Author's Note: Enjoy and review if you'd like! This is a personal favorite chapter of my story.
A big thank you to my beta reader theairiseverywhere!
She was not a good ballerina. The open house of the theatre was too elegant for her to be wearing such little clothing, the chandelier winking overhead was too distracting for her to concentrate on repetitive counts, Madame Giry's cane tapping along to the beat killed the beauty of the music. It was no secret to the company that she had no passion for dance, at least not like the other girls did. At the end of another dream shattering rehearsal where she was humiliated in front of the other ballerinas for her slow turns and added steps, Christine found herself to be the last girl in the theatre. Fayette and Jammes were out on double dates, Meg had rushed off to gossip with some of the older dancers, and everyone else had their own lives to tend to. The stage crew were all up on the second floor in the production rooms, sawing and designing and whatever else they did to prepare the sets for when full-cast rehearsals started. It was a Sunday evening, the managers had gone out, the principals were off until Tuesday morning, and Christine found herself utterly alone except for Erik's company. Rarely did he join her in her free time, she soon learned he was a busy composer and artist who simply did not have time to spend his weekends ambling around the theatre looking for things to do. This Sunday, however, was different.
"Angel, is there something wrong?" He had appeared from the wings of stage right, a small smile upon his face as she finished unlacing her pointe shoes. From her spot on the floor, he was an intimidating figure, tall and proper with his mask gleaming in the shimmering light from off stage left.
"No, Christine, never anything wrong. How was rehearsal?" A pale hand helped raise her to her feet, bare against the cool wood the stage and toes wriggling in freedom from their previous restraint. Erik still stood tall over her, but was less intimidating when she found herself able to accept the kiss he pressed to her forehead.
"You saw rehearsal, atrocious, as per usual. Erik, what is wrong with me that I cannot dance?" Eyes caressed her exposed throat as she tilted her head to stare up at him.
"Christine, you are not atrocious-"
"I never said I was!" It was an indignant scoff as she reached her hands out to him.
After months of time spent with her, after stealing kisses to her forehead before they became accepted and expected, he was still growing accustomed to the physical affection she doled out so easily. Placing his much larger hands within the confines of her warm ones, he allowed her to begin rotating them in small circles. Her eyes were alight with laughter as they picked up speed, leaning backwards and balancing on each other's weight, they moved in silence except for the stray giggle or gasp of dizziness. After a few long moments of her sweaty palms gripping him tightly, of her curls tangling along her glowing collarbone, of her breathless gasps teasing his ears, he felt himself watching tears begin to glide from her porcelain cheeks. They slowed to a stop, staring at each other as the tears gained speed and soon were rolling down to the crinoline leotard.
"Nobody thinks I can do it, Angel. I don't even think I can do it, not now." Long arms pulled her into a soft hug, her face buried into the darkness of his shirt, tears soaking through to cool against scar covered chest, and he could hardly contain his moan at their intimate embrace.
"Nothing I say will make you a better dancer or a stronger person, but know that I believe in you. That I trust you with this position; that you were born to walk this path."
"I can walk, Erik, I cannot dance." White hands gripped his lapels; desperate eyes sought him for answers and solutions he was not sure he could give.
"Then do not dance, my love. Fly."
Her meetings with Fayette and Jammes stopped that week, she explained that she had gained a vocal coach and left it at that. Keeping Erik a secret was part of what made him so special to her, no one else in the company had an angel to watch over them as she did and Christine dreaded the idea of having to share his existence with other people. It was selfish, yes, but when she spoke her fears of this sin to her angel he had only laughed and petted her head as he liked to do, telling her that her selfishness was nothing but appreciated by an angel wont for her attention. She was inclined to tell him that she was wanton for his attention as well, to remind him that his presence was what pushed her through many difficult days of training, but she refrained with the fear that her wantonness would push her angel away.
Not long after their discussion on the stage, Erik visited her down in the bunks. Erik had spoken of a room she'd never heard of before, and his orders were extremely detailed in case she should get lost, but as she left the dining hall she could feel his presence with her and knew there was no reason to be worried over the winding stairs and darkened corridors. His directions led her down to the old storage room in the first floor of cellars, her skirts caught on a shattered mirror as she scurried through the dark room and to the side wall. Boxes littered everywhere; each step she took was a matter of maneuvering her body around corners of wood and broken props long forgotten by the stage crew.
Christine made her way to the far wall and extended pale hands, and setting down her lantern, she searched for the lever Erik had promised she would find. It took some time for her anxious digits to navigate in the darkness, she was nearly blind and pressing cold fingers to the damp and dirty wall, the little light she had was useless in the wide room. Grime coated fingers finally found the tiny gold latch he had spoken of; it was cool, clean, and no bigger than the size of her thumb. Christine pressed on it, letting out a gasp as she fell forward and with a clatter fell to the floor.
Unsure of how the door worked, Christine let out a discontented sigh with the realization that her lantern was locked behind her in the cellars and she was very much alone. Swallowed in the black night of this mysterious corridor, Christine remained upon the floor for a few moments in an attempt to allow her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. It was a fruitless attempt; this was the darkest corridor she'd ever traveled upon in her life, and the coldest. Wishing very much for her lantern and cloak, Christine continued on, her hands against the grubby walls of the hall as she waited for it to make the right turn Erik promised it would.
Time passed slower down below the theatre than it did above, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity as she was left alone to creep in the dank hall. Terrified by the unnerving lack of light and life, Christine shuffled along, her simple day-dress clinging tightly to her as humidity soaked into the thin material. The sound of dripping water and her worried breathing echoed through the empty space, before she heard her name. Christine! Her angel was calling to her and it reverberated through the long passageway, she felt as if she had been walking for hours and the sound of his voice coming from all angles did nothing to help her excitement for meeting him.
"Angel! Where are you?" Her voice quivered, echoing deeper into the shadows. Fingers and toes numb from the cold, Christine tripped deeper, hands chaffing against the rocky wall of the cellar. Thankful that her feet were encased within her leather boots, for the farther she went the more water splashed up and soaked through her beige skirt.
"I'm here, Christine…"
"Erik, tell me where! I can't see…I'm frightened!" Eeriness came with the feeling of listening to her own voice call out for help and sent her into a state of frantic terror. Moving quicker in fear of the dark, Christine raced through the hallway, heart in her throat and electric horror slicking her icy skin.
"Erik! Please, angel!" Tripping, Christine tumbled to the floor once more, this time sliding her palms along the ragged floor and scraping her exposed thigh along the ground. Soaked through to the skin, Christine sat in the puddle of water in shock at her own clumsiness. The feeling of gloved hands upon her arms sent a shriek from her lips and throughout the hall.
"Christine! It's only your Erik, are you injured?" The scream froze in her throat and she found herself forcing her body against his, craving his warmth and security as his gloved hands made accounts over her face and arms.
"I don't think I can walk, Erik, I'm sorry." His masked nose bumped hers and then she was alone again in the darkness, whimpering against her own will at the stinging of water sliding into the cuts upon her aching leg.
"I shall carry you, Christine. Are you prepared?" He either was not interested in her answer, or took her small moan as one of acceptance, for in the next moment she was off of the floor and in the arms of her angel.
"I knew I should have led you down myself, I apologize, Christine." The trip was much shorter when in his arms, hands clasping his cloak around her shaking body. Her angel led her further and further through the hall until finally he made an abrupt turn to the right and slid his hand along the wall. Surprised at the sound of his human pulse beating rapidly beneath her fingers, Christine watched as his gloved fingers found a lever she couldn't see, and a door opened before them.
He led her through his house and through rooms that she would have never imagined to belong to an angel. The home was dim, candle light flickered over dark wood surfaces of shining furniture, red and gold accents crawled across the seats of his chairs and couches, it was extravagant and more than she had expected to find under the opera house.
"Angel, do you live here?" In his arms, she could feel his pulse accelerating as he gently placed her down upon the couch.
"I do, Christine, may I see your injuries?" With her acceptance he lifted her skirts above her knees and ran shaking fingers over the cuts on her flushed legs.
"Nothing too serious, but I would understand if you would like to be brought back above, no vocal lesson will be given after you've hollered yourself out." He snipped at her before he pulled her skirts to hastily cover her quivering legs, not making eye contact with her.
"Angel, did I do something wrong?"
"Not at all, Christine, I shall bring you above." A voice of resignation came over him as he rose, but she clasped his hands in her own with a tinkle of laughter that surprised him, reluctantly dragging his eyes back to her green ones.
"Erik, I've come all this way. Won't you have tea with me?"
The kitchen was a small area, where they sat cramped at a table, both staring into their teacups trying to avoid the fact that their hands could easily be set against each other if they held their mugs correctly.
"So, Erik," She tried to break the uncomfortable silence with a friendly smile, "are you allowed to tell me what it's like to die?"
"I beg your pardon?" The clatter of his spoon splashed her with hot tea and she cringed at the sight of his beautiful fingers shaking.
"I assumed you wouldn't, I apologize for prying-"
"Why do you think I have died?"
"Well, how else does one become an angel?" His eyes softened at her look of confusion. The white surface of the mask flickered in the warm candlelight and his eyes burned behind the porcelain as he took in her concerned face. The pause between them was long and drawn out as she studied the mask upon his face; why must he hide from her if not that he was too pure for her to look upon in full?
"I became an angel by choice, Christine." It was obvious he wished to close the discussion, but she could not help but scoot forward on her chair in honest interest.
"How wonderful! May I become an angel, then? I do wish it, very much." Then, she thought, she could spend all of her time with her Erik; as angels must spend all of their time together, of course.
"You are already an angel." The words had slipped past his lips before he registered his own thoughts, her head tilted to the side at his comment. Eyebrows furrowed together on her perfect brow, green eyes inquisitive as her curls hung daringly close to her forgotten tea cup.
"I am?" She could not control her parted lips as Erik leaned forward, oh how she wanted so badly to know his touch. Guilt came for these thoughts of course, it was a sin not only against God but against the memory of Raoul, as well. But Christine could not help it, and as Erik grew closer to her, a quaking hand brushing her shining curls away from her tea, she wished to press her lips all across his face.
"You are anything that pleases you, Christine. If you wish to be an angel, you are an angel." Disappointment came sooner than she had hoped it would, of course Erik was speaking philosophically—she should have expected this, it was a common occurrence with him. As he stood to move, she grabbed his hand to hold him still and was shocked at its warmth.
"Erik, when did you become an angel?"
"The night I found you."