A/N: Hurray for Secret Santa phics on PFN! This phic is for honeybee (sparklyscorpion on FFN: Read her phics! They be awesome: D) And… Yeah. Happy Secret Santa, Bee!
And thanks to Sporky for betaing and letting me bounce ideas off of her. Quite literally, actually. You rock, my fellow spouse of Polly!
Disclaimer: …Leroux pwns all. Let's just leave it at that.
"'I give you back your liberty, Christine, on condition that this ring is always on your finger.'" The young blonde kept muttering to herself. A plain gold band was enshrined upon her left ring finger. She nervously swiveled and slid its smooth metal across her knuckle over and over.
To her left, a bulky doorway framed an even bulkier and heavier door. Christine stopped fiddling with the ring and attempted to push the large door open. Suddenly, a stagehand burst through the door causing it to hit her hand and fingers hard. Christine bit back a small cry of pain and held her hand close to her chest.
"Sorry, ma'amselle," the man grumbled as he lumbered off in the opposite direction.
Christine flexed her left hand and winced. The big door started closing. It bumped into her shoulder and pushed the petite singer through the closing doorway.
Christine looked at her throbbing hand. Her index finger, middle finger, and ring finger hurt the most and she noticed that all three of those fingers' nails had been broken. The first knuckle on her ring finger looked horribly red and swollen.
Sighing to herself, Christine continued on her way to her dressing room. Once again, she started twisting the ring on her left hand. She winced as it touched the tender flesh near her knuckle.
She made it to her room without incident after that. Entering swiftly and shutting the door even faster, she took note of the room as if she were searching for an escaped feral cat. The small and worn vanity was in its proper place with her brush and combs untouched. The large mirror opposite the vanity remained unopened; nothing was lying in on the floor near it. The little divan in between the two still had her blue cloak and red scarf draped across the arm rest.
Sagging against the door, she heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to come for her early. Erik hadn't seen Raoul talking to her earlier. For now, everything was going to be all right.
---
"Mademoiselle, you look so pale!" the Vicomte de Chagny called as he darted through the dispersing dancers and singers towards Christine Daaé. The young singer spun around to face her suitor.
"M. le Vicomte!" she cried. Her eyes widened when she finally saw him. "Monsieur, do not worry for me. Now I am afraid that I must leave, for—for I've a lesson to attend!"
Hurriedly, Christine rushed off, but the Vicomte saw a flash of gold on her left hand. Raoul dashed after her.
"Christine!" He grabbed her hand and swung her around. Christine gasped and clung to Raoul's jacket. "Christine, you are baffling me! First you run away saying you have a lesson, and the next, you're sobbing in my arms..."
"Oh, Raoul," she sobbed, clutching his jacket tighter. "Everything is so wrong!"
"Please, Christine, let me help you," he pulled her from his embrace to look her in the eye. "Please."
Christine's tear-filled eyes looked at him thoughtfully. She tightened her hold once more, murmuring, "I wish you could..."
Raoul just watched as his childhood sweetheart pulled away and started towards her dressing room. She was fiddling with that damned ring.
---
Why did this have to happen? Why me? The gold on her finger was warm. Her knuckle started throbbing again. She twisted the ring even faster. Why, Erik? Why me?
"I'm so confused," she moaned, bringing her knees to her chest. "He is my rock, and I love him. Why Erik? Why must you force me to wear another's ring?"
Furiously, she stood and tried to pull that plain gold band off. She screamed in pain as it slid to the base of the swollen knuckle. Immediately, she let go of it.
Once again, she sank down and cried until there were no more tears to be shed.
"Christine," she heard an angelic voice sob. "Why are you crying, child?"
Christine looked up and saw her masked mentor looking at her in concern. Erik remained his usual, perfectly dressed self, but there was a softness in his amber eyes that she had never seen before.
Poor, unhappy Erik…. There was something about her maestro that she could not let herself hate him for. Despite his flaws and despite his odd lifestyle, Christine found this man to be pitiable.
She shook her head mutely, finding that her rage had dissipated completely. Holding out her right hand, she waited for Erik to lead her down the Communard's path and across the lake.
Erik obliged her and asked no more of her.
---
"Erik, I am tired and wish to sleep," Christine murmured softly.
Nodding, Erik told her that he would bring her dinner in an hour. Christine left his presence quickly and upon entering the Louis-Philippe room, she started trying to pry the ring off of her finger.
"I may not hate him, but I cannot offer him this!" she cried softly to herself, tears she thought were gone sliding down her face from the pain she was causing herself.
After a few moments of self-inflicted torment, she flopped in a rather unladylike manner upon the soft bed, exasperated. Christine lay upon the bed until Erik knocked on the door many long minutes later.
"Christine?" he called through the mahogany wood.
"Come in," she replied, finally lifting herself from the bed. Erik came in with a tray of food and a goblet of wine. He set it upon her vanity.
"Are you feeling better now, my dear?" he asked.
"A little, yes."
"That is heartening to hear. Enjoy your dinner, Christine."
"Yes, I think I shall," Christine replied half-heartedly. She watched blankly as Erik left the room, careful to shut the door quietly, and leave her in solitude once more.
Looking blankly at the tray, she saw that it was baked fish with a small salad. She sat down at her vanity and used the gleaming fork and knife to nibble at the fish. As everything associated with Erik seemed to be, it tasted impeccable. The little pile of greens looked mildly appetizing, but Christine ate half of the fillet of fish and wasn't hungry any longer. Setting the knife down, she looked at the cursed ring once more.
"Oh, Raoul," she sighed. "Why is it all so difficult?"
Once again, her delicate fingers started to twist the small gold band about her finger. To her eye, it appeared that the swelling on her knuckle had gone down. Christine pulled the band down to the base of the knuckle and attempted to pull it off.
The ring would not move.
Christine couldn't even get the insipid thing to slide back down. With a cry of frustration, she hit her fist on the vanity. Lifting her hand, she noticed a small trail of blood on the side of her palm. The knife glinted at her innocently through a ruby veil.
Staring at it, she could almost hear someone talking in her ear.
Gold shine… moon shine… no shine…
"Wh—What?" Christine looked around franticly, but she found no one in the room besides herself.
Gold shine… moon shine… no shine…
The silver knife twinkled at its tip. Christine looked at it even closer.
Gold shine… moon shine… no shine…
Slowly, and with a tremulous hand, she grasped the knife by its handle.
Gold shine… moon shine… no shine…
The chant echoed in her head. Her temples throbbed, and the little gold band emitted an overwhelming heat.
Gold shine… moon shine… no shine…!
Her mind buzzed as her quivering hand neared the burning ring.
Gold shine! Moon shine! No shine!
The treacherous knife slid underneath the gold band, grazing her skin. Tiny droplets of blood oozed out from underneath.
GOLD SHINE!
The knife dug down further.
NO SHINE!
The gold ring was overcome with the crimson liquid flooding out of the knife's pathway. In a very surreal manner, Christine realized how much the gold and the crimson looked like a Parisian sunset.
MOON SHINE!
The bone beneath the ring was visible. All around that small ring, the cunning knife dug. Soon small pieces of flesh were sawn off and fell onto the food tray. Christine heard someone scream and thump of something hitting the ground.
---
Erik slammed through the door and rushed to his beloved. Christine was lying on the floor near the vanity; her golden curls strewn across the burgundy rug.
He put two fingers to her pulse point. The young woman was still alive, but just unconscious. Picking up Christine, he moved her to the bed and laid her gently above the covers.
On the way, Erik stepped on something in a cylindrical shape with a hard base. Lifting his shoe, he saw a finger.
And his gold ring on that disembodied finger.
In a mixture of horror and rage, Erik looked at Christine. Her azure eyes fluttered open. Instantly, she clutched her left hand to her chest. Erik stood next to her, finger in hand.
"What have you done, Christine?" Erik very nearly growled at her. The gold ring on the detached finger shone no more. It was crusted over with maroon and brown dried blood.
Erik pried the ring off of the finger.
"It looks as if your stay shall be longer than you expected, my dear."
Her pain-filled eyes looked up at him fearfully as he stalked out of the room.
"Woe to us both, Raoul.…"