he managed to make her feel the intense feelings she apparently harboured for him? She was always ready to help him, she had been with him in his weakest moment…she had not even screamed when she had seen him unmasked, and yet, she still offered her young passionate love openly and blindly on a silver plate, just like she had shown him in many occasions. Perhaps that was what confounded him the most. It was impossible, totally impossible, that she had fallen in love with him for who he really was. Just the thought of it nearly had him laughing heartily.
But, what if it was so? What if she had, for whatever reasons, really accepted him just as he was? Even if it seemed impossible, perhaps it was time to leave his past in the past and move on, seize the day. Would he achieve it? Would he finally forget Christine, all the memories of her, of his love for her? No…
The house was immersed in a deafening silence for a few minutes, until Édmond came closer and gripped her arms.
'There are still things unclear for you?', his voice raised furiously. 'Maybe it is because you are reading too much for your own sake lately, aren't you?'.
His words left her practically speechless, without the ability to react. Still. 'I don't…understand what you mean'.
This time his grip tightened and he pulled her to him. 'You don't!', he laughed ironically. 'Well, I'd say you do', he took the letter from the small table. 'I'll have to learn to be more careful about where I keep these things, don't you think?'.
'Please…', she was starting to panic. 'Only tell me what I need to know and I'll leave, I swear!'.
'Are you sure you really want to know, Christine? Well, I'll tell you…', he reduced the pressure of his hold on her weak arms. 'Your dearest husband and me were, theoretically', he paused for a moment, looking for the proper words. 'brothers. From different mothers, though'.
There were no more words. Not a sound came out of her throat. Only her flabbergasted gaze showed the effort she was making to assimilate the information.
'That is…God…not posible…Now I understand', she babbled at last. 'You want the legacy, the title…'.
He couldn't help but smile. 'You are cleverer than you look, Madame de Chagny'.