If Christine wanted one thing to come of the next morning, it was to be left alone. As she made her way towards the library, the events of last night finally caught up with her, and she was left with an inescapable bout of exhaustion. Her only comfort came from the small cross that now hung closely to her bosom and she was grateful for its pressure on her skin. In the unease of her slumber, the previous night had become something of a revelation. In the midst of silken hopes and crushed dreams, she had begun to imagine a life with Erik as his living bride. But the rising of the sun had all but obliterated that vision now and what was left remained unclear. She did not know what was to become of either of them, and not knowing terrified her, for if she did not live with him in matrimony, then what was her purpose?
Erik's library was filled with an array of books and, often stumped at what to choose, she decided to select the first one her fingers pried from the shelf and settle down with it. The title was unfamiliar but she read it in ignorance, delighting in the opportunity to escape her dreary realities for a few hours. She was not certain how much time had slipped by when a quiet echo began to drift through the walls. It teased and pulled at her as the distant strings built to a slow crescendo. Straightening herself up, she wondered where this sound could be coming from, and thought for one morbid moment that the silence had finally driven her mad.
Rising from her seat, she listened intently, her ears eager for the sweet drone of the orchestra to continue and lull her into a state of content. The music was nothing more than a faint hum, but it was there nevertheless and it did not take her long to recognise that the piece was from Verdi's 'La Traviata'. It took even less time then to distinguish the vivacious tones of La Carlotta ringing down upon her. The diva's Spanish tongue had difficulty in digesting the Italian libretto, but even then, Christine almost laughed joyfully. She had heard tell of the fact that one could still hear music from inside the very bowels of the Opéra, and she felt tears spring to her eyes in being so close and yet so far from the one thing that managed to soothe her aching soul. She raised her head to the Heavens, suddenly wishing for wings to sprout forth and carry her up to the stage, back to where she belonged.
From the threshold of the door, not daring to enter lest he remove the serene expression from her face, Erik folded his arms across his chest and waited for the opportune moment to announce his presence. As his little love turned, he saw the corner of her mouth twitch into an adoring smile and he felt a pang of jealousy in his bitter heart. He could not recount how many times he had dreamt of her smiling up at him like that. To make her smile and to make her happy—it was all he wanted.
It had almost been unbearable to see her lovely wedding gown crumpled into a discarded and unwanted heap outside her bedchamber. But he had gathered the cloth into his arms, pathetically cradling it as he stroked and petted the veil, before removing it from sight forever. Consumed by suppressed and irritable longing, he had laid awake that night, pining for her kind eyes to be there when he awoke.
"Listen to how that woman butchers the libretto. I don't know why I didn't dispose of her when I had the chance."
His unexpected voice had grounded her, bringing her roughly down to earth again, and Christine turned to him with eyes wide in horror. "Do not say that! You cannot mean what you say."
"I'm merely teasing," he replied dryly.
"I do not care whether or not you were teasing, you should not joke about these things at all. It isn't funny."
"Come now, do not tell me that you would not want rid of her if given the opportunity." With a hideous smile plastered on his face, he entered the room slowly. Out of the corner of Christine's eye, she noticed that he was keeping very much to the walls. Not knowing what to say, she simply gave a shrug of her shoulders, her mind wandering to the stage again.
Perhaps it would have been too forward to ask for visiting privileges, but the more she stayed down here, the more she craved the sunlight. She he had had her first outing the day before, but it was only a fragment of the freedom she needed.
"I wish to return," she blurted out, not waiting to gauge his reaction before continuing. "I wish to return to the world above, Erik, please. I can't bear to live like this."
"Return?" Erik repeated. There was not one trace of anger in his voice, but Christine's nervous disposition did not fade in its absence. "Why would you wish to return so soon? Are you not at home down here? Have you already grown tiresome of me?"
"No," she hastily reassured him, sensing the tension that had begun to radiate from him. She did not want to provoke his anger, but this was a subject that she needed to pursue. Her gaze dropped to his approaching feet as those piercing black eyes burned with the memory of the ghost within. "I only wish to return to the stage. Please, may I be allowed to attend rehearsals once more?"
"No. You belong down here, with me."
Christine raised her eyes and stumbled towards him with a look of pure desperation on her face. "What if I attended but I only watched, unnoticed and unseen from the shadows?" She hesitated, biting her lip. "Would it please you then?"
Something unrecognisable flashed in Erik's eyes before he swiftly turned his back to her. "Why this sudden longing, Christine?"
"It is not sudden, at all," she said, glancing away from his rigid back to stare into the fire, watching the flames dance and twist round one another. "You, of all people, should know my desire to sing, to be on the stage again. If you remove that from my life then you have removed a part of me."
"But why must you be on the stage to sing?" he hissed, digging his fingertips into the backs of his hands to try to stifle his growing insecurity and frustration. "You are perfectly capable of singing down here and you can do so whenever you wish."
She did not want to argue with him but she would not bow down so easily. Slipping her hand off the mantel piece, she let it fall against her skirts, limp and tired, before facing him. "I need my freedom, Erik," she murmured simply, a compassionate smile on her lips. "I need to feel as though I can be myself still and that you are able to trust me to do so. I do not want to change myself to suit your wishes and I think that, deep down, you would agree with me. You may be content living down here, but I certainly am not."
"Content?" Though her soft pleas had already settled in his heart, Erik could not ignore her false thoughts. "Content, is that what you think, Christine? Do you think I take perverse pleasure in living down here, that I enjoy it, that I would choose to be here next to anywhere else? No, I stay down here because I have to."
"You are the only thing standing in your way! Nothing else is stopping you."
Releasing a shaky laugh, Erik squeezed his nails into his palm, sadistically wishing to draw blood from his body so that he might show her how much he had suffered, how much he was still suffering. "You know nothing of the world," he spat.
"I am not a child," she said gently, her focus floating down to take in his trembling fists. "I know what the world is capable of, but I want to show you that there is still some good in it." Tentatively, she took a step forward. "Come with me. Let me show you that you have nothing to fear."
But Erik did not make an effort to move from his fixed position, instead deciding to stare at her. For a long while, she waited patiently for a reply, for any sign of acknowledgement, of acceptance, an agreement, of something. Shifting her weight to her other foot, she stared at the floor, mute failure flooding her mind and heart. Risking a look up at him, she pleaded, "please... if you love me at all, please."
A single breath had passed before Erik had closed the distance between them and raised his hands to wrap his skeletal fingers around the tops of her arms. He wondered how she brave she must be to use his weakness for her against him, but she did so in ignorance. She knew nothing of him, nor of his feelings or lifestyle. She did not understand any of it, but how badly he wanted her to! Lowering his head, he regarded her for several moments, his eyes looking, searching, their pain barely masked within their own blackness. "Of course I love you!" he cried, almost pushing her away as he released her. "Do you doubt my devotion? You must doubt it. Why else would you use it to blackmail me for your own personal gain? I would do anything you ask of me, don't you understand that?"
Wary of his flighty behaviour, she was careful not to shy away from him, nor move any closer until she was sure of his stability. "If that is true," she began, "then why do you deny me this?"
Stumbling backwards, he turned his back on her, his hand running through his thin air as he began to process her words. "I... I will grant you your request, but only on one condition."
"And what is that?" she asked, finding the strength to walk forward until she was standing behind him.
When he finally spoke his voice came out timid and unusually quiet, and Christine felt herself straining to hear him. "I would wish for something in return. A... A kiss." As his head began to shake fiercely, Christine gulped and watched as his shoulders became hunched, tension rippling through his back like stormy waves. "Oh, I shouldn't have asked!" he cried dismally. "You needn't do that for me. No one has ever done that for me. I shall... I shall take you above ground regardless. I... Oh, forgive me."
He twisted his head slightly in her direction, as if to say something more, but decided against it and stayed facing away from her. Steadying herself, Christine tentatively reached for his shoulder, gently turning him round to face her. His head was drooped but she could still feel his eyes flickering up to look at her every so often. With her free hand she hesitantly cupped his bony chin, resisting the urge to wince at the lack of flesh and fat that should have been there, and raised his head slowly. His ragged breaths tickled her skin as she carefully leaned in towards him and pressed her lips to his masked cheek. A shudder ran through him, as if he had truly been able to feel her touch beneath the barrier, before he quickly pulled his head away. Though her hand remained in the air for a moment, she smiled shyly at him, hoping that he was pleased.
"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely, staggering back a few steps and then clearing his throat. "As promised, I will take you to watch the rehearsals later in the afternoon. I will come and call on you when we are ready to leave."
Giving him one last smile, Christine nodded and slipped past him, heading towards her bedchamber for some much earned rest. Had she glanced back behind her, she would have seen his tender eyes watching her leave. She would have seen how rapidly his chest heaved at the memory of her kiss, his very first kiss, and she would have also seen his trembling hand rising to ghost over his cheek as he fell to the ground, sobbing.
o0o
Within those few hours of waiting, Christine dreamt of her father and awoke with heavy eyes. Her fingers grabbed the sheets to wrap them tightly around her shivering body, imagining the warm embrace of her dear departed parent in its stead. She did not lay there for long as her thoughts were interrupted by a tap at the door. Time had once again passed her by almost unknowingly and shaking her mind clear, she reluctantly pushed herself up onto her elbows and yawned.
"Christine, are you ready?"
She widened her sleep driven features and cursed at herself. Dissatisfied with the way her hair was sitting under her inspection, she hurried over to her mirror to try to appease her sudden vanity. Ignoring the dark circles surrounding her eyes, she huffed and grabbed her hairbrush, but, remembering that Erik was still waiting at the door, she soon gave up on taming her knots and chose instead to smooth out her dress.
"Christine?" Another impatient tap at the door. "Did you hear me?"
"Yes!" she called, fixing the last of the creases. "I will be out in a moment."
Behind the door Erik grumbled something under his breath, but Christine paid him no attention. With one last look in the mirror she strolled over to the latch and opened it, seeing Erik leaning up against the adjacent wall with his head hung low. He greeted her with a nod and motioned for her to follow him through his underground domain. As she trailed behind him in the tunnels, she tried to determine just how large this dark labyrinth was.
Erik, meanwhile, kept his want to guide her by hand at bay. His skin was aflame with the suppressed desire to hold her, but she had already given him more than he could have ever asked for in a single day. Even after relinquishing her of his request, she had so very kindly bestowed to him his first kiss. To be so close to the woman he loved was intoxicating, but to not be in a position to hold her was infuriating. He burned for her, so intensely that he hoped that the flames of his love would engulf him long before Christine would inevitably tear out his heart.
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she did not notice Erik's precipitous halt which resulted in her bumping into him. She whispered a quick apology and then looked to the wall in front of them.
"A dead end?" she said, glancing around them in confusion. "Did we take a wrong turn?"
Erik said nothing but brushed his fingers along the cold stone, creating patterns along the rough surface. Christine edged a little closer, intrigued, but he was then ushering her further forward with a flick of his finger. Obeying, she watched with fascination as he pushed his hand against one piece of stone, jumping back only slightly when the wall miraculously slid open. Not wanting to waste any more time in these dingy halls, Christine edged her way through the small opening. She looked back to where they had entered from and saw no trace of the slit in the wall, but was startled to find herself surrounded by familiar red furnishings.
"My box is too close to the stage," he explained upon seeing her frown. "This one is at a suitable distance, but you can harness an understanding of what it is like to see the stage through my eyes."
Christine stayed close to the wall as she peered through the curtain and saw the bustle of cast members on the stage, as frantic and as regimented as the usual traffic on the Parisian streets outside. "Thank you, Erik," she said, rubbing her hand against the soft fabric of the curtain, itching to part it as Moses did the Red Sea and make the pilgrimage to freedom.
"I do not deserve your gratitude," he whispered at last, but when she began to say more on the subject, he silenced her with a finger to his lips until he redirected it towards the stage.
Christine stared down and saw instantly what he was pointing at. With her footwear making one dreadful clunk after the other, La Carlotta was prancing abut the stage, screeching at a few poor chorus members as they dared to cross her path. Oh, to have felt the diva's wrath, Christine thought, amused. She recognised Monsieur Gautier, the stage director, along with a few others who shuffled their way through the monstrous props and scenery, trying to get to their positions while avoiding Carlotta's unpremeditated anger. The music for Violetta's aria, Ah Forse Lui, soon began and both silent spectators, hidden by shadow, listened to it with eyes closed.
Without thinking, a smile curled over Christine's face until she suddenly leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around Erik's. He flinched at the contact, and remained frozen as she squeezed his hand once before letting go. Her attention turned back to the rehearsals below, but Erik stared in bewilderment at her. His lips parted to speak, to shower praise and worship upon her, when he saw a change come about her aura. The smile on her mouth faded and the grip she had on the curtains tightened as though she feared the ground would slip from beneath her feet. Erik followed her line of sight and saw precisely what had caused this changed, or rather who had caused it. He would have recognised that blonde head of hair anywhere.
Monsieur Gautier turned to the approaching man with a welcoming smile, extending his hand. "Ah, what a pleasant surprise! To what to do we owe the pleasure, Monsieur le Vicomte?"