The Populaire was entirely full of wealthy opera devotees, each dressed in lavish fineries to display their social status. Some of the younger dancers peeked from the wings into the audience, noticing glimmering gems of the ladies' jewelry shining in the dark and feeling nerves pumping through their veins. Christine was still in her dressing room, missing the presence of her instructor but hoping that he was still nearby. She had just been dressed in her Amnita ensemble.
In the all-too-familiar mirror she stared at the character before her. This young woman appeared sensual and independent, innocence only lurking in her shining blue eyes. A tight black bodice shaped her torso and pressed her chest upwards suggestively, a light ruffled blouse underneath providing a touch of modesty. The skirt was a rich burgundy lace forming layers more revealing of body shape than regular gowns. A matching set of rosettes lined the crown of her head and garnets were placed within the hairpiece.
Madame Giry called her to the stage, wishing her luck and reminding Christine that she was meant to finally see Erik after the show. He would undoubtedly be listening to the performance of his own work from somewhere within the grand architecture. And with this motivation, the young soprano took the expansive stage then sang her heart out for him. It was her few lines of aria-like singing before stalking around the dining table alluringly. She admired the sheer red and black fabrics hung all over the background while waiting for her opposite to re-enter the scene.
The deep voice started from behind her, its perfection captivating the girl and stunning the audience of Piangi's talent. However, Christine soon realized that it was not the Italian man...but was most definitely Erik. She had unintentionally reacted to the beauty of her partner's voice yet it improved Amnita's appearance of intoxication. It was no longer acting once Christine turned her head and saw Erik dressed most stylishly with Don Juan's black mask on his face. What a clever man he was to design the character so fittingly, just for the chance to jump onstage.
For a moment Christine wondered what happened to the actual Piangi. But stopping the show would anger the directors and disappoint the audience, plus the Italian singer was probably just locked in one of the dressing rooms. The girl continued to be enthralled by the dramatic, cloaked character opposite her. Her heart thundered even more when being approached by him and feeling the tight grasp of his arms around her waist. She started to sing with him a few lines later.
Their voices were entwined in a passionate duet. All the other cast members stared in shock from the wings at the demure girl's brash acting, and at "Piangi's" sudden alteration in appearance. Everyone's eyes were fixed upon the two performers grasping onto each other and singing of future ecstasy in their love. The final lines of the song were sung, quieting down to an intimate breathy tone.
Something suddenly switched off in Erik's mind, his golden eyes shining with mischief as he pulled at one of the stage's many ropes. A trapdoor dropped open beneath their feet, both of them falling through the bottom of the stage and down to one of Erik's phantom pathways. Gasps sounded from the audience as the opera was cut off shortly and the stars vanished.
"Erik! Did I do something wrong? Surely you wouldn't have stopped your opera if I hadn't." Christine spoke to him for the first time in weeks.
"On the contrary, my dear. You were too splendid for such an undeserving and pompous crowd. Your part was played perfectly; the innocence shone even through this costume and the brazen movements of your entrance. Truly, darling Christine, you have fulfilled all my wishes for you."
"I am glad to have pleased you, Angel. But why did you stop the show?"
"Curious as ever. I couldn't bear to let you finish something so burning that consumed me for years on end as you do...the both combined was simply too much for your poor Erik. And those idiotic, unappreciative nobles without an inkling of musical understanding shall never hear your heavenly voice until they gain such knowledge! I can't stand their habits of attending operas only for social status."
"Perhaps. Why did you leave me?" She questioned as Erik guided her through the dark paths.
"Your poor Erik was troubled and believed it would be best for you, darling Christine, to remain with the eager Vicomte."
"I refused to see him while sick. Besides, it was torturous to remain all that time without my Angel and even more so during rehearsals with Piangi as Don Juan."
"Speaking of which, it would do well to burn off his hands for touching you." He growled, turning around a corner of the pathway and leading them immediately to his home.
Everything had been just as it was: a plethora of burning candles, several pink flower petals in the water, leather-bound books lining the walls, lovely sketches pinned up, furniture fit for a king, and musical items splayed all over the place. It was comforting, familiar, and luxurious. Christine wondered what it must've been like to live here all the time as Erik did.
She imagined such a life for a moment. Reading to pass time, singing with Erik, listening to his splendid talents, visiting the world above every so often, and never having to suffer through being without her Angel again. But such would be considered so improper by society, especially as they weren't married and scandals were already circling around the young soprano. Would Christine want to marry her masked instructor anyways? He'd been a man when she first arrived and deceived her for all of those years. Erik didn't seem to be one to follow tradition anyways. Yet, he was also incredibly unpredictable.
Christine was distracted from her thoughts when being offered tea. Politely refusing, and noticing Erik's gaze upon her feminine form in the Amnita gown, elegantly draped herself over the extravagant sofa nearby. He stared at her as though she was the beautiful painting of a famous master. The glowing candle lighting made the actress appear even more heavenly in his home and posed so exquisitely.
Erik was further discomforted as each moment passed by, seeing the talented and beautiful girl before him with an impossible loving look in her eyes. The clean, white lace trim of her gown lied perfectly over her pale skin and contrasted against the thicker black material over the torso. Seeing that Erik was frightened to make a motion, Christine stood from her seat and placing herself directly beside him and almost in his lap. Her slim arms loosely wrapped over his shoulders and only then did she wait for Erik to respond.
"Are you feeling quite alright, dear Christine?" He questioned with a quiver in his powerful voice.
"Yes, my Angel." She claimed, moving a few strands of his dark hair away from his mask.
"This is not very pro-"
"Do I appear to care for propriety at the moment? I just finished singing a seductive duet with you in a costume consisting of much less layers than regular clothes. Additionally, you dropped us through a trapdoor in the stage floor and brought me here. If you haven't noticed, the propriety has been forgotten."
Erik was emboldened by her speech: "You are quite right my dear, but is the little lamb sure she wants to taunt the hungry lion?"
A sparkling smile and glimmer in her eyes was the response Christine gave him. His heart pained and thundered all at once just thinking of how compliant the girl was and the idea of things he'd only imagined actually coming true. Erik had endured some of the worst pains known to humankind, and yet it was the thought of pleasure and delight that made him feel faint.
"What was it you sang in that song when you first brought me down here? Let your fantasies unwind, yes? By all means, please do so mon Ange."
He groaned and allowed his hands to wander over her back and sides, "Little minx on my lap."
"Please Erik." She pouted.
He brought his lips up to her smooth neck, working to mark her as his own. A much more innocent kiss had always been denied to him, even by the mother he never got to know, and such refusals made him, as a child, believe that one could die from kissing him in all his monstrosity. How Christine had proven him wrong! She seemed to liven a different side of herself upon being with him in such positions.
As one of Erik's expertly musical hands slinked its way up her thigh, pushing the skirt up and revealing her pale skin, Christine pressed her small palms over his slim chest while gasping in shock of his actions. The girl was like one of the many instruments Erik could play with his talent, though he loved her several times more than his music. Music was incapable of judgement, bringing him pleasure, comfort, and self-expression. But Christine was a dream, an impossibility: a person, much more a beautiful girl, was able to tolerate him and even care for him.
The girl regained her senses as Erik's grip loosened slightly, this time returning Erik's actions. She turned to face him better, shifting her legs to either side of him and taking his face in both hands. With lightning speed, Christine removed the mask to kiss him fully, nothing restricting her access. Erik lifted the girl, firmly grasping her just above the hips and carried her through to her room.
Their contact only broke when Christine was set down upon the elegant bed sheets, the lace of her dress matching that of the frilled pillow case and blanket edges. Christine's rich curls fanned out over the burgundy silk as she watched the stoic look in Erik's face, seeing expression only in his dark eyes. His hands pushed down the sleeves and removed the dress, surprised to notice she wasn't wearing a corset nor petticoat underneath. She was then dressed only in ballet pink stockings with garters, a white chemise, and drawers lined with embroidered lace.
What a sight it was: the angelic soprano lying peacefully over the luxurious bed fit for a queen and the rest of the room decorated just as nicely. Pale pink roses, white lilies, and lilac orchids bordered her bed with several of his fragrant candles being the only source of illumination for the room. The sight of Christine in such picturesque surroundings was an ideal image for even the best of artists.
"This is the most heavenly sight my eyes have beheld." Erik whispered, gently leaning over her to make more marks on her pale skin.
"Oh Erik, this is the worst form of torture."
"But I've barely begun, my dear, perhaps I should stop..." He teased.
"Stop now and it'll be the last thing you do." Christine threatened.
"Then I shall fulfill your wish, your highness."
With that, Erik pulled off the remaining clothes, leaving Christine in her stockings and garters. Her blue eyes mirrored the expression of a doe catching sight of the hunter about to go in for the kill. As he watched her fascinated look, he allowed his skeletal, ungloved hands roam over her perfect for in addition to his thin, and partially bloated, lips. She gasped and emitted kitten-like mewls with each of his motions. Erik knew even from this first experience that this was his favorite music to create.
In between gasps she managed to mumble: "E-Erik..."
"Yes, dearest?"
"Please allow me to return the favor."
"I shan't ask that of you."
"But you aren't, I wish for you to enjoy this as well."
"Believe me, Christine, this is plenty enjo-" He halted, gasping at the feeling of Christine's smaller hands reaching at and below his hips.
The minx smirked at seeing the rare sight of Erik's reactions being outside of his control as he molded against her palm. Her other hand urged his frame to hover right over her own. Their lips were practically always connected, separating only for air and to gasp at the other's bold movements. Both of them knew the night would not be one easily forgotten, and not just because it was the premiere of Erik's Don Juan. His opera had been almost entirely disregarded in the events of the evening.