Keep in mind that this is a retelling, but that I'll be changing things as I go. Don't get upset when an incident doesn't happen just as it did in the book/movie/play.
Enjoy!
Nico
Erik was beginning to feel the familiar tightening on muscles in his back that indicated he had been sitting at his piano for too long.
Still he played, his thin fingers sweeping and caressing the black and ivory keys of the magnificent piano that was without a doubt the centerpiece of his lair.
Frequently, Erik would play for hours…days even. He would play until his wrists throbbed and the skin that covered his fingertips was raw and bleeding. Still he would play, as if the beautiful melodies harbored some great punishment that Erik inflicted on himself.
Night had drifted into day and back into night again. Christine still slept, her frail body wrapped in the blacks and silks of his pewter swan-bed. Erik continued to play, afraid that if he stopped she would awaken and flee, too frightened to remain nearby.
For a moment, Erik began to fear that he had miscalculated the dosage of ether he had administered to quell her scream, but when he saw her body shift behind the black lace curtain he had pulled around her, he knew he had not done any permanent damage.
Still he played, his heart beating wildly against his chest as he watched Christine's legs shift again.
She would be awake soon.
She was dreaming. Her body refused to cooperate with her mind, preferring instead to remain drugged against the rise and fall of the spectacular music that was surrounding her head.
Slowly, she rose from the bed, her white lace nightshift falling around her thin frame, her brown locks furiously curling around her face and shoulders.
She moved as if knee-deep in water, her steps silent and purposeful.
Erik watched from the corner of his eye as Christine's pale hand gracefully pulled the lace veil from before her.
She stepped into the dimly lit cavern, looking like Persephone returning to a barren earth for the arrival of Spring.
Still he played, furiously concentrating on the rhythm of his hands, rather than the quickening of his breath.
Suddenly, she spied him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, her brow furrowed in intense thought.
"I remember there was mist," she said to herself, as if trying to figure out a riddle. "Swirling mist…upon a vast, glassy lake…"
She crossed the small precipice that separated Erik's bed from the rest of the lair. For a moment, his view of her was obscured by the dozen or so candles burning in candelabras in front of her.
She paused to gaze into the flame of one of the candles, allowing her fingertips to painlessly caress the heat.
"There were candles all around…and on the lake there was a boat…"
Erik listened as her memories came back to her, his heart on edge as he waited for the fear that would surely take over her mystical, wondering tone at any moment.
"And in the boat…there was a man," she finished quietly, locking eyes with him.
Still he played, but allowed his gaze to meet hers briefly before looking back to the slow flutter of his fingers.
Christine moved silently behind him.
Erik was sure he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.
Hazily, she let her hands come to rest on his shoulders, moving in an exploratory manner, more bold and brazen than she would have been had she known that this wasn't a dream.
"Whose is the face in the mask?" She whispered.
And before he could grasp her wrists and stop it, she pulled off his mask, all at once revealing his deformity, the one thing that kept him from the light.
He reacted quickly and instinctively, simultaneously shoving her harshly to the stone ground and ripping the mask from her limp clasp.
Christine all at once realized that this wasn't a dream. She scooted back on her rear, her eyes and mouth wide with the horror that was Erik's face.
"My God," she stammered. "My God…what happened?"
Erik rounded on her, the mask now in place, the eyes behind it blazing with fury and embarrassment.
"What happened?" He repeated, his voice sounding ethereal. "What happened? Isn't it obvious, Mademoiselle? You just got a glimpse into the very face of hell! Tell me…is it more hideous and terrible than you could have ever imagined?"
Christine gasped and shrank back into herself, unprepared for the rage and fury that had taken control of the sweet, melodic voice that had always made her feel so safe…
His breath was coming rapidly, his hands clenched into fists, his hair wild around his face from the brief struggle with Christine.
And suddenly, the sight of him made Christine very angry.
"You deceived me!" She accused, her eyes narrowed. He turned his back on her, shuffling the papers that were scattered about his piano.
She rose to her feet. "I thought you were an angel! An angel sent to protect me!"
"I never proclaimed to be such things!" Erik roared, flinging papers to the ground in rage.
Christine flinched with the sharp movement of his arm, realizing he was right…
"But your voice…that voice! That voice that sang to me words of love…" she stammered.
Erik assumed she was wholly hurt because the vision she had created in her head didn't exactly match the man standing before her.
Erik stiffened at the mention of the word "love." Indeed, he had sung countless arias, dramatic stories of true love over coming all obstacles.
He hadn't realized she would remember them with such reverence.
"They are just words," he said bitterly.
Christine took a step back, now blatantly hurt. "Just words?" She repeated. "Just words?"
Erik instantly regretted his statement.
"Those words meant more to me than you will ever deserve to know!" She spat venomously.
She could bare the sight of him no more.
"Take me back," she demanded, her arms folded across her chest. And then, looking at him with pointed intent she added, "Or I shall scream so loud, no amount of ether will silence me."