Erik placed a hand over the short walking stick tied at his waist, making sure the camouflaged sword cane was securely in place as he stepped out of the bitter cold night and into the warm glowing activity of the Opera House vestibule. Never had he imagined entering the Opera House like any other patron among a crowd of others. Yet, here he was, dressed in a costume of muddy brown and green colors that made one think of dark evil forests and cursed swamps. The mask – which he made certain was secure before handing a pair of legitimately purchased tickets over to the gentleman accepting them – was a somewhat darker, sootier brown that encompassed his head with small deer antlers protruding from either side. A fine cape hung from his shoulders, artfully frayed and worn at the edges as though constantly being caught by brambles and branches.
A gentle hand squeezed his arm, and he glanced down to see that Arabella's smile had turned just a little strained beneath the simple mask that covered the upper half of her face. She was glorious in a medieval-style gown with an enormous bell-sleeved shrug pinned to the deep sweetheart neckline of her bodice. The shrug itself was made of extremely fine white gauze, decorated with what looked to be thick scar-like cracks. These cracks were a design that continued on the bodice and skirt of her gown. Her gown was mostly extraordinarily pale blue that faded into white towards her hem, and seemed to reflect hints of palest purple and green in places. All suggested snow and winter, while the gauze of her shrug, along with another layer of gauze over her skirt and the texture of her mask, all suggested ice. Her dark hair – pulled back from either side of her face in a braid while the rest of her hair fell loose – was powdered so that she appeared frosted, and was crowned with a garland of silver and crystal. The exact same design formed a broach at her waist, where it gathered the gauze veiling her skirt into the appearance of a low-slung sash. The entire ensemble was decorated with sparkling crystals of a myriad of winter colors.
Not one single costume in the masquerade would compare to hers. Most people wanted to be beautiful, heroic, powerful, evil, or angelic. Rarely did someone dress up in a costume that could be ambiguous and open to interpretation. On a visual level, Arabella was a beautiful queen of winter. She was beautiful, cold, and made at least partially of hard ice. But, when someone paid attention, one could take notice of the cracks decorating her surface, and the powder over her skin and hair that suggested a gentle fall of snow. She was cold, hard, beautiful, deadly … and yet heartrendingly fragile.
"Are you nervous?" he asked quietly, guiding Arabella away from the doors and along the long beautiful entrance hall. "It is only a dance, Mira Rani."
Arabella glanced up at him, and even through the translucent mask and powder Erik could tell his newest nickname for her had made her blush. It astounded him that she could so easily blush – particularly after what they had shared. He never would have guessed how pleased he could make her by addressing her as his lady.
"I am just trying to remember all your etiquette lessons." She admitted almost sheepishly. "I would not want to embarrass you."
"Oh, please, my all means…" Erik chuckled. "Embarrass me. I am quite sure you'll manage to mortify the people around us even more. That would prove immensely entertaining."
"Erik…" Arabella smirked, shaking her head as she glanced around with greedy and excited eyes. "I asked for those lessons because of tonight. I am not going to let myself slip up."
"I know you will not." he assured in a much gentler and reassuring voice. "Should we go through to the grand escaiier?"
"Not yet… I want to see if I can spot Nadir before he spots me."
"There are easier ways to do that.' Erik pointed out wryly. "Secret places to watch from…"
"That hardly seems fair." Arabella giggled. The sound carried through the room, since it had not truly begun to fill with people yet. Most revelers went straight through, which left the entry hall mostly open until the ball got into full swing.
"Well, who said I was fair?" Erik demanded. "Especially where Nadir was concerned? I haven't even paid him back for that cab yet."
"You haven't seen him since that morning." Arabella pointed out, far too reasonably.
"Well, my wife has been keeping me rather… preoccupied."
He loved to see her warm blush. The color rising into her cheeks always enhanced her beauty. Her lashes lowered shyly, veiling her eyes, and he reached up to gently stroke the lower and uncovered portion of her cheek with the back of his fingers. The very public display of affection snapped her attention right back to his in utter shock.
"Mind you … I'm not complaining." He all but purred. His tone of voice, of course, made her blush even more warmly; and he grinned as he turned and gently put her arm back in the fold of his elbow. "There is a little room over here. We should be able to somewhat conceal ourselves and observe arrivals – at least until later. If Nadir arrives late, I make no guarantees."
They did stand and watch curiously. It allowed Erik to show his more critical side by commenting on costumes or skirts that revealed far too much ankle. Some people must have been drinking prior to arriving, because the behavior of many was almost instantly obnoxious or scandalous. It was far too easy for him to take glee in talking about those who had helped make his life such a misery for so many years. And, of course, the fact that most of the crowd was made up of fairly rich noblemen and women only made him even more scathing.
"Is that him?" Arabella finally pointed to a figure with traditional Persian robes and a full face mask that looked like a virtual blank slate … a featureless mask that was rather unsettling. The robes were black and gold, and not very spectacular. The figure also wore a strange triangular hat on his head that Erik recognized as a karakul.
"No." he murmured, shaking his head briskly. "He's dressed too poorly for a man of Nadir's rank. I suspect Nadir must be here, though. That is most likely Darius. It's difficult to tell with that mask, though."
"Are you saying Nadir is too ostentatious?"
"I am saying that Nadir may be reasonably humble… but he still has his pride. He has royal blood and is related to the ambassador here in Paris. He isn't going to dress in materials only a servant could afford. Shall I let you keep guessing?"
"It shouldn't take much." Arabella shrugged. "If I just keep my eyes on Darius – or whoever he is – I'm bound to find him out."
"Indeed." Erik smiled proudly. "It is already getting warm in here. Shall I get you some champagne before or after the first waltz? That should be at any moment, by the way… I'd like to take you into the other room for that, if you don't object."
"I am thirsty … but…why the other room?" Arabella momentarily forgot the crowd and looked up at him curiously.
"It probably has something to do with my sense of pride – in this place and my beautiful woman on my arm."
Erik squeezed her hand briefly, before slipping into the main room and making his way towards the refreshments. He could hear Arabella cursing softly behind him when she returned her attention to the thickening crowd and realized she had lost sight of the man that was possibly Darius. It made him chuckle.
Arabella was somewhat amazed at the change in Erik. Since their "wedding night", he had seemed to be so happy. Never had she imagined Erik being in such a relaxed state of contentment and happiness. She knew that his life still felt incomplete; he missed Christine even now, and living in a cellar beneath the Opera House feeling as though the world above was too dangerous for a man like him was bound to dampen his joy. But… over all … Erik seemed to be almost in a state of constant bliss.
She wished she could be a better lover. Their first night together, she had endured that one moment of fear that had come up out of the blue, and nearly frightened Erik away from her for good. She did not know exactly what had caused it, or what had made it dissipate so fast. But ever since that night, she had put together that – at the very least – whenever Erik loomed over her and made her feel restricted… the fear would bubble towards the surface. It was difficult to put this experience into words that put him at ease - especially since Erik was not naturally a man that could lie back and hand over control of any given situation. It was not easy for him to keep from getting a bit carried away … for him to restrain his very natural aggressive and controlling nature. But … so far they somehow managed. Their times together were not perfect … but to Arabella they were like wonderful dreams come true. And Erik never complained.
She had never imagined genuinely wanting Erik … needing him … or enjoying what they did together. But Erik was dedicated to mastering all he did in life… and that included all he did in a marriage. He always endeavored to make her as happy as she made him.
Her eyes scanned the very golden foyer of the Opera House as she waited for Erik's return. It was difficult for her thoughts to wander their intimate secret path when there were so many bright-colored and exotic distractions in front of her. There were so many costumes… and so many voices. She could hear the orchestra out by the grand escalier tuning up and playing a few warm-up refrains of The Blue Danube. The sound was too broken by missing instruments or bad notes for it to truly be the first waltz of the evening, and there was the ever constant blare of one instrument or another trying to correct it's tone.
She was ready to give up on the search for Nadir entirely when he walked through the doors. For an attendee at a masked ball, he was very poorly disguised. But, since he still wore exceedingly rich Persian garb like he'd once worn at the palace in Mazandaran, she supposed it was costume enough for the Parisian upper crust surrounding him. Even at his age, with thinning and gray hair, covered in wrinkles, he looked quite dignified in brilliant sapphire blue silks and golden velvet. A European prince would have been jealous at the sight of a man who carried his royal lineage so nobly. His mask was nothing but a golden strip across his eyes.
She was just beginning to step out of the room and approach him when a commotion behind him distracted the both of them. Nadir had yet to see her, and he turned in curiosity to witness the entrance of a beautiful young woman with her entourage surrounded by other guests of the ball. Apparently many people had been lingering on the stairs outside, and all been prompted by the arrival of one particular guest to finally enter. Arabella arched her neck, rising onto her toes to see what had Nadir so instantly interested.
It did not take long to realize the reason for the commotion.
Christine Daae looked radiant and beautiful, dressed in a shimmering gown with a royal blue bodice and midnight blue skirt. It had a long sheer cape that matched the shade of her skirt, and the entire ensemble was speckled with variations of silvery stars – with many sizes and shapes. The deep V of her waistline had the most obvious interpretations with a border of five pointed stars literally strung together. Even the exaggerated tiara on her head was made of silver and crystal stars. Dangling over the swell of her breasts was a silver necklace with a half-moon shaped pendant, which cradled a navy blue cut glass stone.
Arabella's breath caught in her throat as she watched Christine greet old cohorts from her days at the Opera.
What is she doing here? Adnah's voice spoke in her mind for the first time all evening. Ever since his week away, he had rarely found reason to speak. He seemed to understand what had happened between her and Erik during his absence, and made a strange point out of telling her that he would no longer be in their house at night. He also promised he would never enter the bedroom under any circumstances.
It had embarrassed her to tell Erik this … knowing their intimacy was acknowledged by someone that had been so immoral in life. But … it was still reassuring to know that Adah's haunting presence was growing slightly less annoying and a little kinder the longer he was there. He still had many snide things to say at times; but in the moment Arabella saw Christine, he was somehow there as the voice she didn't dare use.
I don't know… I suppose she is here with the Comte? Or ... the Vicomte is back?
I do not see Raoul. Or Philippe.
Why is she with the managers? Arabella wondered in response. Adnah … where is Erik?
I suppose he's trying to work his way back here by now. You should go and meet him part way. He's less likely to see her that way.
Arabella shook her head. If Christine was at the masquerade and already creating this kind of excitement, no doubt Erik would hear word of it before she found him. That would be more than enough to put him in a mood or bring him rushing to see for himself. Instead of listening to Adnah, she edged her way through the crowd until she reached Nadir – who by then had been pressed by the growing crowd much closer to her little hiding spot.
"Good evening, Daroga."
The Persian turned sharply, eyes wide behind the mask although he didn't seem afraid at all. I was clear she had simply managed to sneak up on him without even trying.
"Oh – good evening." He greeted, smiling sheepishly and offering a small polite bow. "Madame Bella. You look stunning!"
Arabella felt herself flushing slightly.
"Thank you, Nadir." She managed as she offered her gloved hand and he lifted it as though for a kiss. But he did not kiss it – he just held it up between them, laying his other hand over her knuckles in a kind of platonic caress that came across as fatherly. "Are you disguised as someone in particular?"
He scoffed.
"No. No I … am just another mask in the crowd. Obviously it's not a very good disguise."
"Neither is my costume… but no one in Paris knows me, so I don't need to keep completely hidden to be mysterious."
This had Nadir laughing.
"All too true, Madame… Now … where is that rogue husband of yours?"
Arabella glanced around at the mention of Erik.
"He went to get us champagne…" she explained a little weakly. "He should be back by now. Maybe something distracted him…"
"Well if he doesn't come back by the first waltz, I'm stealing that dance from him."
She laughed. She couldn't help it.
"That won't be necessary, Daroga."
They both turned sharply. Erik had managed to get around both of them without being seen, and come up from the complete opposite side of the room from where he'd left. He held up one glass of champagne for Arabella to take, cradling his own close to his body so he was less likely to get jostled.
"Now, how do you suppose you are going to drink that in this crowd?" Nadir demanded, examining Erik's helmet.
"Magic." Erik said flippantly, before sighing heavily and revealing that the bottom half of his helmet actually lifted completely free of the rest so that he could tuck the champagne glass underneath enough to take a sip. "If I want to eat anything, it's going to be a trial… but I had a good meal before we came."
"You ate a good meal?" Nadir asked skeptically.
"My husband can eat." Arabella stated simply, pride in her eyes.
"Well, my wife can cook." Erik countered with a slight lifting of his champagne as though toasting her. "You have had her food before, Nadir. Surely you know her meals are hard to resist."
"Well…" Nadir looked almost embarrassed.
"I was only just learning how to cook Parisian food." Arabella defended herself instantly. "I am much better at heavy foods like stew and sausage with biscuits and gravy."
"Your meal was perfectly fine." Nadir assured her. "I did not mean to imply you are a bad cook. I just thought Erik was overpraising you."
Clearly, all three of them were greatly enjoying the banter - each looking for a way to respond to the whatever was said by the other.
"Insulting a woman's cooking in front of her husband…" Erik murmured almost dangerously. "I've killed men for less, Daroga."
"Behave yourself, Erik." Arabella scolded with an indulgent smirk.
It took a moment to realize that – behind his mask – Erik was not really looking at them. His gaze had wondered over to Christine, and the throng that surrounded her.
It was strange how a girl with such a scandalously unappreciated reputation could walk into a high society function like the masked ball in such a state of grace. The upper echelons of society had despised her before she left the Opera – for daring to aim so high as to marry into their class. Since she had not yet married Raoul after all these months - was it possible they had softened towards her again, and could once more appreciate her for her charm and voice?
"Are you all right, Erik?" Arabella asked worriedly.
He forced his eyes away from Christine, his eyes smiling at her almost painfully.
"Of course, ma belle." He assured. "I just … got lost in thought for a moment."
"The first waltz should be starting any moment." Nadir pointed out; clearly trying to change the subject.
Arabella quickly finished off her champagne before handing her glass off to a man walking around with a tray of many such empty glasses. Erik did the same, clearing his throat before giving a small bow and offering his arm.
"Will you give me the honor of the first dance, miri rani?"
Arabella feigned shock, putting a hand up to her bosom.
"The honor would be entirely mine, Monsieur Erlkong."
Nadir was laughing at their antics as Erik escorted her from the room and towards the grand escalier.
"Are you truly all right?" Arabella murmured gently once they were out of the Daroga's hearing. "I'm not a fool, Erik. I know you saw Christine, and I saw you staring at her."
"I will be just fine, ma belle." Erik promised instantly. "I am sorry if my reaction made you feel awkward… It just… seeing her again took me off guard. I knew she was likely to come … I just had not sufficiently braced myself."
Arabella nodded thoughtfully as they took their places for the waltz. Her right hand squeezed his left one comfortingly.
"I am here, miri ves'tacha." She reminded him reassuringly. "And … you do not have to hide what you are feeling from me."
"I know that." Erik said a little defensively. "Why would I hide anything from you? You know me too well for that to work. It was just a moment of memory and … regret. But you are here. I have you. I can feel regret and nostalgia without losing myself in it now. I could not have done that if you were not here…"
Arabella was not entirely convinced… but she did believe Erik when he said it was now easier. Perhaps Erik felt a lot more than he was willing to share; but he was also willing to put those feelings aside in order to enjoy the evening with her. His eyes were again smiling, having lost their momentary strain and sorrow. There was still a certain melancholy haunting them; but she didn't begrudge him that much. Part of him would always love and miss Christine… It was just something she had come to accept.
They were on their third dance when Erik again became distracted; and Arabella did not have to ask why. Christine was standing on the middle of the great staircase; obvious in her beautiful gown and the fact that everyone around her gave her a certain amount of respectful space. Even the managers of the Opera – who for some reason had nearly attached themselves to her side – stood at half an arms' length away. It was as though she walked with a bubble around her that made her more obvious than anyone else in the room.
"Erik … should we take a rest?" Arabella finally asked. "We could go to Box Five… order some food… close the curtain, and have some privacy."
"Are you tired already, my dancer?" Erik teased, snapping his eyes back to her face. "Or are you jealous that memories keep tugging at me tonight?"
"I could dance all night without dropping." She defended with a giggle. "But I do think you could use a respite from the overwhelming holy presence of Saint Christine."
"Oh, ma belle, that is not fair!"
"Easy, miri kom." Arabella soothed. "I am only teasing."
Erik glanced around once more as they circled the room, watching as Christine listened politely to the constant exciting babbling of the managers. If Arabella hadn't also been peering closely, it would have been hard to realize the woman seemed bored out of her mind … and perhaps just a little sad. Arabella had yet to see her dance with anyone – and a lady would never approach a man for a dance.
If her fiancé was here, she would be dancing. Adnah murmured. He must have quite a reputation if no one will dare approach her.
It could still be the Phantom everyone is afraid of…
Unlikely. Your husband bought Box five legitimately for the evening. When has that ever happened during the Phantom's reign of terror?
"All right, my dear." Erik finally conceded. "Box Five it is…"
As they walked - again arm in arm - Arabella leaned in close to Erik.
"I think I am very glad that we can lock ourselves in that box and shut the world outside of the curtain." she told him quietly. She was careful to make sure her voice would not travel. "Perhaps we might allow ourselves a bit of scandalous behavior."
Erik stiffened under her hand, clearing his throat nervously.
Are you telling me to leave you alone? Adnah demanded, apparently amused.
As a matter of fact, I am.
You are an insatiable little vixen.
And you are a man-whore. What is your point?
Adnah's scathing remarks - especially since he was so clearly teasing and not truly trying to hurt her feelings, had long since failed to touch her or ruffle her. She heard his laughter of acknowledgement seem to fade away as he allowed her and Erik to leave him behind.
"I..." Erik was still struggling for a response.
"Erik..." Arabella smiled at him with a raised eyebrow. "You yourself have remarked how many men and women with private boxes could shut themselves away for a romantic rendezvous."
"I do not know if I could call what they do romantic." Erik argued.
"You truly are an old man." Arabella pretended she was going to turn away. "You have absolutely no sense of mischief and adventure anymore."
Erik pulled on her so that she could not escape, turning her so that their faces were inches apart. He ignored the other party goers moving by them through the corridor.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Oh ... maybe..." She grinned at him. Then, planted her hands on his chest. "But first, we must eat. I am starving."