Hello there,

Unfortunately I've been out of writing commission... in one word: sick. Anyway, the letters below are excerpts/ full letters are written by Ludwig van Beethoven, Katherine of Aragon and John Keats. Hope you all enjoy the following chapter... only a bit of Raoul fop-iness!

Ever yours,

Soprano in Shadow


Grinning broadly, Christine leaped toward the blonde male in excitement who, in his astonishment, barely caught the soprano as they both tumbled to the hallway floor. Erik watched on—partly intrigued, yet mainly disgusted—as the soprano somehow ended up straddling… the fop.

"I can't believe you're here! Antoinette wouldn't let me come see you, wherever you were in Europe, and she said you weren't allowed to come here, but…"

Laughing, Raoul interrupted Christine's lively chatter, as he sat up, hugging the young woman before leaning back on his arms for support. "Antoinette gave me time off before my next assignment. It was Meg who gave me the coordinates of your location. You'll have to thank her."

"Oh, I will! We'll have to visit all of the usual places, and we'll stay up late, and…"

They already had a set of 'usual places'? Glowering, Erik chose to ignore Christine's growing list of activities, as he strode over to the tangled up couple. Tapping his foot impatiently, Erik watched as both faces turned up to see his own forgotten one—and seeing an angry, masked Erik was always quite the frightening sight to behold. Well, at least that's what Erik told himself.

Christine just gave the Angel of Death a bright smile.

"Oh, Erik! Sorry, let me introduce the two of you. Raoul this is—"

"—Erik. Yes, we have worked together before… darling," Raoul said, interrupting Christine rather smoothly. Ignoring the blonde man's word of endearment, Erik grinned smugly for a moment, expecting Christine to become annoyed at being interrupted twice in one conversation.

However Christine had other ideas, bestowing a quick kiss on Raoul's cheek. "I'm surprised—how were you able to manage Mr. Erik Destler's temper?"

Raoul smirked at Erik, with a look that sent an uncomfortable chill down the compos0er's spine, before winking at Christine, saying, "Quite properly, ma petite biche, I assure you."

A low growl came from Erik's direction as a dark sneer grew behind his mask. "What did you just call her?" the eccentric composer asked in a low voice. Christine's eyes grew wide at the ice laced through his words—although their first encounter had begun coldly, she had never heard Erik speak so venomously.

Grinning, Raoul threw one arm around Christine as he jumped off of the floor with the other, giving her a quick spin as they rose. Startled, Christine yelped, tightening the grip of her legs around Raoul's waist for a moment, before giggling and letting herself down off Raoul. Wrapping an arm around her waist possessively, Raoul smirked at the man before him who was trembling in rage—he dared to handle Christine so familiarly?

"Ma petite biche," Raoul repeated again, drawing out each syllable. "It's French for 'my little doe'. Because of her eyes?"

Erik's face burned in humiliation, as he realized that he was acting too protective over Christine—what was he to the soprano anyway, besides her second?

Christine pulled away slowly from Raoul's grasp and looked between the both of them, as if trying to find a common ground. "Boys, boys, stop bickering. Can we all just go back inside and sort it out over a glass of wine? I'm so frazzled after today."

Nodding, Erik and Raoul both moved forward hoping to escort the brunette inside, only for Christine to enter the apartment without either of them as an escort.

Looking at each other for a moment, Erik paused before offering the blonde the chance to enter the apartment first, which Raoul eagerly took, before walking in behind him and locking the door.

Christine smiled as she flopped onto her bed happily, her mind in a daze. Who would have thought that they could have packed in so many activities in just two days? Raoul had always been her best friend, through thick and thin, and was also the one who had pulled her out of her darker days following her father's death. Hugging a pillow close to her chest, Christine closed her eyes, running the past couple days through her mind. Ever since Raoul had arrived, he had been determined in getting her out of this new funk she had been in: dragging her along sightseeing, finding new recipes on Epicurious... Everything had been happening so fast - too fast almost. As though Raoul was too worried to let her feet get pulled down by reality. But they did need to talk. Christine had so much to tell Raoul, she just needed to wait for the right moment. Then she could tell Raoul all about the murdered man in the opera box, the recurring dreams that she had been having, Erik...

Christine sat up, frowning at her last thought. Erik. Where had he been lately? Now that she thought about it, Christine hadn't seen him since he had completely opened up to her and Raoul had arrived. Perhaps Erik just didn't like how... open Raoul was about their closeness? Either way, he was avoiding her again, and it had to stop.

Peeking into the living area, Christine found Raoul napping on the sofa. Feeling a bit guilty about what she was about to do, Christine silently sneaked out of the apartment, closing the door behind her. She had a feeling she knew where Erik was.

...

Erik could tell already that having a…third wheel around was going to be an interesting adventure. It had only been two days, but already, Erik was quite sure that Christine and Raoul were secret lovers—with the way their heads were always together, talking quietly, turning to look at the composer. Which is why he had left.

Furrowing his brow in absolute concentration, Erik closed his eyes as he played back the composition he had been working on for the past two days. Although it was more like a set of composition - Erik had become inspired: finding love letters between historically famous couples and setting them to his own compositions. He was currently working on one with the text written by Ludwig van Beethoven, and he was inspired. Erik knew from past experiences with Christine that she wouldn't be impressed if he brooded and raged about, and so instead he was going to share his feelings the best way he could: through music.

The piano accompaniment held soft crooning chords that almost cradled the text when it was sung.

Ever thine, ever mine—

ever ours!

Even when I am in bed

my thoughts rush to you, my eternally beloved,

now and then joyfully, then again sadly

waiting to know whether Fate will hear our prayer—

To face life I must live altogether with you or never see you.

No other woman can ever possess my heart—never—

Never! Oh God!

Why must one be separated from her who is so dear?

Your love has made me both the happiest

and the unhappiest of mortals—

At my age I now need stability and regularity in my life—

can this coexist with our relationship?

Be calm; for only by

calmly considering our lives,

can we achieve our purpose to live together?

Be calm! Love me!

Today! Yesterday—

What tearful longing for you—

For you—you, my life, my all—

All good wishes to you—

Oh, do continue to love me—

Never misjudge your lover's most faithful heart.

Ever thine, ever mine—

Ever ours.

Smiling, in triumph Erik sat back from the piano, as he held the ending notes in his mind, only to scowl at the sound of applause. Turning to give a sharp demand to leave, Erik saw that it was none other than Christine.

Giving a little mock bow from the piano bench, Erik bestowed upon the brunette a soft smile.

"That was... I'm lost for words yet again, Monsieur Destler," she said playfully, wiping away a small amount of tears that had collected on her face. "How do you always do this?"

Erik beamed at the compliment, her light voice music for his ears alone. "I only compose what I feel, Christine. And this is what I've felt since..." He trailed off, entirely unsure how to finish his sentence.

Realizing that she was without her blonde companion, Erik's mood shifted turning sour at the thought of him. "Where's your lover? Got tired of him already?" Erik snapped suddenly, causing Christine to flinch back. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. "Forgive me, I've kept myself locked up in this building for the past couple days- I'm rather grouchy from the lack of food."

Nodding in response, Christine smiled in understanding, before walking over to the piano. Composition sheets filled with the composer's handwriting littered the top of the grand piano, and Christine picked up the top sheet in order to inspect the music. She frowned at the title.

"Katherine of Aragon?" Christine asked slightly puzzled.

Erik nodded before responding with, "King Henry VIII's wife. The text was pulled from a letter she wrote to him after he had married another in secret before her death." He hesitated for a moment. "Would you mind singing it? I had, of course, written it with your voice... your voice type in mind, and I did want to check a couple of these chords."

Smiling at Erik's request, Christine nodded before quickly running through a few humming exercises in order to get her vocal cords warmed up, while moving behind the piano bench where Erik was seated, so that both of them could read the music together from the piano's stand.

Looking back as she warmed up, Erik waited for her to give another nod, before turning back around and playing the opening measures of music. Almost at once, Christine's voice began to intermingle with the mournful accompaniment he played, as she sang.

My most dear lord, king and husband,
The hour of my death now drawing on,

the tender love I owe you forceth me,

my case being such, to commend myself to you,

and to put you in remembrance

with a few words of the health

and safeguard of your soul,

which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters,

and before the care and pampering of your body,

for the which you have cast me into many calamities

and yourself into many troubles.

For my part, I pardon you everything,

and I wish to devoutly pray God that

He will pardon you also.

For the rest, I commend unto you our daughter Mary,

beseeching you to be a good father unto her,

as I have heretofore desired.

I entreat you also, on behalf of my maids,

to give them marriage portions, which is not much,

they being but three.

For all my other servants I solicit the wages due them,

and a year more, lest they be unprovided for.

Lastly, I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things.
Katharine the Queen.

Wiping off the tears that had begun to once more collect, Christine startled the still sitting Erik by flinging her arms around his neck, hugging him from behind.

"Thank you for allowing me to sing that... It was... b- beautiful." Closing his eyes at her touch, Erik knew he would be cherishing this moment for as long as he lived.

Releasing Erik from her grasp, Christine backed away before standing by the curve of try the piano once more, facing him. "And now, because I sang for you, you must sing one for me." Looking through the numerous sheets of compositions, Christine studied two of them before handing her selection over to Erik.

Reading the title of the art song, Erik looked up at a beaming Christine, bemused.

"Why, may I ask, this particular piece one over the others?"

Christine grinned. "Because Keats holds quite an amount of sentiment in my heart." Erik looked at the brunette for a moment before placing the music on the stand before him and sitting back down on the piano bench. Playing the first note of the written baritone's passage, Erik breathed in deeply before letting out the solemn, yet comical, letter from John Keats.

Sweetest Fanny,

You fear, sometimes, I do not

Love you so much as you wish?

My dear Girl, I love you ever and ever

And without reserve.

The more I have known you, the more I have lov'd.

I have vex'd you too much.

But for Love! Can I help it?

The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest;

The last smile the brightest;

The last movement the gracefullnest.

Even if you did not love me,

I could not help an entire devotion to you:

how much more deeply then must I feel for you

knowing you love me.

When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window:

you always concentrate my whole senses.

The anxiety shown about our Love in your last note

is an immense pleasure to me; however

you must not suffer such speculations to molest you any more:

nor will I any more believe you can have the least pique against me.

Brown is gone out - but here is Mrs Wylie –

when she is gone I shall be awake for you.

Remembrances to your Mother.
Your affectionate,

John Keats

Erik watched Christine as the piece ended, fascinated with the entranced expression held on her face. How could someone so beautiful understand this sort of pain? The masked composer watched as the soprano slowly walked back towards him, a new expression in her eyes. Humming the haunting melody of what he had just previously sung, she stretched her arms out, beckoning for him to hold her hands.

Wordlessly, Erik's hands met Christine's and, with a little tug from Christine, he stood up, understanding her silent call. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Christine laid the side of her head against his chest, never stopping the melody coming from her lips. Slowly she began to sway to her humming, as Erik stood there feeling almost dumbfounded. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

Feeling bold, Erik inhaled for a moment, before encircling the back of her waist with his own arms, and swaying along with the brunette. Swallowing a sigh of contentment, Erik fought to refrain from laying his own head on top of Christine.

He lost.

Instinct took over as he began to hum as well, every once in a while breathing in the scent of Christine. He felt elated. She hadn't stopped him, pulled away or screamed. Even though she now knew everything about him: being lost, arrogant and broken. All of these phases of him, Erik… she accepted. She had seen his face, and had even called him attractive. The only question was: what should he do now?

"You're thinking too much, Erik." Christine's voice was soft yet firm, almost as if saying it as an afterthought. Erik looked down, alarmed, only to see the woman's face smiling back up at him. Returning to her humming, Christine seemed to stare at him for a moment, before quickly slipping off the composer's white mask and placing it on top of the black grand piano. Immediately, one of Erik's hands left the petite brunette's waist in order to instinctively hide the grotesque sight of his face… only for Christine's hand to be blocking him, as it already lay on his deformed cheek, almost stroking the bared muscle and ruined flesh.

"No. Don't ruin this. Please." Erik paused for a moment before settling his hand back on her waist.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "Are… You're sure? I can't feel as though this is appropriate with the current status of our…relationship."

Christine let out a soft laugh, her hazel eyes twinkling in amusement. "What relationship? We have no relationship. The only thing we're doing at the moment is working together, and that's because every time I try to start something, you run away." Erik made a movement to move away from their close contact, only to feel Christine resisting him. "Don't you darerun away now," Christine said in a low hiss. "Don't you dare try and keep the both of us in this ever constant dance of flirtations. I'm sick of it, Erik."

Erik stilled at her words. What was she saying?Erik had been growing steadily uncomfortable with the way this conversation was growing, although he knew what she was talking about. He would be hot and passionate one moment, and distant the next—he didn't blame the poor girl for finally confronting him.

"Christine, we can't. I've told you about my past, about Luciana. You've seen my mask, and we work reasonably well together. What more could you want from me? We…" he trailed off before croaking out the rest of his thoughts. "I may want you, to be withyou, every day. But we can't."

He pushed himself away from her, away from his dreams and his hopes of one day being in a relationship. As much as he wanted to fall into this dream, he knew that reality would only follow as quickly: she would grow tired of seeing his ugliness every day, and she would find another (handsome) man instead. And he would most likely be ripped apart if she ever left him. So he would have to deny himself the hope now. He would have to hurt her, but it had to be done.

"What you want, Christine, I can't give you. Ever. I'm not the relationship sort of man. I may have loved Luciana, and yes, I may have planned on proposing, but I'll never make that mistake again. And I would never dare to think of doing anything close to that with you." He kept his expression blank, and his eyes cold. The only thing that could give him away now was the rapid beating of his heart.

Christine's face paled as his words began to sink in. Had her emotions been played with again?Erik watched her reaction, expecting the brunette to act out impulsively in anger.

He didn't expect to see tears beginning to well up. Nor did he expect Christine to push him up against the piano, and kiss him.

Almost at once, Erik was transported to that first kiss they shared together on stage: it was long and steamy with hinted tones of desperation.

Closing his eyes in enjoyment, Erik began to lose himself into the kiss, before pushing her away. He would not crumble—if he didn't do this now, he would get hurt later on. This was for his future, for their separatefutures.

"No!" he barked out the singular syllable, and Christine flinched, stumbling back from the force of his push, her hand brushing against her tingling lips and her body shaking with confusion.

"You're lying, Erik Destler. Why are you lying to me? Why are you doing this? Erik? Erik!" Christine's voice rose with each word in the heat of her confusion, and Erik turned, leaving the room and the woman he loved most.

"Dammit—you can't just kiss a girl like that and walk away, Erik Destler!"