Into Your Soul
Eyes… The windows into a person's soul is what they say…
Her eyes misted with emotion as she thought back over the past few years. How many young women had gone through the feelings and heartbreak that she had? Surely she must be nearing her fiftieth year but no, in reality the woman gazing into the mirror was barely twenty five. No longer the naïve wisp of a girl but now a married woman with a child.
She sighed in quiet contemplation enjoying a moment's calmness. Outside she could hear the occasional carriage going down the street or the household going about its daily routine. The morning so far had been spent caring for those around her including herself or ensuring the household was running as it should be. Now she had a brief respite, a moment just to herself. Not a wife, mistress of their household nor a mother. Just Christine. A woman who had scandal thrown upon her, a woman who had choices forced upon her and fought back with her own determination.
Now… and what of now. She gazed upon the reflection in the mirror. A woman, a wife, a mother. Which of those titles was she proudest of? All held a part of her being. Earlier she had overheard a comment which made her ponder her past and in a way her future. She had been around the stalls in Rouen pondering on what her family should require over the coming week. In her eyes she considered herself a normal wife going about her daily business in a market.
A couple of ladies further ahead had been discussing how the eyes of a person give way to their inner most thoughts and fears. She could hear them chattering about the latest scandals from Paris and beyond. There was a rumour going around regarding some politician and a woman some papers were convinced the gaze of the woman was of love and passion towards this man.
Had she and Erik ever been party to the scandalous gossip? After a moments contemplation she thought they undoubtedly were. Don Juan, the soprano, phantom and vicomte. If anyone had been watching that production they would have noticed the looks between those two singers and of the man in box 5. That opera which led to a burnt out theatre it was there for the world to see. The vicomte's family already shamed by Raoul's choice of wife had essentially blackmailed the Parisian police and media to cover up the involvement their son had been in. Then there was the scandal of her broken engagement to Raoul. It all culminated in a flee from Paris which any romantic novel would have been proud of. The soprano and her ghost desperately trying to get away from prying eyes and searching their own emotional turmoil. However the reality from running for their lives was far from the romantic. Fear, dread and cold nights hiding and hoping there was a future ahead of them.
Christine gave a quiet sigh and closed her own eyes as she reminisced over the eyes, faces and events she had looked upon over the years.
Her father- Gustave. His eyes had been a hazy blue almost grey. Those eyes had always been full of encouragement and paternal love. Watching his only chid learn and grow. Christine had often contemplated what her father would make of some of her life choices of the past few years.
Originating from a musical family she could probably guess her staying with Erik would not raise his eyebrows too much. He had always instilled in her to treat everyone with kindness. Not to go on outward appearances or actions. To remember that beauty isn't what you first see in an individual.
Although as she remembered some of her husband's antics they could certainly be doubtfully always honest or above the law.
Even so part of her could almost envision a conversation between the ghost of her father and the Parisian opera theatre ghost that at first potentially would be hostile. Any father would protect his daughter. She hoped that with their musical similarities they would reach an understanding. Both would want for Christine's happiness.
Christine leant back into her chair trying to embrace the calmness around her. After her father who came next… a set of blue eyes appeared in her imagination. The most brilliant blue, reminiscent of the most vivid summer sky. Her childhood friend and some would say sweetheart. Raoul. Despite only a few short weeks of sharing each other's company he clearly had set his mind on making Christine his wife. Oh she had been flattered when he had finally noticed her presence within the opera house. To be courted by a viscount was exceptional, but once Christine had got past the original giddiness was she that fond of him to become his wife? For a brief moment she had entered into an engagement with him, although looking deep within her a heart keeping a secret engagement was really no true commitment at all.
The Paris opera house, the opera populaire call it what you will but to Christine it was home. She and her father had first entered it when she was just ten years old. Her father had been invited to play and at the time they thought they would be moving on after his contract ended. Fate in all her glory decided otherwise. After only a month Gustave became sick with a fever. A fever from which he never recovered. Leaving behind a distraught daughter with no-one to turn to. Or so she thought.
Christine although not obliged to join the company of the opera house had always been musically inclined so when the ballet mistress asked her to join in the classes in both the choir and dance classes she embraced it. At the time of joining she had no idea that her father would be dead before the year was gone.
The formidable ballet mistress could in theory have made Christine leave once her father had died. However whether it was her maternal instinct or the knowledge of blooming talent Christine stayed within those walls.
Madam Giry. The woman that became a surrogate mother figure. Even now her son knew her as Granny although not related by blood it was a title that just seemed to fit. When Christine had first taken lessons with Erik aka the Angel of music, opera ghost or phantom Madam Giry tried her best to keep rumour and speculation away from Christine.
Her surrogate mothers eyes were green tinted with brown. As a ballet rat under her tutelage she could instil fear just from a brief glance. Christine though could remember as if it was yesterday when she had handed over her firstborn child to her embrace. Her look softened into that of a grandmother's love and adoration. Madame Giry had gazed upon the family that was now Erik, Christine and their newborn was just as it should be.
Along with Madam Giry was her daughter Meg. This girl became Christine's best friend, her confidante. Although in hindsight there was a period where she did not share all that best friends would share about life and their feelings of love for the men in their lives. Much as Christine loved and appreciated her friend she was a terrible gossip especially if it involved the infamous opera ghost.
This fascination became more problematic as the years went on. Christine began to withdraw from her former friend as Meg's comments began to feel like daggers in her heart. Meg never could see what lay behind the image portrayed by the phantom. Inside was a frightened man who longed to be loved and accepted. Christine had known these emotions from him for as long as she could remember.
Christine opened her eyes and gazed at the mirror her friend's companionship she did miss. Those emerald green eyes of her teenage years full of mischief and fun. Perhaps she could persuade Madame Giry to bring her to Rouen to visit. She loved her life here, but a friend from her youth would make it more pleasurable.
A contented sigh slowly came from Christine as she thought of her son and his father. Her husband. A man who had so many talents and the knowledge that he knew surpassed many of his peers. A man who because of his deformity had spent the majority of his forty odd years ridiculed, hated, despised. Due to societal behaviour he believed he was unworthy of love and a family.
Behind that masked persona was someone who held little confidence in himself or what his talents could bring. Christine hoped she had made him believe in his skills with pen, paper and blueprints. He was now a respected architect. Still she could see doubt in his eyes.
Her husband, her Erik, her phantom. His eyes the darkest brown imaginable to the point of when angered turned black with golden flecks. She had seen those eyes give away many emotions. From anger to fear to passion. The most she had ever feared was the time she betrayed him-twice.
The masquerade ball was the final decision in her mind. A secret engagement… if she really thought Raoul was to be her future husband why would she keep it a secret? Later that night after watching Erik make his dramatic entrance and exit. She knew where her heart truly belonged.
That had been the night of a lot truths had been revealed. Raoul remained in his childhood belief that Christine was his little Lottie. Erik though had known the girl growing into the woman she was now. He had allowed her to voice her opinions on literature, politics and society. He valued her opinion however Raoul attempted to keep her a child without thought or discussion.
Raoul had pursued her all the way until that fateful night. She did not want anything to do with Erik's downfall. She could see every single rifle muzzle point aimed at her beloved's body. The music that enveloped them was their love and seduction. He had written this to declare his love for her. As he sang those fateful last notes she watched him as a prey would watch the one that stalked them. He had the grace of cat toying with a mouse. Christine wondered whether she should act the victim, but that was her Erik out on that stage.
That last night in the underground labyrinth was the night of a whole myriad of emotions for all three of them. Erik convinced she had committed the final betrayal, Raoul holding onto a childhood romance. As for herself she wanted desperately to get the man she loved to look beyond his anger in blaming society's revulsion regarding his facial deformity to see that there was a man worth loving.
Christine came back to the reality of her house. In the background she could hear her child laughing and fooling around around with his father. A smile graced her lips as she remembered telling Erik that she was expecting a child.
Erik's eyes had widened, his skin had gone as white as his mask on the right hand side of his face and gripped the arm of the chair so tightly she wondered if his bones might break. Those deep brown eyes held a look of fear, shock and wonder. Christine could understand his fear as he subconsciously held the right side of his face. Gently kneeling in front of him she gently took the mask off and by the reassuring touches of a woman for her man slowly he realised that they could raise a family as any other person.
Their first born. A little boy with a thick head of black hair. The old wives tale she chuckled afterwards of having bad indigestion would mean a babe with a full of hair had made her smile. The pregnancy although joyfully anticipated had been plagued by episodes of sickness.
However the moment he was placed into her arms all the discomfort of pregnancy were forgotten. The scrunched up face of newborn child opening his eyes to see the unfocused world around him. Those eyes currently deep blue as all newborn children she had wondered which shade they would finally be.
Christine could remember Erik's face and his eyes both in wonderment of the new life in front of him and the fear his deformity had been hereditary.
With a contended sigh she could recollect his pride as his son learnt to crawl, then to walk and say papa for the first time. If those who condemned the opera ghost could see him now would they realise that was the same terrifying man.
Reality came back to her as she could hear their mutual laughter. Part of Christine thought she should investigate what they were doing, but the greater part relished the fact they were having fun. She smiled as she imagined her son's eyes full of mischief. His were a lighter shade than Erik's, more hazel with a hint of amber. Like his father if something was not going the way he wanted that amber glow became more vivid. Christine could appreciate why the tales of the phantom claimed his eyes glowed.
The laughter in the distance had now turned to toddler angst and getting closer to her bedroom door. Christine decided to keep quiet and secretly hoped that Erik would placate the cross child who clearly was not liking the idea of having a nap. She could almost hear her husband muttering under his breath about how had he ended with this lifestyle?
Holding her hands across her abdomen she whispered 'so little one. Let's see what your father makes of having another child in the house'