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The next morning Christine woke up, and realized. There was no angel to look forward to today. She sighed and dressed, remembering the rehearsal for his play.
She washed up quickly and glanced at her mirror, expecting to see anything-even Erik himself standing there. But all that was there was another Christine staring back at her. Her pale skin looked even paler from her sadness, and her eyes were dim. Her hair was in tendrils around her face, and she didn't even care what she looked like.
Christine closed her eyes and leaned against the door. Did she really make the right decision when she agreed to be in his play? He, the one who turned away from her. She knew that he was probably suffering and was as miserable as her. But she wasn't going to visit him, for that wasn't what he wanted. She would have to wait for him to come to her.
Christine went to the rehearsal, and found everyone looking at their costumes and chatting. She frowned, not remembering when she was supposed to have gotten her costume.
"Oh, there you are Christine. Here is your costume; go try it on. Although I'm sure it's the right size. He made it for you", Madame Giry approached her, looking at Christine closely.
Christine was taken aback by this fact, but then realized that, of course, he would make the costumes himself. He was so meticulous when it came to his own works of art. But she tried to clear her mind: she didn't want to think about him.
"All... all right, Madame Giry. I'll try it on now, and thank you", Christine said, and then left in a hurry to go back to her room.
She got there and closed the door, relieved for some more time alone. She spread the gossamer piece of clothing out on her bed and gasped in shock.
How dare he make her wear something like this?
There was a blouse made out of the thinnest fabric she had ever seen, and it also came with a deep brown corset to be worn over it. The sleeves were pretty and lacey, but the gown was the most seductive thing Christine had ever seen. The skirt was clearly see through with light behind it, and it appeared to be made also out of light fabric.
She gulped and tried it on, vowing not to let anyone see her in it until it was absolutely necessary. She looked in the mirror. At only seventeen years of age, it made her look like an older, mature woman. The straps of the costume, she noticed, kept falling down, revealing her porcelain pale and thin shoulders. The straight neckline scooped down; the farthest neckline she had ever worn. The tiniest group of roses clustered at the tip of the top of the corset.
"You look quite nice, my dear", came a frighteningly familiar voice.
But how could it be? Unless he had changed his mind...
"Yes? It's you, isn't it", she said hopefully.
"Why yes, my dear. You have gotten quite used to the sound of my voice, haven't you", he said, still invisible.
"Of course, my Angel. But what are you doing here? I thought that..." she trailed off, almost as if she was scared to remind him.
"I know. That is... still required of you. But I come here to tell you one thing, and I'll get right to it. I know I have also been your teacher, despite, err, other things. But there will be no more voice lessons, Christine. You can manage perfectly well, and you have already learned a good amount from me", he finished.
Christine was astonished. "But...your play. I can still learn, Angel", she begged him.
"Don't call me Angel! After what has happened, I hardly think it appropriate to call me Angel. Yes you can still learn, but you don't have to continue with me", he said. He could not show his face, for there were silent tears dripping down his face. His voice didn't shake, as he had come quite good at controlling the emotions in his voice.
"But, you're the only teacher I have ever known. You created me!" she pleaded, and felt the straps of her dress fall once more. She let them be. She needed to use all her womanly powers possible to gain him back.
He sighed. "Christine, no. I cannot teach you after... what we've been through", he confessed.
"But, then, it won't have to be for us. It'll be less often, and only for the performance you have written. Please, I still need..." she stopped, realizing that she had said too much.
"That you still need my love? You still need to see me? That may be so, but I cannot have you putting me through even more torture than I have endured. If you ask so much of me though... maybe I will make an offer", he said. In his heart, he wanted to so badly be able to see her, even if only for lessons, everyday.
"Please, Angel... sorry, Erik", she said. He stiffened as he heard her obey his orders, and stiffened even more when he heard how coldly she said his name.
"Once a week. No more, no less. Take it, or leave it. It's your choice", he told her.
Luckily this was an easy choice. "Of course. When will we begin?" she asked him innocently.
He could see her, but she still couldn't see him. Her pale shoulders gleamed in the candlelight, and the dress her made for her drooped dangerously low around her cleavage area. "Tonight, Christine", he said, and left, not being able to take in any more of the Angel he could no longer have.
"Thank you, then", she said, expecting a reply, but she could feel that he had left. She sighed and changed. Why did things have to be this way? Could she really ever grow out of the hurt she felt about losing him?