Adelson's Caricatures

It took all of Erik's self restraint to keep from twisting round and pursuing Christine, during the extent of his downward journey to return to the lonesome domicile that laid beyond the Stygian lake. The confidence that Christine would return offered little comfort, considering that its conviction wavered consistently. It seemed constantly, whenever Erik's consciousness stirred from deep in his own muddled, dreary thoughts, he would remind himself that Christine had promised she would return. And he would assure this, by recalling the compliments he had deferentially showered her with, and knowing them to be true. Time became something completely unbearable, and he was unsure how long it had been since Christine had departed; seconds seemed equivalent to hours. It had came to such a point, that Erik was sure there was some clock in his home, marking off so insufferably slow, that he had taken the time to fanatically hunt for the infernal object. Only, he had found nothing, and gave it up as lunacy for the only alternative was to search the room in which Christine had resided, but he found whenever he stepped toward the door that he would loose all nerve and would merely turn and flee. When the ticking would not cease, Erik willingly threw all his attention into his composing. Music acted as nepenthe, and Erik would forget his pain in the long periods he would spend working without interval. Periodically however, his hand would slow. Only once, Erik's attention faltered, as he caught the sight of indentions on the paper. Slowly, he lifted the paper in his hands and tilted it, in an attempt to comprehend the pressed inscription. It was with a strange sense of sudden dread, he realized his current writing had thus far followed the indentions precisely. Had his thoughts not abruptly shifted that moment to Christine, he would have surely furthered investigated this peculiarity. How long had it been since she had left him? He growled suddenly, scolding himself for his thoughtlessness. Why had he permitted her to leave? Cursing himself loudly for his folly, Erik swiftly slammed the paper down on the console of the organ.

When Christine had first opened her eyes, she could hardy see, for the light in the room was blinding. Then, second by second, the glaring sun faded to an idyllic waft of sunlight, placidly tracing it's way through the air, past dust motes swirling in its stream. It was in this stupor, staring at the golden motes floating in the air, that Raoul had slid into the room.
"Christine Daae...'' He murmured, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Monsieur de Chagny..." Christine replied, as if reaffirming his name. Then, a smile broke out, and after her dark dreams amongst the Opera house cellars, her heart felt less weighed down. They talked idly for the next few days; Raoul would sometimes spend the night in the chair beside her bed, as her body, weakened in its state of atrophy, grew stronger. Then, short walks merged to long walks, and Christine found herself growing more and more attached to the Chagny estates. Her time with Raoul, she would reflect later, was easy going, and his handsome face made her blush. Erik had stared at her openly, demanding her affection, and threatening her refusal. Raoul was subtle in his indications of like. Never once did she feel threatened, or ill used.
Yet, Christine was drawn to the dark soul, which lurked beneath the Opera house. 'Promise or not, I will not return!' She would murmur to herself, only to feel immeasurable guilt at leaving him waiting.
Part of the medication, a kind young doctor had prescribed, gave Christine dreamless sleeps, that no longer left her fearing the night. She would work herself to the point of dropping with exhaustion every day before bed, just to make sure that the pills would take affect.
Warily, she let a week go by, then two. At the end of the third, her pallor had grown pale once more, and she knew she would have to return. Fabricating a story of visiting her ill 'aunt' Christine went to visit the woman who had practically adopted her.
The woman was in a state of dementia, forgetting some things, and telling long winded lies about others, but when Christine came to her with the story of her angel of music, the woman happily agreed to have someone tend to her body, lest she take longer then a night to return. Then, dressed in some comfortable, reasonable clothes, Christine shut the door to a fine room, and lay abed many hours until her nerves calmed and she could fall asleep.
Heart in her mouth, the young girl looked around, with wide eyes, and found she was once again, in her old, windowless dressing room. Confused, but unwilling to think that perhaps her 'Angel' had been an invention of an epileptic fit, Christine exited her room, and trekked down to the dressing room, which she had received after her premier performance. The mirror, she noticed, was on a track, with jointed wheels, and when she ran her hands along its frame, the corner pushed in to reveal a dark tunnel. Leaving the mirror open, and searching about for a candle, and match, Christine began her descent.
"Erik." She called loudly, her voice echoing. She did not dare go farther then the third basement, already she was lost. Repeating his name, she wandered aimlessly. 'If he does not show, I will stop coming back.' Christine resolved. She then amended that she would leave some sort of message for him to find if that was the case to be.

It was with vague attention, that Erik's mind pulled from its focus on the scrawls of the quill, in which he held, at the faint calls of his name from some immeasurable distance. At first Erik only attempted to ignore it, in fear, that his desolation was only twisting whatever good sense he still retained. This however, twisted to anger in a second, and he growled viciously, throwing the quill aimlessly before him. This voice, he took, to be as the ticking of the clock. Though, when he attempted to single out said noise, it seemed to have vanished. And so, could it be, the voice was not of his mind? Christine, had been his immediate thought afterward, and he stood with a quick movement; one that seemed impossible to achieve for a brooding man who had been immobile for so long. Erik fled from the secluded house, to instinctively pole his way across the lake, and near his way to the surface. His eagerness acted as an upper to his senses, and his heart palpated at the elating thought of seeing Christine. And though he ran, ascending cement staircases and careening round corners, Erik's journey created not a noise. It was only at the sight of candlelight, that Erik slowed, and still. He drew closer, and froze some feet away in the darkness, staring at Christine in wonder. "Christine." Erik called dulcetly, voice threatening to waver, as if her name were the title of a saint, passing from the lips of a sinner. For a passing moment, Erik said nothing more, and shied from the light, before umbrage bittered his elation. Carefully, Erik strode toward Christine; gaze fixed on her, as he reached lithely to pinch out the flame of the candle, shrouding them in darkness. "I was beginning to believe you had lied."

Christine's eyes widened in surprise, and a natural habit to try to take in more light. However, so far beneath the world were the, that no light was to be found.
"I am sorry Erik. It is hard to get away from my life, and Raoul especially-" Cutting off anything that might have followed, the petite girl shrugged invisibly.
"That does not matter though. I have come after all, though I do apologize for my tardy appearance." She cast about to find the man who had appeared with a mere breath. She cursed the strange attraction he held, despite his horrifying face. It was perhaps, the fact that no matter what, his voice held the qualities of an angel, and it would plague her constantly. 'Perhaps I am mentally ill…' Christine thought suddenly, as she peered into the inky blackness. It was a complete contrast to the sunshine from where she had awoken. Shoving these thoughts out of her head, Christine inclined her head, even though she was not sure he would see.
"Had you any plans for what we would do, ere I returned?"

Made invisible by the darkness, Erik flinched subtly, at the unfamiliar name in which Christine had spoken. Curiosity sparked in him, slowly shifting into anxiety, though he suppressed these sentiments, when she treated her words as if they were insignificant. He glared warily for a moment, before turning and stepping soundlessly round Christine, letting silence linger. When he stopped before Christine, Erik reached delicately to grasp her sleeve in a timid manner, before gaining confidence when she did not jerk away, and began to lead her through the darkness. Instead of answering Christine, Erik only warned her of the stairs when they had reached them, though instead of leading Christine hellward, they were ascending upward. When they had departed from the cellars, Erik tightened his hold on Christine, and began to lead her through the maze of hallways, until the route to the roof became familiar. Erik had not looked back to Christine, until he had opened the door to the outside world and released her. While the sky was black, it was speckled with stars that lit the roof dimly and cast the status' grim shadows. For a moment, Erik gazed out into the darkness, before turning to Christine, with a sort of childish enthusiasm. "I had wanted to speak with you, without hiding. Where I had first saw you."

Christine was taken back a moment, his words not what she had expected. She had been waiting for more sorrow, and accusations. Obviously she had masked her slip about Raoul well, and was even waiting for a confrontation over that. Instead, she was catapulted back to the first time she had met him. When she had first believed him to be her Angel, sent by her father. When she would have done anything to receive a gentle word of praise from the heavenly host.
"Then why did you not?" She asked, even as her footsteps carried her across the roof, the glowing statue of Eros. She laid a hand on it for a second, and she could feel it tremble, then solidify. 'This world becomes more complicated every day.' Christine thought with an odd feeling of regret.
"It would have saved us quite a lot of trouble, if you had not fooled me." Her voice was mild, and a feeling of peace descended on the girl. She was safe out under the stars, on the roof. She could do anything as long as she was away from the oppressing airless underground. Her sure feet brought her to edge of the roof, and she peered over it with little concern. The ground seemed a void far below, and shadows of people on the streets flitted about on their nightly business.
'It's strange' she mused. 'I could not see the people before...I wonder if that means that this world is closer to my own now.' Then, laughing at her abstract thoughts, Christine turned to the masked man.
"Who knows what might have happened?"

Erik's head inclined subtly, as if in thought, before he turned away from Christine. "Naivety, my dear Christine." Erik murmured, shaking his head almost mournfully, before his attention returned to her. "I, unfortunately, know exactly what 'might have happened'. You see it is a matter of personal experience and physiological consideration." Erik appeared for a moment, as if he would elaborate, but only shook his head again. "Do you believe it would have ended differently? In either case, one of us would have overestimated the other. The risk was doomed to failure from the start." Erik said quietly, voice melodic with pain, and he scorned himself inwardly for his past decision, wishing that he had not confessed. "Mutism." Erik mumbled almost wistfully, before suddenly he stepped diffidently toward Christine. "But I have taught you well, have I not?" He inquired, voice darkening subtly, and he pausing some mere feet away from Christine. "And you had enjoyed my being your Angel, while you thought it honest." Erik straightened up pretentiously before turning from Christine, his arrogant manner visibly dwindling as he moved away from her. "Even if it was only Erik's voice- you had."

Christine took a step back from the edge on which she found herself, both physically, and metaphorically. "Y-yes while I believed you were an angel, you taught me well...too well it almost seemed." Crossing her arms across her chest and rubbing her suddenly chilled skin in a pensive manner, Christine found her eyes being drawn once more to the confusing man, as his voice would ride through several emotions at once.
"It was nice..." Christine hesitated before continuing, "nice to believe that there was something past death. It was a comfort to know my father was still...still watching over as he so often did in the past." Christine allowed her troubled face a brief smile, before it was gone. Her brows drew together in a near audible click as she processed Erik's first words. "You say I am naive, but how could I be anything else? What lies should I have encountered before this? You say you know from experience, so tell me how many women have you taught before?" The occupied girl left the statue of Eros, which was by the edge of the roof, and moved instead, to Persephone. The face of the statue seemed unbearably sad, which was why Christine naturally gravitated to it. 'After all, who wants to live so long, in a world that is not of your choosing'. "How many people have seen your face before? If you know from experience." Deciding the safest place to be was the ground; Christine sat cross-legged, pulling her skirt around her knees, as she leaned against the glimmering statue.

Erik turned back to Christine; he gazed at her disapprovingly, as if her queries were discourteous. He seemed to decide otherwise, however, and instead drew closer to Christine, stopping at what he thought to be a respectable distance. "There are many lies, it would do you well to learn. Concerning the world," Erik paused, and a sort of scornful laughter passed from his lips, "and your fellow mankind. The Opera house is like a sanctuary, no? It shelters all that reside in it, portraying the glamorous views of life, beauty, and fiction." Stepping away from Christine again, he looked back and gestured toward her listlessly. "It has been your home for years, as well as my own. The difference being, I had lived many years outside this Opera house before I had built it. And Christine, you have not, my dear, and so you are naive." Though the last word carried a certain, negative air, Erik spoke it gently, as so it sounded almost pleasant. When Erik manoeuvred to fully face Christine, in his eyes shone his affection for the young woman. "I had though, taught no other before you. You alone, Christine, characterize the talent of my genius. I have given you so much; my teaching had propelled you from the shadows! None other!" Erik's voice was suddenly fanatical for that moment, as he pressed his fingertips to his sternum, indicating himself. His gaze wavered though, and his hands fell. "And yet, you only echoed the screams that humanity had cried. And you fear me as all had." Erik murmured despondently, before straightening up, his tone becoming soft and doting again, as his attention fixed on Christine. "But you are different, Christine, because if not, you would certainly have not returned to Erik."

Christine felt a pang of guilt lanced her as surely as a blade. It had been remorse that had driven her to return to Erik, as if she were culpable for all the sorrow that had shone in his eyes as he rounded on her, with his mask in her hands. For a reason unfathomable to the poor, naive Christine, she could not tear her eyes away from the glowing orbs that lay just behind the brilliant mask. It was not that she had no will, but rather she could not find it right then, and preferred not to besides. It was an unsettling thought, which was enough to help her drop her eyes in embarrassment. It was unsettling to think that she could be trapped forever in the world of her dreams, if Erik would just forbid her to leave. 'He does not seem aware of this though. The world he exists in, is only a distraction.' Over the weeks she had spent with Erik, whenever anything odd or out of place happened, he would ignore it as if it were a part of the scenery. At first, it seemed that he was only ignoring it to make her comfortable, but when things became obvious, he was oblivious. This led Christine to think perhaps, that Erik did not even notice.
Tired of looking at her feet, Christine directed her gaze to the stars; her curiosity still peaked beneath her facade of guardedness.
"What made you want to teach me after singing then, Monsieur? Surely, all your talents to cultivate my talent were completed after that."

When Christine had broke eye contact; Erik drew back subtly, examining her manner intently. The loss of her composure was obvious, and he focused for a time, on resisting the urge to rush to her. Erik instead, followed her gaze, finding nothing of interest in the evening sky. "I wished to continue, because my dear, it would benefit you, would it not? One cannot let their student blindly step into the glare of publicity, particularly when they are so exceptional as yourself." Erik paused for a moment, reflecting on his words, and finding them to not be the full truth. Without a second thought, Erik's gaze fell back to Christine avidly. "I was worried that you would find my services useless once you had had a taste of fame!" A sigh passed from Erik's lips before he continued, and he turned away from Christine. "You would have forgotten me, while exploiting all the ability I had taught you. And how terrible you forgetting Erik would have been!" With this said, Erik began to pace, murmuring under his breath as he did so, slowing finally and stilling, his full attention returning to Christine. "Who was that that you had named before?" Erik inquired curiously, and quite arbitrarily.

Christine flinched as if he had raised his hand. She had not wanted Raoul, sweet, kind Raoul, to get involved in her troubles. "Raoul is my childhood sw- friend. We used to play together, in the house by the sea." She could taste the words left unsaid, and she swallowed them as quickly as she could. "He took care of my bod- me, after I returned from our last encounter. He is a very good man, and still very much a child." Smiling tenderly, Christine raised her eyes from wherever they had drifted to, and involuntarily looked at Eros beside her. Her smile remained fixed in place, until she remembered that her reveries would not be taken as daydreaming by Erik, if she continued on, looking at the Greek God cupid, and talking about her old friend. Risking a quick look to the sky, she cursed to see the stars were as bright as ever, and the wind was picking up. Shivering, the girl started to walk aimlessly about the roof to gather heat. She was not overly fond of being cold, though as a child, she had grown accustomed. "Perhaps...could we head inside? It is far too chilly for me, in such a dress." Gesturing to the plain gown, of lilac and faded blue, and praying that Erik would leave Raoul alone, Christine started to the door herself. Talking to the air, where she thought Erik might be behind her, the soprano dodged many stones and various other remains. "I do not think I would like to sing again at least for a while. Until the whole incident of my illness has blown over..." Mentally kicking herself, Christine hoped that he would assume her illness to mean her disappearance. 'After all, this is the world he lives in. In this world, I walked with him, and not floated.'

As Christine spoke, Erik's curiosity flared into apprehensive jealousy; as it seemed that Christine was mooning over this said friend. He kept from speaking firstly, and only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Though Erik failed in the end, from completely stifling a scoff, however he doubted Christine had heard since she had been crossing to the door. Fixing his gaze on her, the same askance look in his eyes, apparent in his manner, as he strode after her. He suspected Christine had titled the man incorrectly, purposefully, this having been reinforced by her hesitant speech. "Had you been ill then, Christine? During the time you had left me?" Erik inquired placidly, though as he continued, the forced composure faltered subtly. "And he had taken care of you? How considerate." He grumbled the last part, and manoeuvred to open the door before Christine. Erik followed Christine down into the darkness of the Opera house, trailing closely on the wooden stairs. For a moment, Erik's manner was fairly meek because of his nearness to Christine, though this dispersed once he spoke again. "You appeared quite keen on your...friend. No torrid fantasies then, I assume? You were not ill, were you? That is why you had not returned earlier! You have found yourself a lover."

Christine spun rapidly, stopping her easy gait back down into the opera house.
"How dare you!" The girl cried resentment evident in her voice. "You know nothing about my life, my friends, or my 'torrid fantasies' as you said." Her eyes narrowed, as she judiciously stabbed a pointed finger in Erik's direction.
"You of all people should know that nothing could be built on lies. I was unable to move from my bed for a long while after I had left, and Raoul, sweet, kind Raoul was there everyday. Every morning he would bring me breakfast, every noon we would go for a walk, and every evening we would entertain each other. He has been nothing if not honourable, and you dare slight him, and me by saying I would be dishonest about my condition! Shame!" Scandalized, Christine all but sprinted down the stairs, eager to leave the Garnier Opera house, forgetting that she was still in her dream world. Tears of embarrassment stung the corner of her eyes, and a horrid feeling her stomach, that the ghostly man had been right.

Christine's umbrage failed to faze Erik, and he only remained completely impassive, as she reproached him. It was only when she turned and fled, that Erik became animated again. A dark, scathing bit of laughter passed from his lips before Erik started forward to purse Christine. "And what a grave condition you must have been in!" He called melodiously, voice echoing down after Christine, dripping with sarcasm. "If you were so bedbound, then how had you taken your afternoon saunters, hm, Christine? Oh- I believe you had a fever, but it was certainly not typhoidal." Hurrying his pace, Erik reached the bottom on the stairs, cast a glance down the hallway to the left, and caught sight of Christine. "Tell me, Christine," Erik started with exacerbated composure, as he leisurely turned, and strode swiftly after Christine, "What does your lover know about you, beside whom you were as a child?" With a small growl, Erik reached forward and snatched Christine's wrist, wrenching her around. The mockery in his manner seemed to have vanished and was replaced by a show of immense acrimony and jealously. "I will tell you what I do know, Christine; that had you not sung that night you would not have been whisked away. You were alone when I had found you; remember he had only after your success- because of your voice. A voice which I created!"

Christine struggled, trying to block out the cruel words he flung at her. "He knows that he wants me to go with him when he leaves! He knows that I care for him, and I know this nightmare, with you playing the lead, is going to end soon enough!" Though her dress hampered her, Christine had the strength of youth, and the lean muscles one acquires of years of ballet to aid her. With a rage born of fear, and pain, the girl wrenched her hand from Erik's grasp. "My voice is my own! You may have given it wings so it could ascend to heaven, but despite this, it was never yours to lay claim to!" Then the girl was off again, tearing along the shaky structures of stairs, down to the stage, and through the row of seats. His taunting voice followed her as she ran blindly through the empty opera house. "Leave me to my happy ending Erik!" Christine pleaded, as she took one hallway then another. She had gotten completely turned around when she had fled, and even in a normal sense of being, she would have gotten lost in the large Palais Garnier. When she knew she was lost with no hope of finding where she was, she took a small comfort in thinking that maybe Erik could not find her either. Her wrist hurt from her struggle, and she was sure bruises would ring it in the morning. If morning would come soon. Christine kept her back against the wall as she pressed on, refusing to return to the monster behind. Her footsteps were noiseless as she stepped with deliberate care along the darkened corridor. 'I just want to go back…' she thought, picturing his gentle smile, and slow, collected manner, with no hint of any temper.
"Sunrise can not come soon enough..." She murmured, her heart beating painfully loud in her chest.

Bridling at Christine's words, Erik watched the young woman take off. "I will never leave you, Christine! Never!" He snapped venomously, though he did not hunt her; instead Erik turned sharply and began to pace in the corridor, vicious growls emitting from his throat. "Ungrateful girl!" Erik seethed, snarling out curses to the empty hallways. His nerves seemed to twinge with the desire to locate Christine and continue his verbal assault, only the impalpable, more rational sense of his mind, bid him to remain in fear of involuntarily harming Christine. His steps, as a substitute, grew more rapid, as the anger slowly left him, and instead there was left a malicious jealousy toward the man who had Christine's affections. With a soft cry, composed of both regret and envy, Erik swiftly began to track Christine. It had occurred to Erik, as he ran silently past the barrier before the stalls, that the negative sentiments Christine certainly held for him had to have increased tenfold. His pace then slowed, and alone, somewhere in the warren of bleak hallways, Erik stopped. Through the silence, Erik called for Christine miserably, as a lost child would call for its mother. The emotionally fuelled need to locate her diminished, in the light of the hateful manner in which she would greet him, and Erik's own compunction. And while Erik feared Christine's abandoning him perpetually, he shrank against the wall, and slid to the floor with a dejected sigh, that lingered for a moment in the hallway as a reverberation.

Christine's gait slowed the deeper she walked into the echoing Opera house. Cursing her absentminded, passionate nature, Christine took a deep breath and turned back. In her mind, she replayed the events on her descent. She kept a side of her pressed to the wall, unwilling to abandon that small comfort. 'It was rather ungrateful to say that to him…he did help me...' She scolded herself in her head, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Stopping once or twice to check the night's progress, she was relieved to see the night was fading into early morn. Laden with abhorrent at possibly having to apologize, she did not see the man until she almost trod on him. Pulling back with a gasp, Christine hastily apologized, but then cringed when she realized that whatever she was going to do, she would have to do it. Debating whether telling him that she was never coming back, or that she would visit him one last time, she decided on pity.
"Monsieur Erik," She spoke with a calm, purposeful manner, using the more formal name deliberately. "You have no say in my personal life, from this moment on. I appreciate what you have done for me. I will visit you two weeks from now, in which time, I hope you will have your emotions under control over this…matter." She took a deep breath as if to say more, but did not. Instead she stood uncomfortably, between a proud postured stance and a cower. Then she realized one critical thing. 'I need to walk back to my body…' Chewing her lip, feeling embarrassment tinge her face red, Christine spread her hands out helplessly. "Can you please take me back to the entrance?"

With a subtle nod, Erik rose leisurely, repressing the words of desperation that nearly choked in his throat. "Come this way." Erik said quietly, in a way that would have been curt, had it not been tinged with sadness. He led Christine silently, not bothering to break the awkward silence that lingered between them. Erik's attention laid elsewhere, in the worry that Christine was lying, and did not have the intention of returning. A harsh idea came to mind concerning only leading Christine astray. Erik glanced back at her, before straightening up, and hurrying his pace. As minutes passed, Erik was nearly at a run, though to keep from loosing Christine, he would pause before rounding a corner, lean back subtly to assure she was not far behind, and start off again. The cruel intent this behaviour began as soon gave way to be to Erik, simply a game. However, this view faded, as he recalled the seriousness of the situation, only because of the qualm that rose again and faltered his steps. Turning briskly to reface Christine, eager for her assurance, he outstretched a hand to grasp her shoulder, keeping the young woman from colliding with him. "Christine, if I should you back," Erik began, reconsidering his previous idea for a short moment. He started instead, elsewhere, eyes softening in despair. "You truly will return, yes?" Erik inquired, tightening his grip on Christine's shoulder absentmindedly, sinking subtly before her.

Biting the inside of her cheek, against the pain of his tight grip, Christine nodded to Erik's words, not sure whether to be frightened, or feel an immeasurable compassion for the man who was so desperate for her company.
"I will return Erik, if only once more." Christine spoke these words without her own volition, but she could find no other way to comfort the man that stood in front of her. The rest of the way back, Christine was able to keep pace with him, and it was not until she was at the very door of Madame Valerius's house, that she dared to look behind her. The street was empty, bathed in the pre-dawn glow of lamplights. A soft sigh passed between Christine's lips, as she pushed open the unlocked door, and ascended the stairs to her room. Not bothering to look to see if her body was on the bed, or she was the only thing in the room, the girl lay down, and waited for natural sleep to consume her.
The moment Christine could leave the large house of her adopted aunts, she did. She all but ran to the De Chagny house, in which she was warmly greeted by Raoul. It was that during the next two weeks that he proposed to her. Christine was well aware of Phillip de Chagny's; Raoul's older brother, opinion on singers and dancers. Raoul however, could care less. He made extravagant claims of large houses and sunny gardens, and Christine's heart swelled to be in the presence of such a light hearted man. With nothing to say but 'yes' to Raoul's beautiful engagement band, the melancholy girl wore a smile everyday. Though, as the promised time drew near, Christine became antsy. Finally, a plan formed in Christine's head. 'Perhaps I will visit him in the daytime, fully awake, and see if he is real.' For every time she would wake up from the strange world, she no longer felt strong and well rested, but sapped. The kind doctor informed her that it might have been purely imagination, and the thought nagged in the back of her mind. Feeding Raoul another story about having to say goodbye to the Opera house, and returning to it with the alibi of collecting her things, Christine sojourned to the bustling place with little trouble. Of course, Raoul objected, but the wilful girl merely smiled and brushed his concerns off with little effort. When she arrived, she was greeted with the absentminded air of a stranger on the street, and non one stopped to look twice at the pale, unremarkable girl as she threaded her way through the crowds. Retracing her steps from her dressing room to Erik's house was more worrisome. Opening the mirror had been easier in her dreams, for it had already been opened. The one that was existent in the real world required much sweat, and cursing to swing it open. When it had, she followed nothing but her own memory, which had only recorded her every step, in fear that she may not have taken one again. The trip past the furnaces where terrifying, for men now worked them, as the satanic jaws gaped open in silent mockery. After many fumbled attempts at finding the boat by the lake, Christine poled herself clumsily across, evading the traps that Erik had warned her about. Arms aching, the girl pulled the boat to shore and stepped to the front door. There were no disconcerting alterations about the fabric of reality in which she found herself, and relieved she was still awake, the girl pushed the door open. Inside, she was shocked to see it covered in dust, and many of the beautiful antiques were falling apart. The organ Erik so loved playing, was in disrepair, and laying open, across it, was leather bound manuscript. The finished notes lay written in childish handwriting, and were somewhat distorted by mould spots. Leaving this disturbing evidence behind, she went to her own room. It was empty of the amenities that she had been given during her stay, and the library was just as dusty as the entrance. "That leaves one more door." A horrid smell emitted from the room that Erik had laid claim to, and pushing the door open, the poor girl almost gagged from the odour. Still, pressing on, she advanced on the casket, and to her horror, she saw what Erik had become. A thoroughly decomposed skeleton grinned back at her horror, and with the same cry tearing from her throat, as first had when she saw Erik unmasked. The skeleton in the coffin had a mask as well, but it had slid off to lie in the concave area of the ribs, somewhere along the line.

The days that followed were fraught with a mixture of worry and anticipation for the masked man, who with his time, spent dashing around his residence. The issue had become, that Erik would stand and leave his work with something in mind, only to find himself standing elsewhere, with no recollection of how he had become there, or even why. The lost man had begun to believe he had fallen into dementia. There was little else to explain the foxing that would manipulate the paper on which he wrote for short instances, only to disappear the moment he started. These occurrences had not dragged however, his mind from Christine; instead, they only served to strengthen them. Indeed, it seemed he thought about her more, and mooned over her continuously. Erik had once given thought, that perhaps his delirium had rose because of this fixation. When the days had slipped into a week, he had forgotten his worries over mental dissociation, and would only placidly move himself away from the door in which he continuous found himself, and travel back to the organ. It became, to Erik, simply another oddity in his life, which seemed of little importance.
It was only when the second week was coming to an end, and the expectation of seeing Christine was at a peak, did he pause before that door, when the sound of a scream pierced the air. Though it certainly came from the room, Erik was surprise to hear how faint it was, and he drew back from the door, gazing at it warily. With careful steps, he leaned close and stepping forward, passed through the door as if it was not only ajar. Immediately, Erik brightened in delight at seeing Christine, this foreign air only utterly faltered, when he noticed what the inquisitive girl was doing. "Christine, my dear, you had-" Erik began, only when he strode closer, words failed on his tongue, and as if his vision was obscured; there was a corpse in the coffin. Instead of bridling, Erik's head only tilted in confusion, and he looked toward Christine, who seemed not to be aware of his presence. "What is this?" He inquired, almost sharply, as if she had been the one to die so impolitely in his casket. "Christine?" Erik tried again, when she did not respond, he reached to touch her shoulder. However, Christine felt less tangible, and Erik leapt back, a cry of his own passing from his lips, when his gaze fell back to the corpse; the unfortunate man had irrevocably recognized it as himself.

The door behind Christine was open, and taking the advantage of such an escape, she ran as fast as she could to her own room, to empty the contents of her stomach in the bathroom. There was only so much a proper lady could take, and Christine had long excelled the field of proper. Instead of making perfect sense, things were growing continuously more complicated.
"Erik is dead…" She whispered hoarsely, her throat burning from the resulted dry heave. Shakily, she pushed herself up, and dried her sweaty and unknowingly tear-streaked face. "Is that why I only saw him when I slept? Because he was dead?" Moaning, Christine forced herself back into the room to make sure it was indeed Erik. The mask gleamed a ghostly white against the red silk that lined the casket. The skeleton itself had not moved, though when Christine turned her head away in an unidentifiable emotion, she swore she could see Erik, alive, and whole standing near the doorway. Breathing in, and finding nothing to say, Christine sang mass for the man who had taught her to sing, even if only in her dreams.
"Domine, Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae,
libera animas omniurn fidelium defunctorum
de poenis inferni, et de prof undo lacu:
libera cas de ore leonis,
ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum..." She sang for what seemed hours, and when she was done, she turned her back on the empty carcass and poled herself back across the lake. She had arranged to sleep in her room before she left the Opera house forever, and the managers were kind enough to allow her that comfort. Christine took a bath to rid her body of the smell of death, and her mind of the man. She feared to sleep, and so, for the first half of the night she did not. It was as before, her lying on the couch, turned towards her mirror, though she did not await an angel this time, but feared something far worse.