Erik's book was returned to him in the chapel after his Monday night lesson with Christine, who had profusely apologized that she attempted to dry the flowers he'd gifted her in the book. Her Angel remarked that, as the pages she used were blank, it was of no matter to him and that he was rather glad she preserved them. Her expressions in the piece greatly improved since before the weekend, mostly from a better understanding of the persona Christine was meant to portray.
Every night, after their lesson, the instructor would either work on his Don Juan Triumpant, that was partly being written for Christine when the time came, or create elaborate sketches with charcoal. Many of these drawings were of his blossoming student in character for his opera or in various activities during her daily life.
The face was the easiest- round eyes that gleamed with innocence and joviality, soft lips, arched brows, a perfectly curved nose, small chin, and elongated eyelashes that seemed to flutter like the wings of a butterfly every time she blinked. She seemed to be the true angel by appearance. Next, Erik would take careful measures in illustrating each curl of her hair to be as unique as they were in reality: every one twisting in its own way. Most of the sketches of Christine at this age were just to the end of her slender neck, due to the reclusive man's feeling of breaking propriety for attempting to draw the rest of her body. But there were a few instances where Erik couldn't help himself, or felt necessity in doing so- namely in the process of creating costume ideas for his Don Juan.
As always, each of these creations were tucked away in his locked desk drawer to keep them from the prying eyes of the Daroga. The Persian made less visits down, knowing that he had no power over his masked friend to stop the lessons after they'd continued over the previous eight years or so. Now, he only warned against meeting the girl along with anything further than instructing her voice, to which Erik laughed haughtily at. To him, any kind of further interaction with people was unthinkable. Especially, as this young girl was so wonderous, Erik couldn't bear to frighten her or lose their strange connection.
Instead, he would recline in a leather armchair and the solitude of his underground home to look through the drawings he deemed to be fairly decent. Firstly, Christine was in a crowd of faceless ballerinas dressed to portray an ensemble of cherubs in their white tulle skirts and little, feathered angel wings. The only identifiable girl was his student, looking heavenly under a glowing stage light fixed on her in the sketch. Her gaze was fixed outwards at the empty seats of the rehearsal, hope glistening in her doe eyes.
The following image showed what Erik imagined to be what his student would look like by the time she would be prepared to take on the role he created for her. His Don Juan heroine was to be a young barmaid that shone with virtue in her soul amidst the dark setting she was forced to live in. Her dress was to be an almost-translucent fabric on the bottom, accentuated at her slim dancer's waist, and the sleeves were to be placed off the shoulder. On the sides of the sketch, Erik had scribbled down some notes of colors or materials he thought of using, but that decision was not necessary to make for a few more years.
Only once had the Daroga caught Erik using his charcoal for such endeavors, scolding him fiercely upon seeing the unfinished face of a curly-haired girl who seemed to be parting her lips in song.
"Please tell me that this is not your impressionable student, or at least that this is the only drawing you've done of her." The Persian pleaded, rubbing his forehead to ease the tension that formed upon his brow.
"You needn't bother asking me to respond to that, for you clearly already have a preconception of what I would say." Erik stated calmly, throwing his paper with the incomplete sketch into the misty lake just outside his home.
"Oh, you incorrigible man! Knowing your temper, progressing any relationship with the poor girl will be disastrous."
"In what way? She has been perfectly cooperative to our lessons every night."
"I am sure your student will soon have a line of suitors vying for her attentions, even more so if her voice is discovered and used in a production. You will completely object, hiding your jealousies behind the excuse of her mind drifting away from music."
Erik knew, deep down, his Persian friend was correct. But he wouldn't let him win the argument.
"Music was the initial focus of this and it shall be so until the end."
"I only hope that your claim remains true for the long-term, it would be best for the girl if you truly cared for her."
"Even if I did, you know that I am quite selfish Daroga, and wouldn't heed to your orders. Luckily, I do not. Or, at least, not in the perverse way you have concocted in your imbecilic brain."
No longer desiring to hear Erik's teasing abuses, the Persian bid him goodnight and left the underground cavern shaking his head. This strange man would forever pester his worrying, and very caring, heart until the end of his days. However, he loved the company of the artistic genius at times as well as attempting to advise him to no avail. It filled the emptiness caused by the loss of his late wife and child, directing all of his instinct of parental guidance towards his, quite childish, friend. He only wished for the masked man to find happiness without taking it from someone else or destroying something.