Chapter eight

A beam of moonlight stained Christine's empty bed. It tinted the tips of Meg's fingers a cold silver as she ran her hand flat across the sheets, they were a chilling as the wind that drifted in through the open window. This was the third night Christine had been absent from her bed, Meg couldn't remember a night in the dormitory when Christine hadn't been sleeping softly to the right of her, her slumber mixed with muttered words, usually about her father. Meg felt stupid, now she thought about it, the appearance of Erik in her life had actually become quite obvious, Meg had just failed to notice it.

It had been about three months before when Christine had come to bed later than usual, she had disappeared off to her dressing room after the evening performance and had spent many hours there, she had returned looking paler than usual. Every night from then on she went to her dressing room and returned to bed when Meg was already deep in sleep, although they would sometimes wait up for each other. Every night Meg would ask Christine where she went, she would never say though. She once told Meg, "I am spending this time with a gift from my father!" and Meg wondered what gift could be so wonderful that you wore away the evenings with it.

Then the day that Christine was called upon to take Carlotta's place in an Opera, she sang like no one had sung before. Then that night she had disappeared, Meg knew there was a connection with the whole thing and now she had finally got to the bottom of it.

"All that mystery and not a thing to gain!" she said to herself angrily. She hadn't even managed to get Christine back! Meg lit the oil lamp next to her bed and propped herself up on her elbow, thinking deeply about ways to ensure that there would never be another night when Christine was absent from her bed. She twisted her fingers through the ribbons on her nightdress and stared at the view that the small open window offered. She was snapped harshly from her tranquillity by means of flying book, thrown by a raven haired ballet rat who had sprung up from her lying position.

"Do you mind turning that damn lamp off? And closing the window? Some of us are trying to sleep!" the girl nagged sharply. Meg closed the window and drew the curtains, she then extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into total darkness.

- - - -

A river of hot wax flowed down the edge of the candle, creating a pool on the dark, maple desk. Christine dipped the tip of her finger in the wax while it was still glistening like syrup. It scorched her nerves for only a second as the cool air hardened it, turning the liquid into a glove tip, a perfect imprint of Christine's finger. She removed it with a simple flick of her nail and quietly bathed in the candle light, she also absentmindedly took in Erik's persistent gaze. He watched her from the other end of the mahogany table. He had given her food, books, stationary and endless open conversations but all she did was sit at the table, looking around and burning her fingers pointlessly on hot wax.

"Don't burn yourself." He growled lazily. Christine tried to regain the breath she had just lost. Every time he spoke out of the blue like that she felt like she had taken a punch to the stomach. She looked up from underneath her rich, dark curls and stared into Erik's eyes, trying to make sense of what she saw. They were a golden brown when they lay sleepy and inactive, but with Erik full of thoughts and plans as he sat there they were about as simple as a labyrinth. There were shards of dark drown in his eyes that seemed to suck you in and hold you there, making you forget yourself and see only Erik, those shades would hypnotise you until a flash of yellow broke the spell. Those flashes were short and sharp and unsettling to look at, that yellow was not the yellow of human eyes, and it was an eerie disc of light that covered the whole eye. Not even the pupils were seen through it. It reminded Christine of a cat in the dark, whose eyes gave an angry flare of superiority, the knowledge that while you stumbled blindly in the dark they could sense your every move, hear your heartbeat and smell the fear on you. There were also soft browns that could tense with hurt, soften with love or flare in anger at a single word, Christine's word. But she remained silent. Erik rose from his seat and put the candle out with a quick, sharp breath. He proceeded around the room, blowing out all of the candles. The air was soon polluted by the heavy burning smell and the only light came from the hallway, lit by dim sconces. Erik stood silhouetted in the doorway, his shoulders tensed and although Christine couldn't to see his eyes in the now dark room she new their complexity were taking her in slowly. She saw his jaw line twitch as he spoke to her again.

"It is late Christine, I think I will be showing you to your room now." He whispered through the darkness silkily, gesturing blindly through the black air and then turning to show the way through the endless halls of his home. He walked down the hall, glancing behind him to check Christine was following him, she trailed after him like a child reluctantly following its parent because they don't want to be left alone. The evening had been plagued by a bitter silence, Christine had barely spoken a word since Raoul and Meg had left, she had only given short and unfeeling answers to the questions that Erik had piled on her regularly. He had been thrilled when he had practically been offered Christine's company by an insolent Raoul but his happiness had been thoroughly shattered by her the sharp, painful stab of her apparent anger. Erik closed his eyes and tried to push the dull ache from his mind, he distracted himself by lighting every candle in Christine's room, which the pair had now reached. Each candle cast a golden light upon a different crack or dent in the stone walls, or refracted on a candle stick or splinted tiny shimmers from the beads on the bedspread.

Christine felt something burn inside her, she had never hated anyone before so she wasn't sure if it was hate she was feeling. It couldn't be, because as candlelight lit up Erik's mask features she felt herself soften to him. Maybe it was just a particularly painful annoyance and the constant ache of missing the world above. She still had Erik to blame, and she could hurt him as easily as herself. Christine sat delicately on the edge of the bed and took one of the deep red roses from its vase, when she could feel Erik's eyes setting on the rose she gently places her finger tips round the petals, as if she meant to stroke them. She then transformed her gentle and delicate touch, she pinched roughly at the petals, tearing them from the stem and sabotaging their beauty. Her pearly nails tore through the blood red flower like talons, and an expression of unintentional anger consuming her gentle features. Erik felt a lump rise in his throat, one that stung and obstructed his nervous swallowed. It crushed him like he was the rose, a beautiful thing given to her and now she didn't care for it and she had turned against the person who loved her. He knew she would not turn against Raoul, so why change with him?

All that was left of the rose was a crippled stem and drops of blood red silk that littered the floor like real blood shed, and Erik sunk to his knees like a wounded man and looked to Christine with a look that was identical to that of a person choosing the sight that would grace their eyes as they drifted closed from impending darkness. He felt like it was true, he felt he would sink further down from his knees and never rise again and he declared his last words with a wilting look into Christine's now troubled face.

Christine had only wanted to show him, to take something of his as he had taken her freedom. She was not sure what she had taken from him but it had left him down on his knees, eyes glazing over with sorrow and begging at her feet with a heart broken stare. Christine tried to give back she had taken, she swept to the floor next to Erik and placed her hands on either side of his face. She broke their silent conversation with desperate words.

"Stop!" She pleaded. "Why can't we be equal, if you take my freedom from me then I will take my trust from you." Erik placed his hands over hers and guided them away from his face.

"You can't go, what is the use of your trust if you're not here for me to use it?" He begged, clutching at her shaking hands.

"The knowledge that I trust you should be enough, you should be grateful that I will still let you hold my hands and look into my eyes. I let you do these things without my trust! Give me my freedom and you can live peacefully with the knowledge that I trust you and that if you touched my face I would not run away!" Erik raised one of his hands to dust Christine's pearly skin with his fingertips. "We are equal?" Christine questioned Erik, he bowed his head in a solemn agreement.

"As long as you stay here for just a while…I will let you watch the performance with me every evening! I will…I will take you up to the roof when you want to touch the night's sky. I will let you go up for weeks at a time, as long as you do not run away when I touch your face and you come to take away my loneliness just occasionally," His words became distorted as sobs began to break them. "I will…I-I-I will treat you as equal! I will bring you gifts! I-I-I will make sure you live finer than any c-c-countess." He bowed his head so low that his forehead was touching the hem of Christine's dress, yet he still continued to pledge and promise with all his heart until his emotions only allowed him a whisper.

"Please…please just stay…for now…and give…me your trust!" Christine watched him pitifully, she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him until he was sitting upright. She then took his hand and guided it so his fingertips were touching her face lightly, she looked up from underneath her thick lashes and gave a complete and beautiful stare. She spoke with all the control she could manage.

"This is my trust."