He found himself flirting, which astonished him both because of his ability to do so, and because of the attention that the ladies at the ball seemed to be lavishing upon him.
Lily seemed complacent and almost pleased at the female adoration he was receiving, and he wondered darkly if this wasn't part of some damned plan of hers. He had known her long enough to come to dread the schemes that percolated in that fertile brain of hers.
He noticed with a twinge of jealousy that she caught the eye of many of the young men at the gala. They fawned on her, puzzled and inexorably drawn to her by her silence. She smiled shyly and coyly at their attempts to draw her into conversation, simply wandering off when things were on the verge of becoming uncomfortable because of her inability to speak.
And yes, he had danced with her. But not just with her. Various young ladies, surprisingly bold, had dragged him to the dance floor. They had complimented him on the fine figure he cut in his costume and done their best to wheedle a name out of him. He, in turn, had used the only acceptable weapon for defense in this situation – charm.
With charm, he could easily deflect their questions. But charm had its consequences, namely that of separating him from Lily and marooning him in the center of a gaggle of young ladies.
In between witticisms, he directed his gaze around the foyer of the opera house, searching for Lily's slight figure, breathing a sigh of relief each time he found her.
"And what do you do for a living, oh mysterious monsieur?" asked a bubbly redhead, coyly shifting to accentuate her bosom for his gaze.
"I…am a composer," he replied with a sardonic smile, keeping his eyes on Lily.
"Oh! But c'est magnifique!" she exclaimed. "Have any of your works been performed?"
"Not yet," he replied absently. "But they will be, soon."
He didn't hear the woman's reply because his attention was arrested by the sight of Lily being approached by none other than Raoul. He strained to read the boy's lips, but the little fop turned so that it was impossible. He could see Lily's face, though, and her serene smile filled him with dread. He now understood something more of her plan and why she had wanted to come to the ball.
"I beg your pardon, monsieur, but I cannot help but think we have met before," said a sweet voice by his side.
He was speechless as he turned and looked down into the upturned face of his angel, Christine.
"No, we have not met," he replied curtly, thinking that strictly speaking, that was quite legitimate to say.
"But your voice is so familiar," Christine persisted, smiling, her eyes lighting up with delight. She placed her slender, elegant hand on his arm and stepped closer. He felt his heart had stopped beating, and utter panic seized up his throat. "Are you quite sure?"
He flicked a glance at Lily and Raoul, who had moved to join the waltz. Lily's eyes caught his, and he felt a shiver of apprehension at the utter coldness in them, visible even under her mask.
"Even if we have not formally met, I know that I have seen you somewhere," Christine laughed merrily. "But come, dance with me, and we shall introduce ourselves properly that way."
He was too stunned to do anything except nod and move with her into the dance. His head was spinning from the sensation of holding his angel in his arms, having her look up at him with an expression of pleasant expectation, having her smile at him. It was almost too much. He felt as if his heart would burst at any moment.
He struggled to find something to say, to sound normal, just like any other man.
"A pretty bagatelle you wear around your neck, mademoiselle," he said briefly, frowning at the ring on the chain around her neck.
"Oh," Christine exclaimed, blushing slightly and smiling. "It is my engagement ring."
The pain of holding himself back, of choking back the cry of rage and grief, was actually physical in its intensity. He would never forget that moment of innocent and utter betrayal, nor the agony that he felt.
"Then why do you not dance with your fiancé?" he asked, his voice harsher than he meant it to be.
"Oh, we have our whole lives to dance together," Christine laughed, seeming not to notice his change in demeanor. "Besides this is a masquerade ball. We're not supposed to know whom we dance with."
She smiled brightly up at him and added, "At least not until midnight, when we all take our masks off."
That was it. He could not bear any more. Abruptly, he let go of her and stormed off the dance floor. He needed to leave, to get away. It was but five minutes to midnight by the grand clock in the foyer. He could not risk staying. Where the hell was Lily?
Frantically, he looked around and saw that she, too, had left the dance floor, but with Raoul in tow. The boy looked more intrigued with her than was seemly for a man who was engaged.
"Monsieur?" Christine appeared at his side, slipping her arm through his and looking up at him appealingly. "Is something wrong? Did I offend you in some way?"
"Not at all, Christine," he replied absently, still fixated on the sight of Lily and Raoul and not realizing his mistake.
"You do know me!" Christine exclaimed, tightening her grip on his arm. "I knew it!"
He looked down at her, panic filling him like water rushing into a sinking ship. Christine was studying him intensely, her full red lips pursed in a most distractingly beguiling way.
"Ev-everyone knows of the famous Christine Daae," he stammered, trying to make up for his mistake and gently trying to disengage her hands from his arm.
At the same time, he heard Firman's detestable voice, thick with drink and cigars, call out, "The stoke of midnight is upon us! Everyone take off your masks!"
Instinctively, he reached up and pressed his hand to his mask to keep it from being ripped off.
"I must go," he said roughly, yanking his arm away from Christine.
"I know you, now," she replied in a low voice. He looked at her in terror as she stepped close to him again. "You are my angel of music. I know your voice."
"You do not know what you are saying," he replied sharply.
"Yes, I do," she said stubbornly. "You are my angel come to earth! Why did you not come before, angel?"
"Leave me be," he demanded, striding over to Lily and forced to drag Christine with him, as she wouldn't let go of his coat sleeve.
"Why won't you tell me your name?" Raoul was saying as he took off his mask and smiled beguilingly at Lily. "Why won't you answer one of my questions?"
Standing with Christine still clinging to him, he watched in horror as Lily slowly removed her mask. In all the chaos, he felt a twinge of sympathetic pleasure at the revenge she was having. Raoul's face transformed into a mask of utter disbelief.
"Lily?" he exclaimed. "What…how…what are you doing here?"
Lily remained silent.
"Say something, Lily," Raoul said, taking her hands and kissing them. "Dear little Lily, don't be like this. We were always such good friends."
His panic turned to rage at the boy's words. How dare he! How could he possibly think that a few sweet words would make amends to a woman who had sacrificed everything for him.
"She can't say anything," he snapped, moving to stand next to Lily, wrapping his free arm around her waist. "They cut out her tongue the night you came to the opera because she tried to protect you."
Raoul's eyes went wide and flicked from Lily to him, and back to Lily.
"Is it true?" he whispered, his voice full of sudden pity.
Lily remained silent, her face a mask of stony anger and strange sorrow.
"Oh God!" Raoul cried out. "What fiends! Lily, come, you must come with me and allow me to make it up to you."
Lily remained stoically passive, giving Raoul one last, long stare, then turned to him and nodded.
He felt a wave of relief rush through him and made to turn and leave. But Christine still clung to his arm.
"You have not removed your mask, my angel," she said quietly.
"And I don't intend to," he replied coldly, pressing his hand against his mask a little harder.
"Lily?" Raoul said uncertainly. "Who is this man? Are you with him? You really should come back with me, little Lily."
Raoul reached out and took Lily's arm, trying to pull her away from his grasp. It was the last straw. His hand abandoned the mask and shot out to encircle the boy's throat. Lily shrank back against him, clawing at Raoul's hand to remove it from her arm.
And then, he felt cool air on his face and skull. Instinctively, he released Raoul and clamped his hand back over the ruined side of his face. He turned to Christine, who stood trembling, holding his wig and mask in her hands.
"Oh my God!" she whispered in a panicked tone. "What are you? You can't be an angel! You're from the Devil!" she added, crossing herself.
His breathing was ragged, and his mind felt curiously frozen, unable to even give his body the simple command to run away.
He watched with a detached kind of horrified fascination as Lily wriggled out of his grasp, snatched the wig and mask out of Christine's hands and dealt her a hard slap across her face.
Before anyone could react, Lily grabbed his arm and dragged him away, back into the shadowy alcoves that would lead to the deserted hallways that would bring them back home.
"Lily!" Raoul's voice was loud and urgent, and he turned back to see the boy trying to follow them. He couldn't seem to focus his mind on anything, least of all how to get away from the boy. To his utter surprise, Lily thrust the mask and wig back at him and drew the sword from the sheath at his side.
"Lily! What are you doing? Where are you going with that madman?" Raoul cried, his advance halted by the sharp blade held steadily to his chest.
He watched as Lily's eyes narrowed. She stood silent and still as stone, her pale blonde hair seeming to glow in the darkness.
"Lily, come back with me," Raoul said gently. "I will take care of you."
It was only his quick reflexes that prevented Lily's lunge from plunging the blade into Raoul. He grabbed the girl and pinned her to him, despite her furious struggling.
"Leave us, boy," he snarled. "Leave, or I'll run that blade through you myself! Have you not done enough?"
Raoul seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes fixed on Lily. Then, he hung his head slightly, turned and left them.
He could not remember the next few minutes very clearly afterwards. Somehow, he had managed to bring them safely back to the hidden passages, down to the gondola that waited to ferry them back to his home.
He paused before stepping into the boat, staring down at the wig and mask he still clutched in his hand. A few tears unwittingly slid down his face and onto the smooth white kid leather.
He almost didn't notice Lily standing before him. But when he looked up, he saw her eyes upon him, and he winced. He knew that she saw the monstrosity that was his deformed visage. But he was shocked to see no disgust, no horror in her eyes. No, there was not even pity in her gaze.
She moved so that she stood before him. She placed her hands on his face, both the ruined and the good sides. And she kissed him.
He returned her kiss, the accoutrements of his disguise slipping unheeded to the ground. He crushed her body to his, tears slipping down his cheeks so that they tasted salt in their kiss. Lily molded her body to his, her arms tight around his neck.
"Lily," he murmured raggedly, lifting his lips from hers. "How can you? I am a monster!"
Lily shook her head vehemently and pointed upwards, as if to indicate that those above them were the monsters.
"What am I to do with you?" he asked, a rueful, bemused smile tugging at his lips. It was said only half in jest. Raoul's words echoed in his heart still. Lily needed someone to take care of her, to give her a life – a better life than one lived in the hidden darkness under an opera house.
But Lily's sly and shy smile told him that she had other ideas about what he could do with her.
"Out of any of us, you are truly an angel," he whispered brokenly.
Lily rolled her eyes and grinned, and kissed him again.
And this time, he knew that he would let himself go where his desire took him.
A/N: I know, a very fast update, but this was just burning my brain, and I couldn't wait to get it out...but don't think I'm done being evil yet. Let's just say I'm setting up for bigger and better evil things like twists with cliffies...
Yours in mishcief,
Kate