- - - Current time - - -
Erik kept Christine's laced handkerchief, meaning always to return it to her but simply forgetting about its presence. She left in on the sofa unknowingly due to her falling asleep towards the end of her instructor's story. Fearfully, Erik carried her to the bed for a more comfortable rest and sought refuge before the organ's keyboard. His skilled fingers banged out complex melodies and their dark harmonies, allowing all of his emotions to flow through onto the instrument. There was fear for his own sake. After a while it turned to concern for Christine. Next was anger over the cruelty of the world and how it had forsaken him throughout the entirety of his life.
He never ceased to be amazed by Christine in general, but it was especially impressive how she managed to sleep through all of his musical turmoil. Even when it was incredibly shrill notes being squeaked out of the violin or heavy echoes of the organ or deep tones of his rarely-used cello.
- - - Back to last chapter - - -
Given that the underground home didn't exactly have walls built around each room, Christine woke and was able to make out the shape of her frustrated Angel working out a chord for his composition. She noted that her gown from the previous evening was still discomfortingly over her body and tried to fix her hair into place.
Erik seemed to sense her awakening, placing the white mask over the disfigured side of his face. It was likely that he took it off at night and if he was in a state of anguish, which he was. Christine imagined how uncomfortable it must be to constantly wear a mask, both physically and as a reminder that the mask was meant to cover the very reason why the world shunned him.
As the curly-haired girl stepped to his side at the organ, she smiled gently and bid him a good morning.
"Morning? My dear, it is almost noon." Erik chuckled nervously, wondering why she was still being friendly to him.
"Oh, then good mid-day. Or at least I suppose that's an appropriate greeting."
"I'm amazed at you once again, Christine."
"What for? I haven't done anything."
"Exactly. Firstly, you managed to sleep through my hammering of the organ. Additionally, you are still here as friendly as ever. Weren't you taught that people who commit crimes are to be left alone? Especially by particularly innocent girls."
"Of course. But I believe that crimes are done without a decent reason, therefore you don't qualify to be a criminal."
"Did I mention my extortion of the managers of this very opera? That is how I acquire my salary."
"I have figured that out for myself. Once again, you are not defining words correctly. Extortion would be if you were demanding it of them in return to your lack of causing them trouble. Perhaps you do play pranks on the cast and send mysterious notes with threats, but the notes do contain valuable suggestions as for artistic direction. You are helping, not just forcing them to pay you for nothing."
"What an angel you are, Mademoiselle Daae."
"Not at all. Everything you've mentioned to me as a crime had a form of decent reasoning behind its doing. That former stagehand was hanged because it was either you or him that would die- that was self-defense for you. All of the older ballerinas told me he was a wretched man anyways."
"This is a dream, you must be fooling me. There is no way a person such as yourself, Christine, would grant me forgiveness for my wrongdoings."
"And another sign of your decency is that you are aware that these actions aren't right and that they must be forgiven. See? You're not a criminal."
"I haven't revealed everything to you. But perhaps you shall want sustenance before I speak of anything else, hm?" Erik suggested, leading Christine away by the crook of her arm.
The pair settled in the kitchen of-sorts and Erik commanded his pupil to remain seated at the small table while he prepared her breakfast. Her blue eyes studied him, smiling in amusement to seeing Erik in an act of domesticity. The hands she knew to be gifted in creating were the same ones serving her a tea of an exotic fragrance and a foreign type of roll filled with cinnamon-apple slices.
The eerie silence of the subterranean realm settled in as Christine had her breakfast, Erik sitting across from her and subtly watching the girl. It was torture knowing that this vision wouldn't be common, Christine would have to leave and continue her life performing. Erik wouldn't dare to clip her wings, knowing she dreamt of it her whole life, and he couldn't imagine putting his years of educating her to waste. This was a temporary circumstance and the masked man cherished every second of it.
Their dream-like state was ended by the sound of swishing water. No one ever came down to the cellars Christine thought, wondering what the source could be and fearing for herself as well as Erik's reaction. An unwanted intruder seeking to find out if the Opera Ghost existed would be entirely unwelcome. The girl dreaded to see Erik in a rage again.
But Erik, who also noticed the sound, was quite sure of the cause and seemed only irritated by it. He stood up to confirm his suspicions, leaving Christine to stare at him in confusion with a teacup in hand. A smaller, simpler boat was paddling across the lake.
Inside, there sat a man who looked unlike any other the young girl had seen. He wore exotic garbs of warmly-dyed fabrics and an astrakhan cap on his head of silver-streaked black hair. A friendly smile appeared on his face upon seeing Erik's standing figure as the man waved in greeting, speaking a few foreign words to him.
Upon seeing Christine seated at the table, the man looked concerned. He began speaking in a more frantic tone while Erik responded calmly in the same tongue, surprising Christine with yet another of his talents.
She only recognized the language once Erik converted back to French, muttering to her: "Would you please tell this man that you aren't harmed or haven't been forcefully brought here?"
"Will he understand me?" She questioned.
"Of course, he is only speaking Farsi to keep you from hearing him scold me as a parent would a child." Erik seemed to retort this comment to the man in the boat, now landing upon the rocky shore of the home.
"Oh, then Iam indeed here of my own accord. In fact, I asked Erik to bring me here once more." Christine vouched, speaking enthusiastically for her teacher's sake.
"Ah, forgive me then, my friend." The man said to Erik in a cheerful tone and slight accent.
"Why were you so worried, monsieur?" Christine questioned.
"It may shock you," He started with a sarcastic voice, "that my friend here has a wild temper that causes him to do unbelievably illogical things."
"That is enough, Daroga." Erik warned.
"Oh is that your name, monsieur? You must teach me to pronounce it correctly." Christine piped up.
"No, it is a title meaning 'police chief' in my language. That was my position in Persia, where I met Erik, and he calls me by it. My actual name is Nadir, and I know yours is Christine."
"What a lovely name yours is! And I presume that you only know my name in good terms of conversation?"
"Undoubtedly, Erik has never said even a partially-negative word about you. He describes you in an almost sacred light."
"That is much too kind of him." Christine smiled, teasingly peering back at the angry-looking masked man.
"Would you kindly halt your mouth from uttering another word?" Erik grimaced.
"Oh certainly, I apologize if I've offended you Erik." Nadir joked, seating himself at the table beside Christine's seat.
As soon as the girl finished with her tea, she excused herself from the table and went to the bedroom to refresh herself. Luckily, the bathroom was at least walled-in so Christin experienced no discomfort while re-dressing in her layers of clothing and tediously re-doing her hair. The men used this time to converse of more private affairs without the girl's suspicion or curiosity to interrupt. Just in case, though, they both switched to Farsi.
"How on Earth did you manage to get your student to willingly come down into this place?" The Persian questioned.
"Is it that unbelievable that an angel such as she would tolerate my presence? Especially with the opportunity of freely practicing music?" Erik responded cleverly.
"A bit, yes. Does she know anything besides your foolish façade of spiritual being?"
"Yes, and, miraculously, she has stayed by finding reasoning for my troublesome behavior."
"How much is the poor girl aware of?"
"That I have killed before, specifically one of the former stagehands, and that I have bee causing more trouble than she imagined as the Opera Ghost."
"Nothing of Persia?"
"No. The only other thing she knows is my wretched childhood and that I asphyxiated the man who kept me in a cage. As I said, a miraculous girl."
"You must tell her the whole truth some day, hopefully soon. It is painful to watch you stare at her so longingly while she is oblivious to you."
"That was unnecessary, Daroga." He snapped, "But she happens to find many things endearing. Even that ridiculous collection of drawings there are of her beside the instruments. I did mean to take them down and obscure them from her vision."
"Perhaps the world isn't so cruel to you, my friend. You have endured the worst possible happenstances of life only to be redeemed now, if you are willing to endure what winning her love would entail."
"I would kill every person on this miserable Earth for her. If she asked me to bring her the moon or revive Cleopatra, I would do it as hastily as possible." Erik responded in a bored tone.
"You will not need for such frivolities, just to listen to her and try not to be so possessive. She clearly yearns for freedom and seeks innocence in all people. Do not ruin her wonderful view of the world."
"This discussion is making me dreadfully uncomfortable."
"Then you're lucky the girl has just returned to us." Nadir informed, causing his masked friend to sharply turn his attention, and then he chuckled "though I think you haven't become less uncomfortable due to the state of your trousers."
Erik shot him a deathly glare before facing Christine, his expression smoothing immediately. She had found one of the gowns he left in her dresser and was now donning it, looking as regal as a queen. The girl thanked him, utterly glad that he was so thoughtful while giving the dress a slight twirl to showcase its elegance.
The Daroga could see why Erik loved this girl so much. Her jovial smile and glimmering blue eyes, despite the dark, were completely untainted by the darkness of reality. Though he hadn't heard her sing, he knew she must've made at least a pleasant-looking ballerina on stage. The pale pink gown dotted in rosettes across the puffy skirt complimented her very well and she possessed a slight, but feminine frame.
"Ah, I can see why my friend likes you so much. You are an incredibly lovely lady and he has told me of your compassionate personality."
"Thank you." She blushed, leaving Erik with a pang of jealousy at such a reaction.
"It's been wonderful to check in on Erik and to finally meet you, Christine. I must depart now, but I hope to see you both soon." The older Persian man smiled kindly and returned to the small boat.
"You as well, monsieur." The girl said, waving goodbye to him.
Erik led her back to the moderately-secluded bedroom of hers to speak with her again. His paranoid mind couldn't help but worry about whether meeting the Persian had altered her opinion of him in any way. Surely his quite obsessive behavior wasn't entirely becoming to her. But by the end of their talk, it was clear that Christine still thought just as highly of him as before.