I'm fifteen now.
François came down to the lair this evening - and God knows how he knew it was my birthday; I certainly didn't tell him when it was, as I certainly don't believe that the occasion should be celebrated. He brought a present with him as well. He appeared shocked that I was surprised to be receiving something from him.
"It's your birthday, Christine," he said. "Why shouldn't you receive a gift from me? I'm your friend."
I shrugged. "Nobody but my father has ever given me a present, François. It's just... odd, that's all. Besides, I wasn't really planning on celebrating my birthday tonight. I was just going to work on Genius's Mistake. I haven't even prepared a meal for myself to eat, whether in celebration or not; you've come down to nothing but my typical evening."
"But it's not a typical evening!" he insisted. "You're fifteen now; you're becoming a young woman. Look - you've even gotten taller! See?"
He uncovered one of the many mirrors that surround my lair and placed his hands on my shoulders, guiding me over in front of it so that I could see myself. It was true; I was approximately a foot taller than I'd been the last time I'd bothered to look in a mirror.
While I liked the fact that I was taller now - I could probably fit into one of my father's robes, which always looked so comfortable, that's black and has a beautiful design on the back - it wasn't that that I was paying attention to now. I only seemed to be aware of his hands resting on my shoulders. He'd never touched me of his own accord before, and I wasn't quite sure what to think about it.
His hands were not rough, as they looked, but rather soft, and warm. I wanted to move away, but then again, at the same time, I had a strange sort of desire for him to hold me closer. I wanted that for some reason.
It was then, however, that I remembered that this was my friend, not my lover, or my obsession, and, most of all, not Cameron. He was François, a man who was old enough to be my father. He'd actually rather, in a way, replaced my father - though I'd never mentioned it to him. He was only a man - a kind man, to be sure, but not someone that I was actually in love with the way I loved Cameron.
The moment now gone, I shrugged away from his touch and walked back over to the piano, sitting down and starting to work on one of my songs for Genius's Mistake.
"Christine."
I felt myself stiffen, and then I turned to face him with a hesitance that I'm sure was obvious to him. I glanced up at him.
He looked at me for a long moment, then reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a rectangular box. He opened it to reveal the loveliest necklace I'd ever seen. It had a gold chain with sparkling rubies lining it. I couldn't help but stare at it.
He pulled the necklace out of the box, then turned me so that I faced the piano again. "Hold up your hair."
I put a hand to my hair and lifted it off of the back of my neck. Then he put it around my neck, linking it with its tiny clasp and then stepping back.
I put my hair back down and looked down at the necklace, fingering it and sitting there, not sure of what to do next. I didn't know how to thank him; I surely hadn't expected to receive such an expensive present from him. So I remained silent.
Then he spoke, saying my name again. "Christine."
He said those two syllables as though they were a prayer, as though my name was the name of God. The way he said it made me feel rather frightened, but, against all my instincts as to ignore him, I turned and faced him again.
He looked down at me solicitously for what seemed like eternity. The way he glanced at me made me take a deep breath, and I felt my hands start to tremble the tiniest bit, so that only I noticed.
Then he walked closer to me, and then he reached his hand out to my face. I found myself holding my breath.
But then, at the last minute, when he wasn't even an inch away from touching me, he moved his hand away from me and placed it down at his side. He looked at me for a moment in awkward silence.
"Happy birthday, Christine," he said quietly. "Good night."
I nodded solemnly and fingered my necklace for a brief moment. "Good night, François. Thank you for the necklace."
"You're welcome."
He was silent for a moment, then walked a few steps closer to me and looked down at me. Then, with all the uncertainty and timidity of some boy my own age, he brought his hands to my face and kissed me on the forehead.
Without another word, and without waiting for me to reply, he turned on his heel and made his way out of my lair through the exit to the stables.
He kissed me on the forehead... but why?
A week after she turned fifteen, Christine made her way up to the above world to go and see François. She knew that he wasn't working today - he hadn't been at the Opera since he'd come down to her lair to celebrate her birthday. But that didn't matter, because she'd one day found where he lived, and she intended to go there and locate him.
With her hood over her head, no one looked at her strangely, assuming that she was just another common Parisian trying to keep herself warm from the November wind. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as she shivered and made her way down to the Rue de Rivoli, where François's apartment was.
She made her way up the few steps of François's apartment, glanced around nervously, as though waiting for someone to see her, then knocked on the door several times.
She heard the sound of several bolts being unlocked, and then the door opened.
François started as he saw that she was standing there. His eyes widened incredulously.
'"Christine?" he whispered. "What on earth are you -"
"May I come in?" she murmured, interrupting him and shivering slightly. "It's quite cold out here, and I'd like to speak to you where - well, where I can't be seen."
He stepped aside. "Of course. I'm sorry; that was uncivil of me not to invite you in, wasn't it? Please come in."
"Thank you," she said, stepping inside as he closed and locked the door behind her. She pulled off her hood and looked around at where François resided. "Quite a small place you have."
"Yes, well, I live alone, as you know," he said, stepping next to her. "I don't need much room. Would you like to come into the sitting room and have tea?"
"That would be very nice, thank you," she replied, following him into the sitting room and sitting herself down on the sofa.
"Would you like me to take your cloak?"
"No, thank you. I don't intend to stay for very long; I just want to speak to you very briefly."
He nodded. "All right. Let me get tea."
Then he turned and walked out into the kitchen, and she looked after him.
After a moment, he walked back in with a tea pot, along with two teacups and saucers. Then he placed everything down and poured tea into her cup, then his.
"Do you take anything in your tea?"
"No, thank you; I like my tea plain, like I normally do when we're in my lair." She picked up her cup and saucer and blew on her tea to cool it off. Then she took a sip. "Good tea."
"Thank you," he replied, taking a sip of his own tea and setting his cup and saucer down on the table. "Now, Christine - what is it that you came here for?"
She looked hesitant. "I was wondering about last week... when you kissed me... on the forehead... what happened?"
"You mean you're wondering what inclined me to do that?"
"Yes." She nodded.
He sighed and rubbed his temples. "I've been wondering that myself... but now I know." He paused, looking over at where she sat. "Christine, I love you."
Her grey-green eyes widened. He what?
"Oh, not in that way, my dear!" he said hastily when he saw her reaction. "I mean like family... I've no family in the world, you see, and, having been with you so often, you've made me feel like a father. You're like the daughter that I never had. That's one of the reasons why I've watched you so closely at the Opera, so that I know that you're staying out of an incredibly large amount of trouble. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you, be it because of bad behavior or if you got in harm's way. That's why I didn't want you to become The Phantom, just in case something happened to you that was similar to what happened to your father. You being female was just my excuse to try and dissuade you. But it didn't work; you're so damned stubborn."
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Last week, I felt inclined to touch your face and kiss your forehead, to show you physical affection, like a father would to a daughter. I wanted you to know that there's someone out there in the world, even if it's just one person, who cares for you, loves you as family, and will never, never, hurt you, no matter what anyone else does to you. I wanted you to feel and know that there's at least one person in the world who doesn't care what you look like underneath that mask, and who will never judge you because of it. So, now that I've said all of this, I hope you know that... do you understand what I'm saying, Christine?"
She was silent for a moment, soaking it all in. Nobody, not even Erik, had ever said something so deep and powerful to her. With Erik, she'd just always known that he loved her and cared about her unconditionally - any father should have that for his daughter, and she'd known that Erik had had that for her But hearing François, who hadn't even known her for a year of her life, say it was something entirely different.
When she continued to remain silent, he reached out and took one of her hands, squeezing it on impulse. "You're a good girl, Christine," he said gently. "I'd like to think that you won't ever let anyone make you think otherwise - not even yourself. I know you might like to think that you're some kind of evil, but you're far from it."
Something about that phrase made tears well up in her eyes. A single tear fell down her masked cheek, causing it to get stuck there.
"Oh!" she muttered in irritation, reaching up to her mask and taking it off. She wiped the tear away, then realized that François could now see what she looked like underneath the mask.
She let out a cry of fear, quickly placing the mask back on her face. Then she looked up at him nervously. "I certainly hope you didn't see that."
He shrugged. "What if I did? I swear to you, Christine, I don't care a thing about what's underneath this" - he tapped her mask. "I care about Christine, not Christine's deformity."
She managed a small smile. "Thank you, François."
He didn't reply; instead, he simply took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "There's no need to thank me for anything, child."
For a moment, there was a silence, and suddenly, Christine suddenly felt very safe. Ever since her father's death, she'd always been looking over her shoulder everywhere she'd gone - but in that moment, she felt like she didn't have to do that. With her father figure around, she was secure.
When the moment of silence was gone, he pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced at it. "Now, my dear, it's very late. I suggest you go home and get some rest."
Sighing, she rose, and he rose with her. "You know as well as I do that I won't sleep, François... I've only got two more months until the New Year's masquerade, and I'm still not finished with Genius's Mistake. But yes, I'd better get home, so that I can work on it."
She made her way to the door, and he followed her, opening the door for her.
"Would you like me to walk you home?" he inquired. "It's rather late; I don't want you getting hurt somehow."
"No, thank you," she replied, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. "I'll be quite all right. When will you be returning to work?"
"Tomorrow. Since I imagine that this is the only time you're venturing out of your lair until the masquerade, I'll come down and see you." He stood there for another moment, gazing at her. "Good night, Christine. Sleep well - or, rather, work well, since you won't sleep."
She nodded. "Good night, François."
Then, without another word, she turned and started walking down the steps of his apartment.
He watched her leave until she vanished into the darkness of the street ahead, and then closed the door behind him.