A/N: I don't say thank you as often as I should, but I'll say a brief one now to everyone who's taken the time to read this or review/favourite/follow! I'm glad this old story can still entertain a few people!
Falling into the seat of his carriage dejectedly, the Vicomte instructed his coachman to take him the short distance to the Tuileries Garden, the need for fresh air tempting his body greater than the pull to return home. Running a hand over his face, he leaned his elbow against the window as the uneven streets jostled him from side to side. His eyes barely registered the slow movement of life outside as he bounced his leg up and down in a bout of nerves.
On they went, through the busy roads—did Paris never sleep? Sighing, Raoul knew that he would not sleep either, not after seeing Christine again.
Flexing his gloved fingers, he took a moment to adjust his jacket before glancing out the window again to see that they had arrived. Telling the coachman to wait for him, he began a solitary stroll along the pathway of the garden. Habitually, yet somewhat distantly, he tipped his hat to some bystanders and smiled graciously as they passed, but the throng of people seemed to blur as he walked.
Though not yet midday, the garden was relatively busy with those enthusiastic enough to brace the dull weather for a quiet promenade. There was no rush here, and perhaps that was what drew Raoul to this particular spot. Men walked alone with confidence in their brisk strides, or leisurely with another, while several women dallied in groups. But those who traversed arm in arm with one another were the ones that managed to draw Raoul's eye. Chaperoned couples in the early days of their courtship, married couples who still beheld their spouse as if it were the first time they laid eyes on them, young couples, elderly ones, couples in love—all they could see was each other, and all Raoul could see was them. Silently, he continued his way through the sparse crowds, feeling a stab of loneliness in his heart. He wondered how one could feel so alone amongst so many people.
He had felt that pang of discomfort many times in recent months. During the time spent to himself, dwelling on all that had happened, searching for a way to free the only woman he had ever loved, Raoul had been forced to attend several society gatherings, organised covertly for his benefit by his brother.
His family still disapproved of his behaviour, pining for 'that little theatre girl' when there were many eligible and, more importantly, suitable women with whom he could be involved. Not wishing to be a burden, however, but never forgetting his plight to save Christine, Raoul showed up to every one of these parties, smiling politely even in the wake of his sisters' unsubtle attempts at matchmaking.
Heiresses of all creeds were introduced to him and though they were pleasant enough, none had succeeded in partaking in another audience with Raoul. Despite the vigorous endeavours by his family, his entire world was still centred around finding Christine... and now that he had, he was at a loss as to what to do. Should he not be overjoyed? Should he not be thankful over her safety and health? Should he not be pleased that the perpetrator was dead?
Raoul did not understand the deep sadness in her eyes when she spoke of him, nor did he understand how she could have grown to... Raoul could not even bring himself to think the word. The notion that she could have come to care for the man had completely escaped him. Had she completely taken leave of her senses? But then a thought occurred to him, so poignant, so unsavoury as it entered his mind that he almost bumped into a passing gentleman. What if her affections were genuine? He had not been there with them so he could not say for himself whether or not she spoke the truth, but perhaps that was just it. He had not been there. Maybe it had been out of consolation, maybe it had been the dependability of seeing the same person everyday... and maybe not.
He did not know which he feared the most: knowing the truth, or never knowing.
If what she said was true, if she truly did care for that man, then Raoul hated him all the more. Not for gaining her affections, not for stealing her away... No, Raoul hated him because he was a cause of Christine's unhappiness.
Sighing, he turned around and headed back towards the carriage. If she would only let him, he would do anything to see her happy again.
o0o
Fighting back unintelligible whimpers, Christine told Erik of her guardian's refusal of his tonic. She took refuge in his arms as she realised all too late just how hopeful she had been for Mamma to accept it.
"She was so adamant," Christine whispered, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. "You should have seen her, Erik! Had she the strength, I have no doubt that she would have raised her voice at me. I had never seen her so angry before. But I have done as you asked and now I can do no more."
When several moments passed without her speaking, Erik held her at arm's length, debating whether or not to usher her over to the fire so that her tremors may cease. "Christine?"
As if she had read his thoughts, she suddenly turned and slowly walked over to the fireplace and sat down on the chair, staring at the floor with a vacant expression in her eyes. Her fingers absent-mindedly began toying with the ends of her hair before she ran her hands over the taut features of her face, wishing that she had the power within her bones to will away her sadness.
Continuing to stare at nothing in particular, Christine then extended her hand to the side, an aloof smile appearing on her mouth as Erik slipped his hand into hers and came to kneel in front of her. Disturbed and agitated by her silence, he drummed the fingers of his free hand against his thigh before slumping forward, lowering his head to her lap. He held her waist as she stroked his sparse hair in thought.
Mere months ago, Erik would never have expected her to want to do this to him. The very notion of her hands touching his disgusting skin was an enthralling dream, but a dream nonetheless. However, with time and the addictive substance that was her love, his trust in her had grown and he knew that her touch would not bring him any pain. No, her gentle nature all but forbade that, and as her fingers lovingly ran over his scalp, he knew that she did not blame him for what had occurred between her and Madame Valérius.
With the utmost softness, Christine then grasped his head, tilting it upwards as she lowered her lips to his. Despite the heavy atmosphere, Erik found himself smiling against her mouth, his hands coming up to hold her shoulders firmly as she continued to kiss him with such tenderness that he felt his heart had wings.
Christine allowed herself to melt into his embrace and his kiss, wanting nothing more than to hold him in her arms until far into the night. Even after encountering Raoul again, even after his misjudgements, she still believed that she had made the right choice in remaining with Erik.
Raoul would never leave her mind again, however. This, she was certain about, and she was glad of it. Her dear friend deserved more than what she had given him.
Kissing Erik once more, Christine sighed and murmured, "I do not think I will be ready for it, but I will accept it. At least, I hope I have the strength to. The worst of it is yet to come, I am sure."
"Mmm," he hummed in agreement, not wanting to give her false hope or sweetened words to fall victim to again. The truth was what she wanted to hear now and he would not be the one to veil her from it.
Christine gently touched the hair at the back of his neck. "Erik, would you do something for me?"
"Oh, anything, my love," he replied before pressing himself closer to her.
Pulling back, she stared determinedly at him, a strange gleam now clouding her eyes. "If there was another way, if you could still help Mamma, would you?"
Sliding his hands down her arms to gather her hands to his chest, he glanced up at her and raised an eyebrow, curious as to her intentions. "What are you thinking?"
Unsure of how to word her request, she bit her lip, looking away into the fire before squeezing his hands. "Did you know that Mamma still believes in the Angel of Music?"
Like lashes of hot fire, the name branded itself into Erik's skin—the name he wished to never hear again. He dreaded the title would forever circulate through his body, as dependent and as thick as his own blood, and to see Christine every day was merely a reminder of the façade, of the pain he had caused her, and of the fact that he strove to do all in his power to rectify it.
Fearing her ridicule, Erik had never mentioned the title again, but endured it as his penance whenever she sought him out over it. For her, he could withstand torture... but that did not make it hurt any less.
"What are you asking of me?" he said, drawing in a shaky breath as she gazed down at him.
"There is nothing medically we are able to do for her now, Erik," she began to whisper, moving her hands back to his masked cheeks. "She will not take your tonic and I do not know how long she has left... I used to tell her of the Angel of Music," she continued, smiling as she was lost in memory. "She, too, believed, and she was so happy when I would tell her of our lessons together and my progress. Do you know what she secretly wished?"
He swallowed a lump in his throat as he forced a shaky, "What?", out of his mouth.
"She wished, just once," she said, stroking his jaw, "that she could meet the Angel of Music."
"Christine—"
"I know," she said quickly, closing her eyes in a mixture of annoyance and expectancy, already weary from his unspoken protestations. "I know," she continued, softly this time, leaning forward in the midst of a small victory as he allowed her to rest her forehead against his mask. "That part of you is buried now, but please, for me, reconsider. For one night, Erik. I would be so happy and so grateful to you if you would go to her. Just for one night, play the angel to her."
At first, Erik nearly threw his head back in laughter at the ridiculous position he had found himself in. His entire countenance pulsated with mirth, but it all dissolved as soon as she had spoken her plea. Quickly, he scolded himself for even thinking about laughing and knew that no matter how much he protested, he would submit to her request.
"For you, Christine," he consigned finally, warming at the encouraging brightness in her eyes. "For you, I shall resurrect the angel."
And with a kiss, the agreement was sealed.
o0o
Relinquishing the last of her strength, Madame Valérius welcomed the intruding moon beams as her guiding light, thinking it fitting that she would leave this world as she entered it: under the blanket of a night sky.
Having dressed in her Sunday's best, despite the loud and frantic fretting from her carers, she then barred them from her bedchamber as she settled into bed with a strange sense of serenity in her heart. In her weakened state, she saw clarity, and in that, acceptance.
And so she waited, waited for the inevitable, waited for that eternal sleep to carry her away.
A simple, solitary knock at the door pulled her from the deep spirals of her mind, causing her heavy head to shift against the softness of her pillow. She answered softly, her voice croaky and frail, but a smile broke out over her pale lips as she saw her ward poke her head around the door frame before closing it behind her.
"Christine, dear," she welcomed, ushering her over with stiff fingers before gesturing to the chair beside the bed. "I am glad you came to see me."
Forcing a smile to her face, Christine sat down and stared at the candle on the bedside table, its deep orange glow casting her guardian in a disturbing, yet heavenly light. "Why do you say that, Mamma?"
"No reason at all, no reason at all," she said quickly, smiling at her in return. "I love you, my darling child. Do you know that?"
"Yes, Mamma, of course I do. And I love you, too." As Christine looked into her eyes, her features softened, a melancholy tenderness passing over them. "I have brought someone to see you."
"I am hardly one to receive company in my state, child," she replied, yet ever curious, her attention piqued. Sitting up, her ruffled sleeves creasing ever so slightly at her small movements, she peered behind Christine. "Who is it, then?"
Startled, yet pleased by her enthusiasm, Christine readied herself and slowly took her hand. "I have brought someone very special, just for you. I think you will be pleased."
"Well?" Mamma Valérius said, holding a handkerchief to her mouth as a very slight cough followed the word. "I cannot be expected to wait for so long, dear," she said in jest.
"Mamma," Christine said gently, leaning forward. "Do you remember a time last year when I disappeared for two weeks? Do you remember where I went?"
The old woman laid back against her pillows, bemused at first for the strangeness of this moment, but then inquisitive of the path she was being led down. For a minute, Mamma Valérius did nothing but sit in silence, trying to think back on a time when she was able to walk without someone fidgeting at her side and when blood didn't stain the edges of her clothing. But in the midst of these painful memories came the answer to her ward's question.
"Your Angel took you. But, dear, what has this to do with anything?"
"Would you care to hear the things that I heard during my stay with him?" Christine continued, watching intently as realisation began to pour into every one of her guardian's limbs. "Would you care to meet the Angel of Music?"
Unspoken words hung on the woman's tongue like a fish on a hook, struggling, gasping, and with bated breath, her eyes grew wide as a voice reigned down on her.
"Good evening, Madame Valérius."
A tremor quaked her frail body as that voice—that terrible, yet beautiful voice—spoke to her in whispers of docile fortitude. A chill ran through her old bones. She was truly in the presence of a servant of God. Heaven absolve me of my sins! she silently begged as she clutched her hands together in honourable prayer.
"Have no fear and you shall overcome," the voice said, floating around the still room, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. "As a reward for your ward's servitude, I have granted her a request. Madame, I have come to guide you to Heaven's gate with music as your wings."
Mamma Valérius' eyes slipped shut as the Angel began to play for her, the hypnotic tones of his violin like heat against her ailing body, melting away her tension and all else until nothing was left but the soothing rhythm of her own heart which thumped in syncopated beats to the Angel's song.
From her bedside chair, Christine listened heartily to her lover crooning a lullaby to her guardian, whose mouth was curling upwards into a smile. Cautiously, so as not to disturb her, Christine silently slid her fingers underneath one of the wrinkled hands that used to hold her so dearly. As Mamma Valérius fell under the spell of the Angel's music, Christine began to shake with a fear far greater than she had ever experienced. The hand above hers was cold to the touch and she reverently traced the bones and veins and freckles and wrinkles, committing each line to memory.
Yet, as she glanced up and saw a look of utter serenity overcome her guardian's face, she knew she should not fear. But still it did not stop the tears which shone in her eyes as Christine kissed her own fingertips and raised them to the Heavens, to him, in gratitude and in love.
Erik, concealed within shadow and cloud, savoured her gesture and continued to serenade the woman in the bed. Like Horatio cradling Hamlet during his last moments, he witnessed their final goodbye, and as Madame Valérius' hand grew limp in Christine's, he bowed his head in respect. His stringed melody effortlessly melded into a lament as Christine wept silently, her face pressed to the mattress in despair.
In a grave voice, he whispered down to the women below, "'And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.'"