Disclaimer: I am neither Gaston Leroux nor Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Author Note: Hi all! I hope you're all having a fun festive season :) As a Christmas present (and also because, as usual, I haven't updated in ages, damn lousy schedule) I am uploading two chapters today!
Now I know that some of you are looking forward to Christine going into the catacombs and finding Erik… *sheepish look* I personally think Christine has a little longer to go on her journey of self-discovery, so no Erik yet, but good things to those who wait… *knowing smile*
As ever, thank you so much to the wonderful people who reviewed/favourited/followed and are reading this story! Special thanks to; Child of Music and Dreams, Erikroolsall, MarilynKC, TMara, phantomphan4evr and draegon-fire! Your thoughts on the story always brighten my day!
Hope you all had a Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year everyone! :)
Thirty One- Across the Lake
Christine hadn't imagined that a mirror would be the barrier standing between herself and the truth. Of course, this time it wasn't even the truth about herself, which made the situation wretchedly ironic as she and her two companions stood in the dim lighting of a dressing room at the Opera Populaire in the dead of night, face to face with a monstrosity that was actually rather beautiful. The mirror was huge, and framed in what looked like- though was unlikely to be- gold, twisted and worked into flowers and vines, entwined round the cool glass and seeming to stretch and reach out to her as she stood back and stared. She couldn't help but stare- it was as if those gold flowers were emitting some hypnotic scent, heavy and sweet, luring her focus and trapping her there in a frozen state of wonder. The whole room had that effect on her, with all its slightly shabby elegance, though her captivation may come more from the fact that this was her old dressing room- the room in which this whole fantastical nightmare had begun.
That, in essence, was why they stood here now, having broken in to the opera house intending to bring Christine face to face with reality yet finding themselves dumbfounded by a mirror. What made it even worse was that both Nadir and Raoul had seen Erik use this mirror, and its masterful hinge contraption, many times- and yet now as they both fiddled round the frame and cursed Erik to hell for being far too clever, nothing was happening.
"I'm starting to think that this isn't going to work." Raoul muttered, glancing at Christine over his shoulder and sighing a little, feeling infinitely sad for her as he recalled their earlier conversation. Her eyes had been burning with such certainty and conviction when she demanded them to tell her Erik's story- thinking about it now, Raoul wondered if they ought to do just that rather than faff about with broken mirror doors. Taking one look at Nadir's face told him that voicing such a thought would not be taken well. "Damn you, Erik, why did you have to be so bloody clever?"
"It's not being too clever, Raoul, it's that the hinge is out of place. It should be opening." Nadir muttered, wondering if Erik had destroyed the mechanism before taking to the stage as Don Juan that night, to avoid being apprehended by the Vicomte or even Nadir himself. "I think he took it off the hinges before Don Juan."
Raoul cringed at the name of the opera, and slammed both hands against the glass, making the cool surface shake with impact.
"Damn it all. What are we supposed to do? Is there another entrance?"
"There is. But there's no point, it's locked. We will simply have to open the mirror another way."
Raoul wondered how on earth the Persian intended to do such a thing. But when Nadir brought his foot crashing into the glass at full force, he immediately realised and yelped a little in surprise, expecting the mirror to implode and scatter. The glass, however, did not break- I shall have to find the maker and congratulate him on his high quality craftsmanship, Raoul thought drily as Nadir rubbed his foot and scowled. He seemed to be about to try hitting it again, but then Christine came forwards, holding something in her hand- it was a silver ornate hairbrush, the back engraved with two birds in flight, the detail so intricate that it was easy to imagine the wind slipping through their wings.
"Could we use this?" she offered the beautiful object up and Nadir took it, feeling it's dull weight and nodding.
"Yes, you can indeed use that." He smiled a little and Christine recoiled, refusing the hairbrush and looking uneasy. "I think it would be good for you to break the mirror, Christine. It is clear that your memories are heavily influenced by actions, and what could be more symbolic than breaking through the mirror that will reveal the passageway to Erik's home beneath the opera house?"
"This is the mirror he sang through to me." Christine whispered, the words not a question but earning a nod from both Nadir and Raoul. Christine reached out, with trembling fingertips, and touched the cool glass- she had done this countless times in the past, sitting in the dressing room and reaching out to this unfeeling barrier, wishing it could be shattered and with it the loneliness and separation. She could even remember, once the truth had come out and she knew that her Angel was in fact a man who watched her through the glass, purposefully walking up to the mirror and splaying her palm against it, oddly hoping that someone might be on the other side mimicking her action.
In fact- Christine blushed to remember- once she had even changed costumes without covering the glass, revealing glimpses of undergarment and teasing whoever might be behind the mirror with flesh that- whilst not intimate- was rarely seen on respectable ladies. What had she hoped to achieve that day, playing at seduction and probably looking completely ridiculous? Christine remembered with a thumping heart that there had always been something about Erik that lured her in, awoke some dark and secret burning inside her- he made her want to shake off propriety, to laugh, to find pleasure, to explore things deep and passionate and not content herself with the innocence that girls were supposed to radiate. Perhaps- Christine cringed to think it- she had been hoping that day that he would be behind the glass and driven mad by her beauty; perhaps she had hoped to see that uncontrolled and emotional side to Erik again that had rarely surfaced in her presence, for he always seemed to be holding back from her.
There was no confusion- she had wanted him to want her.
Shaking a little with the thoughts and blushing with their implications, Christine walked up to the glass of the mirror. She gently squeezed the cold handle of the brush, securing her grip, assessing its weight in her hand. She looked at the mirror, whose only response was her reflection, bathed in moonlight and looking wide eyed and slightly scared. She closed her eyes, remembering the dream, the nightmare which had made her realise that Erik had been holding the truth from her- the dream in which she had shattered the mirror. In that same fashion, she raised her arm, tense and trembling, and then she simply let go.
The silver brush went rocketing into the glass. The impact left a huge crack in the flawless surface, the silver tinkling of scattering glass so satisfying that Christine opened her eyes and drew back her arm again, hitting the mirror over and over, obliterating that hazy illusion, fighting her way through to the reality and not just her cold reflection. As she hit it, over and over, she thought of the chaos and the confusion and the people who were entangled in the various catastrophes woven over the years by her stupidity, her weakness- her father, Meg, Madame Giry, Pali, Rose. Nadir. Raoul. Erik.
But most of all, herself. Hearing the past and what had happened from Nadir and Raoul had shown her just what her weaknesses had caused- she had lied to and cheated herself, ruined all those chances of happiness, because of fear and vanity and foolish, foolish pride-! Christine continued to smash at her reflection, tears rolling down her cheeks, and she didn't stop until at last the mirror was completely shattered, a glittering carpet of razor like confetti beneath her feet. Her shoulders sagged, her breath escaping her in one sigh and the hairbrush fell from her fingers with a dull thud.
Glass was everywhere- there were pieces in her hair and clinging to her dress as well as all over the floor, in such tiny pieces it was clear she had pounded the glass with violent hysteria. She couldn't hear anything, stumbling back a little in shock, feeling hands- Raoul- grab her and steady her. When she looked at her own hands she saw that they wept red from the lacerations all over her skin, and as she touched her hair she felt the sharp kiss of yet more pieces.
"Christine?" Raoul's voice swam into focus and Christine looked puzzled at why his voice sounded so close to tears. "Nadir this was a terrible, terrible idea. She's cut herself to ribbons- we should take her home, before she hurts herself again- today has been too much for her and I refuse to let it continue."
"No, Raoul! I'm fine, really!" Christine sounded as if she were about to start laughing, a radiant smile breaking out on her face. Raoul looked horrified and turned to Nadir, but the Persian shook his head.
"Then Nadir will be escorting you alone, because I don't think I can take another scene like that." Raoul sounded faintly disgusted, and Christine reached out to him as he brushed past, slamming the door on his way out. The doorframe rattled in his wake and Christine felt a lump stick in her throat- had it truly been that bad? Nadir had suggested it! She turned to the Persian, to plead her sanity to him, but he looked unaffected by it all- then again, the man was a long standing companion of Erik, whose emotional stability was far worse than her own.
"Don't worry for Raoul, Christine, he is struggling with these matters much like yourself. And he is worried for Erik- we all are." Nadir frowned as he said those last words, his eyes very ancient with sadness and tired too, and Christine felt her heart give a little lurch in sympathy. She wondered where he was, what he was doing to pass the lonely hours. Or what he might say if he knew that she had just broken his mirror. "Shall we?"
Nadir gestured to the mirror, whose frame was now a doorway into what appeared to be darkness. There was a cool chill coming from the gaping hole and it made her shiver as she stepped forwards and reached into the dark, her fingers brushing against a damp wall. Feeling another shiver, she seized the moment and stepped boldly into the dark, hearing Nadir come in behind her, grateful for the light his lamp provided. The light allowed her to see perhaps a metre in front of her face, showing nothing but cold stone walls that glistened with damp- these were the tunnels of the opera house, Christine knew it instantly. She turned to look at Nadir, seeing his face eerily light with heavy shadow, and the nod he gave was all she needed to take a deep breath and begin the descent into the dark- into Erik's domain.
As they made their way further down into the cellars, through the maze of tunnels, Christine found herself recalling all the times she had made this journey with Erik- she still struggled for complete memories, but there were flashes, as she touched the damp walls or tripped a little, she would remember doing exactly that with Erik by her side, his dark presence a guide and guardian through the darkness.
They always walked in silence. It was something that Christine wished could change, and yet she was far too scared and conflicted with all kinds of emotion to dare to try and start some mundane conversation. She found she was trembling as she walked through the mirror at his silent demand, scared of him and all his presence meant for her, but beyond that shock and initial anger from when he had revealed his true human form and destroyed all those childish fantasies of angels and ghosts.
Her arm brushed his, and she recoiled sharply, but he had already stopped and turned to face her in a lightening step and swirl of black clothing. She sought out is eyes, burning from behind the mask, and wondered if he was going to break into a furious raging fire. He was still so new to her as a real human man- she didn't know what to expect from him.
"You're trembling." He said, in a melodic voice that was not a question, yet earnt a timid nod from her all the same. "If you're so scared and repulsed by me, Christine, you need not follow!"
"That's not it at all!" she burst out, and he looked surprised to hear such words from his pupil, who the last time he saw her had been cowering in fear from his ugly face and violent words. "It's just that…that I… I don't like the dark. Or the way that the water drips and sounds so chilling against the stone down here. It frightens me a little, as silly as that sounds."
"You don't like the dark?" he questioned, his voice heavy with implication- if she disliked the dark, she must dislike him, the night dweller, the darkness itself.
"Perhaps that is the wrong phrasing. I don't like the thought of the unknown, waiting in the dark- it is the power of darkness to conceal and to hide, rather than darkness itself, that scares me." She whispered, and Erik was so moved by her words- which were oddly pleasing to him- that he suddenly took her cold hands in his own. Christine did not recoil from him and somehow the uncertainty between them disappeared.
Christine never felt scared to follow Erik into the darkness again.
The sound of Nadir splashing through water and cursing under his breath awoke Christine from her dreamlike nostalgia, and she gasped a little to see that the tunnels they had been weaving their way through had opened out into a lake. A lake beneath the opera house- it seemed ridiculous, and yet there was no denying the vast body of murky water before her eyes. Christine remembered falling into that lake, thrashing around in the cold water, disorientated and terrified, but having strong arms find her and help her to the shore- she closed her eyes and tried to stop herself from dwelling on the events of that night, when her memories had been destroyed by a clumsy trip on these very rocks, because the thoughts of what could have been were so wonderfully perfect that Christine knew she would only upset herself.
Instead she turned her attentions to the irate Persian who was now out of the lake, his face stonily angry as he stood dripping.
"Are you looking for the boat?" Christine asked, liking the look of shock that swept across Nadir's face that she knew of such details. She beamed a smile at him, starting to enjoy herself. "Because you won't find it- Raoul used it to take me away once I was unconscious."
"You raise a very good point, Mademoiselle." Nadir said in a thoughtful voice, before realising what the implications were and scowling even more. "We're going to have to wade our way across, Erik's house is just on the other side there. It isn't too deep, though you will have to swim, although you shouldn't- Christine!"
Nadir gaped at her as she went straight into the water, gasping at the cold and having to kick around messily to stop the weight of her dress pulling her down. Clearly smashing the mirror had been good for her, as Nadir couldn't think of when he had seen Christine as energetic and determined as this. Feeling rather sorry for himself, he began to slowly wade his way across the freezing body of water, cursing Erik for only possessing one boat, watching as Christine continued her rather speedy journey through the water. She did so with much thrashing and unladylike swearing, but once she reached the other side she felt so pleased with herself that it didn't matter that she was gasping for breath, or that her clothes were drenched. She noticed a dull, dark patch of something on the slippery stone- something that might just be dried blood, from a fall and head wound- but she made a point of ignoring it, looking around her at the eerie setting of Erik's home whilst she waited for Nadir to reach the rocks and catch his breath.
It was oddly comforting to be back in these cellars, as disturbingly eerie as they were, for Christine found that every action was awakening flashes of recollection from within the darkness at the back of her mind- she remembered fishing out the mask from the lake, remembered being laughed at and laughing herself as she waded back to Erik and felt his arms around her in their rightful place, remembered kissing him and telling him that this was not a dream, this was reality…
"Erik's home is this way, Christine." Nadir sounded tired but pleased, and Christine gladly fell behind him, following him as he took a path well known to him to a door concealed amid the bricks in the wall. Christine felt a smile break out on her face- she knew this place, knew that if she kept walking she would find the gate to the Rue Scribe, to which Erik had given her a key. Where was that now, she wondered briefly as Nadir fumbled for his own key and unlocked the door to the curious little house hidden in the wall.
It took a great deal of effort for Nadir to stumble around and somehow light a lamp- for his own had been left at the other side of the lake- and once lit and the room illuminated, Christine found that she could not speak, nor move, nor even breathe. For whilst the furniture was all pushed to the side and covered with sheets, and whilst there was no fire or sufficient atmosphere to truly feel right, the house and its contents seemed to radiate an aura that was just so obviously Erik. It was tasteful and old fashioned, gothic in colour scheme and detail, hints of culture and history dotted all around in the form of various trinkets that must be from travels all over the world. It was oddly beautiful, this little house, and Christine found herself tearing up with wonder. She could imagine Nadir and Erik sprawled in armchairs before the roaring fire, bickering as they read or played cards. She could imagine Madame Giry dining with him at the huge polished table, dispensing some much needed advice. But, with a pang of something that hurt terribly, Christine could also imagine herself in this beautiful little house, simply doing ordinary mundane things, but crucially with Erik beside her.
Nadir lit the rest of the lamps, and started to build up a fire, and though Christine knew she ought to help him she simply could not stop walking through the little rooms and gazing about her in wonder. She found a huge organ nestled in an alcove of one of the walls, shrouded with red curtains and screaming with imperious splendour- Christine found the silence poignant, as if the instrument were waiting for its master to return to the dusty keys, and though she let her fingers trail over the wonderful texture she did not make a sound, not wanting to hear it unless it were Erik unleashing musical supremacy.
Some of the house did disturb her and served as a very stark reminder of her reason to visiting this subterranean home- she needed to discover Erik, all of Erik, and so it happened part of Erik was the macabre décor of his bedroom; why he had a coffin, and if he slept in it, Christine could not truly fathom. There was another aspect of Erik that Christine soon uncovered, with a small gasp of delight, hiding behind a closed wooden door along the corridor.
She knew, as soon as she stepped into the room, that it was hers. Not simply because the décor was so clearly to the tastes of a young woman in Paris, the city of beauty and fashion, but because she could remember- she could remember sleeping on that beautiful bed whose wooden posts were carved with roses, she could remember that the mirror in the corner had been stolen when Erik was in the Orient, she could remember that the wardrobe was brimming with beautiful clothes that she had not even worn because there were simply too many-
The room and all its content spoke of love and care and very detailed knowledge of the woman it had been crafted for. Christine sat heavily down on the bed, staring around her and knowing that this room had been Erik making a place for her in his world- his way of showing her that he would provide for her and care for her and wanted to do just that. How had she turned away from him, from this? He had poured his love onto her, thrown himself at her feet, and she- she had not been brave enough to accept that love. It was very hard to understand why that had been the case, Christine thought as she sat in the room and considered her love for Erik- she knew, from Nadir and Raoul, that there were things he had done and aspects of his personality that were far from perfect, and might be considered evil. But Christine knew, whether from obstinate blindness or a sixth sense, that there must be good reason behind those acts- and now she was here, in the heart of Erik's world, and she might finally be able to understand them.
"I see you found your room." Nadirs voice came from the doorway, and Christine looked up, startled. She wondered how long he had been standing there, and how long she had been sat here, staring into nothing.
"Yes. It's beautiful." Her voice sounded hollow, her energy lost to the bitter thoughts that now swam in her head, distorting what was current and what was an echo of the past. "Monsieur Khan…Nadir…why can you not just tell me Erik's story, as you told me my own? I'm sure I would understand, and I wouldn't judge him for his actions, however shocking. I'm not that shallow girl I once was."
"Christine, Erik's actions deserve judgement. Your fear of him was not shallow, it was honest, and well deserved." Nadir sounded sad just to say the words. "I told Raoul that men are like mirrors; they reflect what is shown to them. Erik's past is just that, a reflection of his treatment over the years. But understanding does not mean we have to overlook those actions and pretend they are not the atrocious deeds that they are- it is understanding the atrocious nature of those acts, and understanding that Erik is tormented by his guilt for those every day of his life, that will truly allow you to understand and accept him. He has abandoned you because he is so afraid of destroying you with his darkness and such an act epitomises him. And that is why you can be certain of his love for you, Christine Daae- because he loves you enough to know you are better without him, despite the fact that you are all he has ever wanted."
"And I can be sure of my own love. Because I did fear him- but I also loved him. I understood him and I loved him." Christine whispered softly, bending her head a little in case she cried. However, no tears came.
"Of course you love him." Nadir said gently, sitting beside her and taking her hand in an awkward, fatherly gesture that Christine very much appreciated. "And that is why as soon as the silly ass comes home, you will both be happy. Though I encourage you to tell him that he is a silly ass- he won't listen to me."
Christine laughed and Nadir smiled at her, patting her arm and standing up, in that same awkward way that was so paternal it was comforting. It was obvious as to why Erik relied upon Nadir so heavily- however stoic and moral, he was kind, and if his analogy of mirrors and men was indeed true, Christine could appreciate how important such a quality was.
"Erik's home is full of things that you are free to look amongst. They should be enough to spark your memories or even tell the story of who he truly is, though I will explain anything that needs clarification." Nadir sounded brisk again, not comfortable with sentimentality. "There is a huge wooden chest lurking around somewhere, full of legal documents and letters and goodness knows what else- possibly even photographs. I think that would be a suitable starting point."
Half an hour and much frantic searching later, Christine and Nadir were sat before the fire and sifting through the various documents in the wooden chest, which had been tucked away behind the piano, clearly intended to be forgotten about. Nadir did wonder, briefly, why Erik had bothered to keep all of these documents and photos if he loathed them so, but then Nadir also wondered if Erik truly meant it when he said he had no desire to remember the past.
The documents made for a rather disjointed, though detailed, depiction of Erik's life. Christine found herself lingering on a particular collection of framed photographs, showing a distinguished looking man with a kind and handsome face, and a woman who was almost hauntingly beautiful. She had cruel eyes though, Christine thought, examining her face and feeling a chill run down her spine, knowing that these must be Erik's parents and yet his story clearly did not begin with a happy childhood.
As the night became morning, and the firelight weakened and died down to glowing embers, Christine began to weave a story from the documents and from Nadirs words, when required- the story began in tragedy, with Erik's father dying, leaving his wife and unborn child. Christine could find the aspects of Erik's looks in both of his parents, but the deformity was all his own, and the reason for which he had suffered neglect and cruelty. A torn, tobacco stained scrap provided the next instalment in the unhappy tale- an advertisement, for a travelling gypsy fair, with proclaimed to hold amongst its many attractions the Devils Child, a spawn of Satan whom paying visitors could flock to see. After looking at the flier and hearing the tale from Nadir's own mouth, Christine found herself looking again at Erik's mother, wondering how any woman could do that to her child. The cruel, cold eyes offered no answer and Christine had to turn the picture over and push it away from her, disgusted.
Christine was surprised to find that both she and Erik shared this similarity of relying upon one parent, having never known the other. It was enough to make you feel slightly out of place Christine had found, and enough to make you love that one remaining person with a ferocity that was dangerous, if you were then to lose them too. Christine's devoted love for her father had been mutual, and the two of them had relied upon each other as a lifeline in the cruel world which seemed to baffle and frighten them both. No such reliance could be found in the relationship between Erik and his mother.
There were no documents to explain Erik's travels all over the world, and certainly no documents to explain how the highly moral and patriotic Daroga, Nadir Khan, had somehow befriended and saved the life of the very man he had been charged to apprehend. But Nadir could explain that aspect of the story all too well, and Christine listened, enthralled. When Nadir began to yawn, and his eyelids began to droop, he suggested that they leave the matter of Erik for now and go back to his home, to sleep, but Christine could not even think of leaving now, not when there was so much to reveal and understand.
"It's perfectly alright- I will remain here and you can come to collect me later, once you are rested and well. Perhaps you can also ensure that Raoul is not too upset." Christine said brightly, earning a concerned look from Nadir. "Really, Nadir, I am quite alright. I can keep reading- the time will pass quickly."
"If you are sure…" he still didn't sound convinced, but promised he would somehow block up the entrance to the tunnels and come back for her later. Christine didn't even hear him go, for she was already engrossed in the next documents- letters, from Madame Giry.
There was something far more intimate about letters, something personal, and Christine felt a little guilty as she began to unravel the papery bundles, and wondered if she really ought to be reading. But Nadir had told her that she should look at whatever she needed to, that she ought to discover Erik for herself, and so Christine swallowed the lump in her throat and settled down to read the correspondence which seemed to span years.
Most of the letters were more like notes than anything lengthy and important- presumably Madame Giry had sent them alongside parcels of food, or paper and ink. The content of them seemed to suggest Erik was living in this little house across the lake, and many of the notes made Christine smile and giggle- 'And Erik, I know you do not particularly care for food, but starving yourself would be a great crime, depriving the world of musical genius'.
The silly, mundane messages, many being funny or light-hearted, conjured up another side to Erik that Christine had not seen demonstrated yet- it was a sociable Erik, who was funny and enjoyed teasing and being teased. The fact that, despite living cellars below humanity and having suffered hatred and neglect due to a deformity since birth, Erik had still managed to maintain a friendliness about him made Christine ache for all the silly things she had done, when she had been the virginal soprano whose response to Erik's affection had been very misguided. He truly seemed to be a remarkable man, her own biased feelings towards him aside.
The integral part she had played in his life could not be ignored, and when Christine came to a far longer letter from Madame Giry and saw her name amongst the elegant script, she felt her throat close up and her heart beat stagger, nervous to see what emotions in him she could be held accountable for.
'Dear Erik,
It would seem that Christine Daae has suddenly brightened. She is now waltzing round the dormitories, a smile upon her face, eager to gossip and laugh and dance with the other girls. Meg said the most curious thing to me- she said that Christine is happy, because she has been visited by and Angel, an Angel of Music.
My first reaction, you should know, is to warn you that this could easily end in disaster- no good ever comes of lying, Erik, no matter how kind your intentions towards her. But I find that I cannot bring myself to dissuade you- you have made such an impression on her, such a difference.
It would seem, Erik, that you have restored happiness to her life.'
Christine found herself staring down at that letter, not quite able to put it down, not yet at least. It seemed that no matter the situation- no matter who she was, or what role he had assumed- Erik somehow managed to bring happiness to her. As an Angel, as a man, as an oddly perfect stranger- it stood out to her, that one consistency through all the sides of Erik that his past and behaviours presented, that Erik loved so fully, so beautifully, and Christine found herself wanting to cry because all she wanted in that moment was to be with him.
Crying a little, she reached into the box and found that the rest of the paper was nothing but music- endless sheets of painstakingly written music, elegant and rolling and so intricate that it was obvious he had laboured over them, taken every effort to ensure that his creations were beautiful even if his face was not. Knowing Erik, and remembering him, Christine understood that his greatest emotional outlet was his music- if she wanted to know the real Erik, she would need to understand his music.
However, with no Erik to play the various pieces, Christine found herself wondering if she were truly up to the challenge of attempting them herself- she was a competent pianist and obviously could read music, just as any trained musician, but Erik lived and breathed music; trying to play anything to his standard would be near on impossible. But the need to understand him was too great to simply give up- taking a deep breath and trying to remind herself that it did not need to be concert worthy, just audible, Christine took the weighty music and walked towards the organ.
As she sat down at the huge instrument, Christine was again struck by the gothic décor, feeling a little stifled by it. Hadn't Erik ever considered that such macabre surroundings might frighten a naïve and stupid seventeen year old girl? Shaking her head a little, at both hers and Erik's failings in a past that seemed more ridiculous by the second, Christine laid out the music and stretched her fingers over the dusty keys. The keyboard was miniscule, the rest of the instrument made up of huge pipes and wooden carvings. It was daunting, looking above her and knowing that whatever mistakes she made in playing would be blasted out at full volume. How Erik had stayed hidden with such an almighty instrument- which he no doubt played full volume for several hours every day- Christine could not fathom.
"Now, Christine, you must try to do this as best as you can. Because you need to reconnect those final bridges in your mess of a mind- and then you need to find that silly ass and prove to him that you need him just as he needs you, because you love him far too much to lose him." Christine said to herself, knowing it was completely mad to speak in the third person, but also knowing that if she didn't break this awful silence she would truly go insane.
Examining the music made Christine wince- it was meticulously neat, the notes unworldly looking things on the yellowed stave, and it was a mystery to her as to how anyone could manage to play this. So many melodies and trills and ornaments, all at once-! She tried to storm straight into it, both hands trying to keep up and feet furious on the pedals, but she immediately stumbled and tripped on the keys, cursing under her breath.
"Damn you, Erik, for being such a musical genius!"
She remembered learning to play the piano as a very small child, squished onto the stool next to her father, obeying his patient instruction and playing wobbly pieces with jabbing fingers. When she couldn't do it, and her arpeggios went wrong or her fingers weren't quite fast enough to keep time, she would become frustrated and bang her hands down on the keys, causing an awful racket and being shouted at by her father, who was always far too lenient with regards to her behaviour, but would not overlook disrespect to music.
"Christine don't do that!" he had shouted, stunning her into wide eyed silence. "Just because you can't make everything work the first time doesn't mean you get angry and lash out! Be patient and work things through, steadily- nothing of worth can be accomplished straight away. It always means more if you have to work for something- you can't create perfection from nothing, can you?"
Perhaps Christine had forgotten her father's greatest lesson, and perhaps Erik needed to learn that lesson himself. It would take struggling and fighting and failing in order to forge something important. She would have to fight for Erik, because something good could never come from nothing. She had to fight for him, because she loved him.
With a new resolve, Christine went back to the music, blotting out all the fiddly ornaments and trills and even the bass, honing in on just the treble clef- the melody at the heart of the music. She began to pick it out, slowly, struggling to work the huge blasting organ but eventually managing to tame it to something far softer and controlled. As she played the piece, she realised with a gasp that it was a tune she knew very well- it was the lullaby an Angel of Music had sang to his pupil, in the days that seemed too simple and far off from the here and now.
Christine bent over the keys and felt tears slip from her eyes and down her face as she brought her hands to her heart, her hair falling forwards, the dark curls kissing the pale wood of the keys. She was smiling through the tears, because she felt that she finally understood what to do, what was going to stop this endless feeling of confusion and uncertainty and finally bring her and Erik back to where they belonged- together.
Erik was like a piece of music- he could be interpreted in so many ways, and held all sorts of tones and moods and embellishments, but if you took the time and the trouble to find it, in reality you could find that core melody, consistent and steady, and you could understand it.
"I will find that melody within you, Erik. I will find it and engrave it in my heart, so that the echoes will never distort you again." Christine promised aloud, with the organ bearing witness. "But first, I need to find you. And if you won't come back to me, then it would seem I will have to find you myself."