Nearly a fortnight had passed since Christine's arrival and she still felt dreadfully uneasy. Her time was filled with fretting over her guardian. At every possible interval, she attempted to help in any way that she could, but those nurses were terribly determined not to let her intervene.
Feeling helpless, Christine took to residing in her bedchamber, pacing the floor and counting the seconds until she could be deemed useful again. What added to the trouble in her heart was that she had not seen Erik since her departure and, with no letters from him or any way of contacting him, she had begun to worry. The longing to be in his arms again, to feel loved, to know that she did not have to go through this alone, was slowly consuming her. His strength was what she needed now more than anything.
She wanted to do all that she could to help, but she was afraid that her best would not be good enough. Losing her father so young was a trauma that Christine had never recovered from, so much so that it had made her wary of forming attachments to others. So, to find out that her sole guardian was wasting away under the control of the same deadly disease was utterly unbearable. If Mamma Valérius were to die, she thought, then it would surely kill her too. She did not know whether she could live through the heartache again of being the one to survive whilst her loved ones were laid to rest.
As the candles shed a hazy fog in her room, Christine stood still, staring at the dull ebb of light. The flames created vast shadows on the walls and floor and, with the glisten of tears in her eyes, the room held a surreal glow, like a sunset captured in oil. The dull whites and browns of the room were highlighted by the fire as the pale luminance of moonlight seeped through the glass doors which lead out onto a small balcony.
Turning, Christine had just pulled back the soft covers on her bed when all of a sudden her body was hit by a fierce gust of wind. The icy nip from the winter air stung her skin as her hair and nightgown billowed out in front of her. Spinning around on the spot, she was bewildered to notice that the balcony doors had been blown open, the drapes now elegantly suspended in mid-air by the strong breeze. Suspecting that the small latch must have come undone sometime during the course of the evening, she thought no more of it and walked against the current until she was able to close the doors.
With her hands behind her clutching onto the handle, Christine watched as the moonlight cascaded through the glass, bleeding across the floor like spilled ink. The wind—she sighed in irritation as she looked about the room—had extinguished all but three candles.
She lingered where she was for a few more moments, staring into the open flames, wondering how they had been able to go untouched by the breeze. But that was when she realised that she was not just looking at several flames, but a single flame—a single flame that was illuminating a pair of eyes in the darkness. Eyes that were staring at her.
A suffocated gasp left her mouth as she fell against the closed doors with a small thud, but it was the voice which came from the darkness, that oh-so familiar voice, which released the tension from her taut body.
"Hush, my love..."
The whisper came in one tantalising breath as Erik's eyes, alight with the pain of their separation, began to edge closer into the moonlight.
"Oh, God," she sobbed, rushing into his open arms, her body colliding with his thin frame in an instant. Her arms were then filled with him, and she placed her ear over his heart, hearing its rhythmic, melodic beat.
Too long had she been without him, too long had she been in this world.
Breathing in his familiar scent and needing to feel him against her, Christine shuffled even closer, her hands quivering as they splayed across his back in tender devotion. She rested her forehead on his soft cravat, her lips pressed to the material as she murmured into the layers of barring fabric, as though in prayer. "I waited for you," she then mumbled directly to him. "Why did you not come sooner?"
The very moment she had touched him, Erik had felt his heart warm. He had been starved of her and he greedily tightened his grip, his fingers travelling upwards to entwine themselves in her wind-swept hair. "There were several matters that needed my attention, but how I have missed having you in my arms."
"Matters... dare I ask what they are?" When she did not receive a reply, she immediately banished the thought from her mind and tried to focus on the wonderful security his embrace provided. "It is strange," she then said, raising her head to look at him, believing this moment to be the first and only time that she was glad to see the familiar glint of his mask.
"What is?" he asked, sliding a finger down her rosy cheek.
"I almost thought that you had forgotten me."
His lips hesitated before brushing against her silken forehead, her skin warming at the memory of his touch. "Do not say such a thing," he murmured against her.
She smiled as she felt one of his hands slide from her back and up the length of her arm, until his fingers were ever so lightly tilting her chin up to meet his intense stare. His thumb moved to trace over her mouth, knowing that he should refrain, but after having so long been denied even the simplest of touches, knowing now that his beloved would offer them freely was a dangerously addictive thought. He hoped that he would be granted that familiarity for the remainder of his days and so, breathlessly, asked, "May I kiss you?"
All it took was the plain nodding of her head for his lips to press against hers and his hand to slide into her hair as he savoured the feeling of completeness. She quietly whimpered into his mouth, clutching at him desperately in an attempt to press herself closer, no longer fighting the impossible urge to melt into him.
Sighing as he boldly deepened the kiss, Christine silently cursed the cold exterior of the mask and the way it bit into her skin. In a rash decision, she swiftly allowed one of her hands to glide around his side and up his chest towards her goal, but no sooner had her fingers edged themselves under the rim than his head was thrown back in fear.
With wild eyes, he stared at her, dreading the humiliation and depravation which were surely to follow, but all she did was retract her fingers slowly.
He had reacted like a beaten dog, and yet here he stood before her, as though he would truly have allowed her to hurt him. What had she been thinking? To think that he would have allowed her such a spontaneous act... "I wish," she whispered as she rested her forehead on his chest, cradling her hands between their bodies. "I wish that you would allow me to understand what you have been through." I wish that you would just let me love you.
Feeling his heart calm under her submissive posture, he thought himself the fool to think that she would harm him. Relaxing into her, he closed his eyes. "One day, perhaps."
Though not a definite promise, it was the most encouragement that she had received, and she was grateful for it. "Thank you."
Tears stung in his eyes as he pulled her closer to him, tentatively wrapping his arms about her frame. "You are too good to me."
His words bared a bitter resemblance to the ones her guardian had spoken to her. She had called her 'selfless', and how wrong they both were.
"No," she protested. "I am not good."
"Oh, but you are!" he insisted. "You are so very kind and patient and—"
"No," she interrupted, pulling away from his embrace. "I am not good and I am not selfless. I am really rather selfish! Why am I the only one who sees this?"
He frowned and looked down at his now empty hands, briefly wondering if he had done anything to upset her. "Is something troubling you?" he asked cautiously.
"No, why?"
"Christine."
"Nothing is wrong, Erik," she snapped.
Exasperated by her denial, he simply sighed and gazed at her. "Have I offended you in any way? If I have, then please know that it was unintentional and that I apologise—"
"No, no," she reassured him wearily. "You have done nothing wrong. Let us... let us talk of other things," she offered with a cheery disposition which felt more forced than anything.
"If that is what you want," he said incredulously.
"It is," she replied, smiling thinly as she stepped closer to him. "What has kept your mind occupied during this time, Erik? A composition? Oh, do tell me how you have fared."
"I have been in agony, utter agony," he grumbled, reaching for her hand once more, wishing to feel her softness, her comforting warmth surrounding him. "The silence has been unbearable."
"What about your music?"
"A poor substitute."
Surprisingly, she chuckled. "You are surely exaggerating, no?"
"Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not." Though he remained aloof, Erik would not divulge what he had learnt in the past fortnight. He would not tell her of the dangers she could now face if she returned. "What of you, my love?"
"Well, I received some news from Meg Giry. I do so miss her. It will be wonderful when she comes to visit me, but unfortunately she is too preoccupied to even visit her friend," she told him, chuckling in her mock irritation. "She wrote to me about this season's productions and, of course, the wedding. They will not be wed until sometime in the following year but she states that she simply cannot wait that long. A long engagement does not suit her, I think."
Not knowing how to reply to this information, he stiffly nodded. "Have you... settled in well, then?"
Christine cast a glance towards the door before peering down at their entwined hands. "If I am honest, I do not know how to answer that question."
"How do you mean?"
"I do not deny that I have missed living like this, but the transition from one to the other has not yet taken its toll. I am still finding it strange getting used to all these unwritten rules." She hung her head. "It is more embarrassing than anything. But it is rather queer, is it not? How can a handful of months spent hidden away in the bowels of the Opéra eradicate my comfort of this world, and everything I have learnt from it? I had forgotten just how big the world was," she added gravelly.
"Do you... regret your decision?"
"No, I... I only wish I had known..." Her voice fell to a whisper as her words faded into a silence. Looking to the side, she drew away from him, wrapping her arms around her body.
"Are you all right?" Concerned, Erik attempted to regain her straining attention. A frown appeared upon his already marred forehead as he considered her behaviour. "Do you have a chill? Would you prefer to sit by the fire?"
"No, I am quite warm," she assured him.
"Are you certain? If you are then you must—"
"I am perfectly fine!"
"Something is bothering you," he murmured, reaching for her. "Tell me what it is."
"Nothing is bothering me," she continued, moving out of his reach, forcing herself not to look into his eyes and see the hurt within them. "I am fine."
Before she was able to get a hold of her senses, a cold tear ran down her face and, though ineffective, she turned to shield it.
"Christine? You are crying."
In a flurry of cotton, she strode over to her vanity and descended onto its seat, one hand grasping the edge while the other came down to grip her knee. As she stared at her trembling self, she watched Erik's reflection hesitate before sitting down in the armchair by the fire.
His fingers mirrored Christine's as they curled around his knee in anticipation. Why did she not speak? What had happened this past week to drive her into such a state of hysterics? He loathed to see her like this and his heart pounded in retaliation. Leaning forward, he stared at her vulnerable position and bowed his head. "Christine, you are upset," he said, his tones soft and soothing, a lilting reminder of his protectiveness. "Tell me what troubles you."
Despite feeling uncomfortable, Christine knew that she desperately needed to confide in someone. Taking a slow, deep breath, she readied herself before turning around to face him.
"I was not informed of this until I had arrived," she began, a tremble reverberating around her body like a sprung coil. "Mamma was merely trying to spare me the distress, I suppose, but she should have written to me. She knew she should have, and yet she did nothing. Once I arrived, I was informed by Madame Martin, who was nothing more than a stranger in my eyes, about Mamma's health. The women in this household, Erik, are not servants. They are carers." A sniffle consumed her and she forced a smile to her mouth. "Do forgive me, I cannot even seem to speak the words." As soon as she had laughed nervously, her face had donned a blank expression. "She is dying, Erik, and I cannot do anything to help her. Oh, I despise this, this feeling of helplessness, and, to make matters worse, I cannot help thinking that history is repeating itself, for, you see... she has consumption."
"Your father," he murmured quietly, suddenly understanding her lost plight. "You are not to blame. This is not your fault."
"But what if it is? Two members of my family contracting the same fatal illness? People are not this unlucky."
Panic struck him at the look of utter grievance on her beautiful face. "Christine, Christine, I know that this must be difficult for you—"
"Difficult?" she snarled, raising her head sharply to stare at him. "Why does everyone keep saying that? You cannot... You cannot possibly understand what this must be like for me. I was so very young when Papa died and I did not fully understand what was happening to him. I masked my grief by not succumbing to it, but by doing this I allowed it to consume me... and when you entered my life, you were able to distract me from that grief. I have run from these emotions for far too long and now that I am faced with them again, I willingly give in to them.
"I have chosen to confide in you, Erik," she continued, still avoiding his gaze. "I hope you realise what that means. We are caught, you see, in an endless cycle. Sometimes, we cannot even speak without upsetting one another and then our forgiveness is bought through distraction. These antics have worked in the past, but I am telling you, do not try to do it from now on. Do you understand what I am trying to say? I want you with me. I want you to talk to me, Erik. Do not run as I have, that is all I ask." She lifted her heavy eyes to meet his finally. "The one thing I need from you right now is support, but I do not wish for you to distract me from my grief. As strange as it sounds, I need this."
Erik leaned forward in his seat in thought. Behind the mask, his features twisted into an expression of empathic longing. His dear girl, his love... "Oh, Christine," he whispered. "I do want you to feel as though you can talk to me about anything! I do! But why would you do this to yourself?"
She smiled sadly at him, whispering a solemn, "I did not think you would understand."
"But," he persisted, "to torment yourself, to react like this... Christine, you are allowing your guilt to control you."
"I did not say a word about my guilt!" she all but screamed at him, caution now thrown to the wind as she glared at him, caring not one whit if their conversation had been overheard. "You do not understand. It is not like how it was before. Now, I am able to make a difference... only... only I cannot."
"Why can you not?"
"I am selfish, the most selfish person I know." Her actions and words were becoming erratic now and Erik silently watched her distress unfold, much to his own hatred of the sight. "You are right, my guilt is controlling me. But, I want it to control me. I need to suffer for the way I have treated her."
"Christine, what are you—"
"I ran from her!" she cried, covering her face with claw-like fingers as if her intentions were to draw the very skin from her face. "Mamma was... she was laying there, coughing blood, and I tried to help, I really did, but the blood... it was everywhere. It was on my clothes and on my skin—oh! I can still remember the smell of it. Putrid and metallic. She reminded me so much of Papa, but I thought... I thought that after you had returned to me wounded that night, that I would have been able to handle it. I wanted to be strong for her, but it was too much for me to bear and so I ran. I ran and I did not look back. Do you now see, Erik? I want to make a difference, but I couldn't help my actions. Those women despise me, I just know it. But... but I despise them, too. I despise them for being able to do what I cannot yet bring myself to do. Oh, Erik! To be on the verge of losing another. I... I can't..."
Her words were lost in a strangled sob and as she placed one hand over her chest, she felt just how quickly her heart was pounding. No longer able to stand her suffering, Erik went to her and knelt down on the floor.
"Christine," he said frantically as he saw horrid tears wet her flushed cheeks. Oh, how he hated them! "My love, please. Please, I do not know what to do. What should I do? Tell me what to do."
"Hold me," she begged, clutching fiercely at his shirt as she, too, slid down onto the floor. "Just... hold me."
Her little hands gripped his lapels, his shoulders, his shirt—any part of him that was within her reach. She felt desperate for the contact, like a new-born searching and pawing for its mother's warmth, and was overwhelmed when he gathered her in his arms. She fed on his strength as she turned her head and sobbed a muffled series of apologies and gratifications into his chest.
His arms merely tightened around her quivering body. "What are you apologising for?"
When she began to speak, Erik could barely recognise her voice. Those golden tones had vanished and in their place lay something ghastly and weak. She was a shadow of herself. "Do you think that God is punishing me?"
"Punishing you?" he asked, staring out into the night. "Only those who are deserving are punished. Myself, for example. He gave me this face, it was in His plan. You know very well that I have rejected Him, but I will tell you this, Christine. He would not punish an innocent such as yourself."
"Do you think so?" she asked, tilting her head up to gaze at him in childish wonder.
"I do," he whispered back, his fingers reaching down to stroke her hair. "Your heart is already heavy with the burden of caring for me. Do not give it more grief."
Foregoing her attempts at contradiction, she slowly reached up and cupped his masked cheek. "I do love you so," she murmured through placid fatigue, smiling as he snuck his fingers under her hand, bringing his head around to intimately kiss her open palm. "Will you stay with me?" With her eyelids fluttering shut, her body wanted nothing else at that moment than to be claimed by dreams. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"
A contented sigh fled her parted mouth as the light pressure of his lips pressed against her forehead. "If that is what you wish."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise."