- - - Still when Christine meets Erik - - -
"I'm truly very sorry, E-Erik." Christine said, her eyes apologetically staring at her teacher like those of a misbehaving puppy.
His anger subsided a bit at her expression. Taking the mask into his own hands, he turned away from her and placed it back on.
"I think it would be wise to return you back to your dressing room. That is, if you even dare to seek your corpse of a tutor once more." He told her, a tone of disappointment sneaking into his voice.
The girl nodded gently, following behind him into the gondola. Being too afraid to even make a peep, Christine silently observed her surroundings as though she was trying to memorize them for future reference. There was no doubt that she would still need her teacher, after all the Populaire just witnessed her first show of talent and Christine would be lost without him.
The glow of the candles reflected softly in her eyes and Erik took notice of the sad, regretful look in them. Her hands reached into the cold water to caress the flowers floating upon its surface with her fingers, seemingly to distract a troubled mind. But why should she be troubled? Frightened and repulsed, yes, but not concerned in this matter. Erik couldn't understand this strange girl.
Christine isn't strange, just different from the rest of the cast. Her very soul is entwined with the music as she performs; no grand jetes nor pirouette sequences are needed to leave her breathless and drained after a show. The lack of fear towards my appearance may be from her dark experiences in childhood, though they obviously pale in comparison to mine. Even now, she stares at every inch of my home as though saving it for her recollection to admire later. Shall she return to the chapel, I will bring her back here with more joy I've ever felt in my lifetime.
The boat scraped into the side of the stone flooring, which lead to the grand staircase and labyrinth of hallways. These were the Phantom's passageways, each one leading out towards a hidden post from which the Opera Ghost would wreak havoc over the theatre. But Erik sought only to leave Christine in her dressing room, his heavy heart fearing the worst- that she would never return to her teacher.
At the top of the staircase, Christine finally broke the silence.
"Erik, why do you have a path into my dressing room?"
He sighed a breath of relief that she wasn't fixed upon the subject of his deathly visage.
"Because it used to be where all of the spare sheet music was, so I would take it and re-write pieces to my own taste. A select few of the most recent works from there have provided a skeleton for my Don Juan."
"You don't use it to peek at whoever is in the room?"
"I do have a sense of propriety." He chuckled.
"May I see your Don Juan?"
"Not now, it isn't finished. Even after thirteen years it remains incomplete. You see, I only compose when I get a strike of inspiration- and then I write for days on end without stopping to rest. Otherwise, the music lies on top of the organ untouched. But it is not the joyful, airy music you are accustomed to, Christine. My opera burns itself into the actors, unwinding any emotions from within and restraining nothing. It is dark and only to be performed exactly as instructed, otherwise it appears grotesque and foreign to the audience."
"It sounds dreadfully interesting. What is it about?"
"You shall find out relatively soon, for the lead soprano part has been written solely for you. No one else will ever perform it correctly as they lack the nuances and exact capabilities of your voice."
"I am honored." She smiled, standing just behind the two-sided mirror of her dressing room.
"Well, this is where the journey ends. If you wish to continue our lessons, I shall receive you here or in the chapel and please refrain from interacting with that fop of a vicomte." Erik playfully scolded, shutting the mirror behind Christine as soon as she went through.
- - - Current time - - -
As that day progressed, Christine tirelessly worked with both ballerinas and with M. Reyer, the conductor. The new managers didn't seem to know what to do with her, for she was sensational as both a dancer and singer, along with the fact that they hadn't decided what their next show would be. Erik watched her on the stage. In his mind, he cursed out the managers for being such idiots with no real enthusiasm for the art they were meant to present. But he'd brought charcoals with him.
Even in the darkness he managed to create several pieces of his Christine. Perhaps it was fear that she wouldn't return to him that drove Erik to sketch with such a passion. In this book, there were several pressed between pages so as not to smudge the forms smudged onto the papers.
In one, Christine stood tall in center stage as Juliette with her simple gown and outdated jewelry, mouth open in a smile as she sang the opening arietta. The next included a stern, not-so-detailed Madame Giry instructed the obedient Christine where to place her arms for a certain movement. He illustrated the curve of her arms, as well as the rest of her body, with the delicacy of a swan. Each image made Christine look angelic, even if she was performing the most commonplace of tasks: wiping sweat of her brow, chatting with Meg, tying her ballet slippers, fixing her mane of curls, or nervously twirling one of the dazzling rings Erik had gifted to her.
Erik recalled that this had given him a sign of hope. Simply seeing something he'd given her adorning her body was evidence that she didn't entirely despise him for what took place only hours before. There was an odd burning sensation in the pit of his heart, which he quickly dismissed to focus on Christine as well as the remaining sketches. It seemed peculiar that his young student had matured out of being a child- the years had flown by.
- - - Back to the rehearsal - - -
"I heard that the next show is going to be Il Muto!" Meg eagerly whispered to her dear friend while they were chatting in the dressing room.
"That would be quite the comedy." Christine replied almost monotone.
Meg noticed that she seemed dazed whenever M. Reyer, her mother, or the managers weren't directly speaking to her. Christine's mind was elsewhere and she kept her gaze on the gilded mirror in the room. The talkative blonde stopped speaking about the potential new opera, seeing if it drew any response from her friend.
"Are you alright, Christine?" She questioned.
"Pardon? Oh, yes, just feeling sleepy from last night is all." She shrugged.
"Well I heard the Vicomte sounded quite disappointed to have not been met by you for supper."
"He didn't seem to hear my complaint of exhaustion and insisted that I join him, it was really his own ignorance of my response."
"But he honestly looked so pitiful when he realized you weren't coming. It might be best to inform him of your interest in joining him any time other than the night of a performance."
"My Angel always told me to focus solely on music, not silly opera-goers."
"Don't tell me you still believe in such a thing! Who could your instructor truly be after all these years? I don't think angels remain for guidance over such a long time."
"Mine has." She defensively retorted, "But if I must keep away from distractions to excel in my father's hopes for me, so be it."
From behind the mirror, Erik smiled at the faithfulness of his student. What a gratifying feeling it was to have a person, much more a beautiful and talented lady, devoted to oneself! The Daroga would be proven very wrong the next time he'd pay a visit to his masked friend.