A/N: Sorry this one's a little late, guys and dolls. I got wrapped up in school work and forgot to post it. Better late than never, right? Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy the final week of this story!
The day of the masquerade came far faster than Christine could believe while Erik greeted its coming with anxious excitement. He wanted everything to be just perfect for his angel, though her presence alone made everything seem that much more wonderful.
They started off the day with a music lesson, which quickly showed that she had very little to improve upon. Her voice had already been sublime, but she just needed to put the proper emphasis into it. Her emotion was carrying better and her piercing gazes at Erik made him shiver. It was not out of fear by any means, simply that he felt their connection growing stronger with each note.
Eventually she slipped onto the bench beside him, once more leaning on his shoulder lightly as she watched his fingers move in their rhythmic dance.
'Would you teach me how to play?' She asked out of nowhere. He stopped to look down at her in surprise.
'You wish to play the organ?' He asked, shocked by this sudden request. She nodded against him. 'Very well.' He assented, knowing he could deny her nothing today.
Having her mimic his hand placement one octave up, she pressed down with him. She jumped back a bit in her seat beside him, making a hearty laugh bubble up from his throat.
'It takes conviction to play.' He told her.
'Apparently.' She said in a still startled voice.
Chuckling a bit, he placed her hands back on the keys, watching her expression remain miraculously the same as he touched her. He could not get over how soft her skin was on his, or how bolts of electricity seemed to course through the contact.
Trying again, he let her play about a bit. He matched her notes and even played off them to create small harmonies. She smiled up at him with each of these, making his heart soar. She started to lean into him a bit as she brought her hands to the other end of the scale, forcing him to let her come closer. He felt his breath reflect off the skin of her ear and felt her hair tickling his chin a bit.
He closed his eyes to this and bit his tongue as she giggled in her happy game. She sounded like a carefree child and he savoured every sensation.
Coming back to her original position, she noted his stiff stance and tense muscles.
'Are you well, Erik?' She asked, bringing him back to this world.
'Quite, thank you.' He assured, looking down and into her rich blue eyes. He felt like he could dive into them as though they were pools. He had begun to get lost when her hand found his cheek.
Bolting up from the bench, his hands resolutely clasped behind his back, he tried to think of something else to do.
'Care for a game of chess before we go above?' He asked, fidgeting nervously.
'If you would like.' She replied openly, noting his discomfort.
He sat down and kept his eyes determinedly on the board as he set up the pieces. He saw her peripherally take a seat across from him, tucking her legs up underneath her and leaning on the armrest to look at him like a cat willing their human to scratch them behind the ears.
'Your move.' He told her, leaning back to let the battle of wits begin.
They went back and forth, evenly matched. He watched her, trying to determine what she had planned, but her stare remained the same as it had been when she started. She cocked her head slightly as he realised he had been caught looking too long. He guiltily snapped his attention back to the board.
'Erik,' she asked more than said.
'Hmm?' He resisted the urge to look up.
'You have been acting strangely all day. And for the past few days, if I am being honest. Is something wrong?'
Erik tried to find a way to not show his nervousness over this. 'Strange how?' He dodged momentarily.
'Well, you do not seem to mind my touching you, but you will not let me too near. Have I done something to upset you?'
'No.' He answered rapidly. 'No, you could never truly upset me. I have just had things on my mind.' He somewhat lied.
'Like what?'
He let the silence hang for a moment. He wondered if perhaps he could just fade away without answering, but her persistent gaze held him in place. 'Just…dealings with the Opera, and my music.' He lied. In truth, the Opera could have burned for all he cared, and not a single note had offered itself to his masterpiece in some time now. He had been too focused on Christine and making sure he got the most out his time left with her. Perhaps she would not run or hide from him when he told her, but that was a thin strand of hope he did not wish to have broken just yet.
'Oh,' she said. She let him make his next move before reaching a decision. There was something she needed to know. She had guessed it for some time and had hinted at it a few days previous, but she needed it confirmed.
Rising from her seat, she moved her remaining piece directly in the line of fire for his.
'Christine, if you do that, I will win.' He told her, watching her move to stand beside the board.
'I know. I want you to.' She said indifferently. He frowned at her, but did as she said.
'Checkmate.' He looked back up at her to find his breath coming shorter. He leaned back to gain more space between them, but quickly found that to be a mistake as she closed the distance by coming to sit in his lap.
'C-Christine,' he found his brain flustered. 'What are you…?' He could not finish his question as she came and snuggled deep into his arms. He embraced her shyly as she continued to find comfort in his closeness. She waited for him to catch his breath, rubbing his chest through his white dress shirt in hopes of calming him. This only brought one of his hands up to stop her.
'Why are you doing this?' He asked after a few agonising moments of not knowing how to breathe or regulate his heartbeat.
'Do you dislike this?' She asked, looking up at him with innocently round eyes.
'I did not say that.' He countered, almost glaring at her suggestion.
'Have you found someone else, or something else you like better?' She tried, feeling a pit opening up within her.
'What? No. There this nothing on this earth I care more about than you, my dear. Now, why are you acting this way?' He pressed, leaning back more to find her eyes which she had turned into him at her last words.
'You have been staying so distant, I worried I had done something to upset you.' She admitted.
'Christine, I-' He stopped, realising that though he had been hungry for her company, he had scorned her contact. He had been wanting to stay distant so that he could keep some form of control. He was also terrified that one more touch before she most likely left him forever would cause him to break. He would become too hungry for her presence and potentially try to force her to stay. He would not allow that. He knew what it meant to be confined against one's will, and he would never subject his Christine to that.
'Oh, my dearest angel.' He finally gave in, holding her to him with protective arms. He rested his masked cheek against her hair and simply held her. 'Forgive me, my angel. Please, forgive me. I have been selfish and unfair to you.'
'Do not leave me.' She begged, mimicking so many of his pleas.
'How could I ever leave? I am stuck with you, remember?' He asked jokingly, but she only curled in tighter.
'Oh, no, my dear, no. Do not hide. There is nothing to worry about. I would never mean to push you away.' He held her just a fraction tighter. He felt her warmth pool inside him and grow stronger with each passing moment.
'I'm scared.' She finally admitted.
'Of what?' He poked his head round to find her eyes.
'So many things. I am afraid to leave you, but I worry I am ruining you by staying.'
'My dear,' he said softly, hiding his laugh. 'There is nothing for you to ruin that has not already been tainted in me.' He assured.
'Not everything.' She looked at him with knowing concern.
'Even if there is,' he solemnly brushed some of her curls from her face. 'It will be my fault and mine alone.'
After a time, she let her face rest more openly upon him as he continued to hold her. She hated how childish she was being, but she needed the security of his arms. Everything felt right when she was close to him. Though it was her job to look after him, it was only when his arms were protectively around her that she felt safe.
'Shall we prepare for the ball?' He asked, not truly wishing to let her go.
Nodding, she rose from him and watched as he waited for his legs to wake up. She muttered an apology for sitting there so long, but one look from him silenced her on the subject. She knew then that there was nothing he enjoyed more than having her so close, despite how harshly it thrilled him.
'I believe, my dear Christine, that you shall find your costume awaiting you in the bedroom.' He said, pointing to the door of the Louis-Phillippe room. He nodded her on encouragingly, barely restraining his obvious excitement.
When the door closed, he listened just long enough to hear her gasp, before going about getting himself ready.
He tried not to take too much time in his preparation, eager to see Christine in the costume he had picked out for her. He had tried to hide it subtly when they had gone up to visit and find her a new dress. He had spent a few sleepless nights since altering and making it perfect for her. Judging by her earlier gasp, she liked it well enough.
Exiting his bedroom, he waited a few moments before knocking on her door.
'Christine, do you like it?' He asked through the wood.
Silence.
'Christine?' He heard no reply. 'Christine, are you all right?' He asked, cautiously opening the door.
He found her standing with her back to him. She did not turn when he entered and he realised she was standing before the floor-length mirror he generally had hidden beneath a heavy cloth.
Coming to her side, he looked at her reflection. She was a pure vision. The dress was the deepest, richest blue possible, setting off her eyes spectacularly as the skirt was dotted with several hundred crystals all glittering like stars. The modestly dipping collar of the bodice was similarly speckled with a cluster of silvery crystals, curving to make a half-moon. Her long curls were somehow manageably swept up and only allowing a single strand of ringlets to slip down and over her shoulder.
He turned his gaze back on her face, which he now realised was frozen in shock with a few tears having rolled down her softly curving cheeks. He frowned, ignoring his own reflection for the time being.
'Christine, what is wrong?' He asked, reaching out to gently brush the middle of her back.
'I-I look…'
'Beautiful. Yes, you do.' He smiled broadly at her.
She shook her head, face crumpling for more tears.
'No, no. Do not start that all over again.' He told her, wrapping his arms about her shoulders. 'Not when you look so lovely.' Though you look just as lovely when crying, he admitted in his mind.
She continued to shake her head, turning back to him. 'My reflection.' She muttered out as her eyes started to water.
'Yes, your-' He stopped, realising her words. He glanced up at the mirror to see her in it, then back at her plaintive stare. 'You have a reflection.' He said as if in a daze. He let out a surprised laugh at this.
'I am sorry.' She said, trying to bury her face in his chest, but he held her back to look at her confusedly.
'Why? What on earth have you to be sorry about?' He asked her with growing worry.
'I wanted to be pretty for you.' She moaned.
Erik continued to look at her perplexedly. 'Christine, I do not…' He shook his head, at a loss.
'I wanted to look special to make you happy.' She tried to explain.
'You do look special. You look beautiful. In fact, you look more than beautiful. You are absolutely gorgeous, Christine. I do not know what I did to deserve such a lovely angel.' He showered her with compliments. He wiped clean her cheeks with his thumbs before turning her round to look again in the mirror. 'Your eyes are the most breath taking shade of blue, you lips like pink flower petals, you nose adorably pert, your chin pointed but soft, your skin flawless, and your hair tantalizingly curly. Christine, it is all I can do to remain beside you for fear of tainting your magnificence with my ungodly form. You are an angel above all angels. Christine, only a fool would not think you beautiful, and you are no fool.' He told her, hiding himself slightly from view of the mirror.
'You really see all of that?' She asked as if trying to see it too. She turned her head in hopes that this great vision he spoke of so ardently was merely shying from her.
'I do.' He confirmed. 'And it would be my greatest honour to ask you to join me at the ball this evening.' He said with an illustrious bow, offering his hand to her.
She giggled slightly at his theatrics. 'A pleasure, Monsieur le Fantôme.' She replied, setting her blue gloved hand in his.
He beamed at her as he straightened, slipping her delicate hand in the crook of his arm with all the ease of a magician.
He escorted them out and across the lake, paddling the boat with regal grace.
'I am curious, though,' she said from her seat behind him. 'What is the famed Opera Ghost going as this evening?' She asked, noting his attire no different than any other day apart from the change to a black shirt and mask.
'Your shadow, Mademoiselle L'Ange. I am to be the shadow that admired the moonlit sky above.' He said in his smoothly resonant tone that sent a shiver up her spine. She was lucky he had his back turned and could not see it, for she felt the distinct heat of a blush accompany it.
They landed at the dock, Erik always there to help her join him. He took her hand once more in his arm as they made their way up and into the Opera. He took them through to Box 5 where they observed the ruckus of one of the Palais Garnier's renowned masquerade balls. People were everywhere, packing every available inch of the floor and all shouting at the tops of their lungs to be heard over the music and other revellers.
Christine watched with Erik as they observed the many insanities of the race called humans. There were people hiding in other boxes doing unspeakable things, some on the floor committing similar acts, and all for the excuse that they had masks to hide themselves. No impropriety could exist when identities are not known by anyone but themselves. Here in this riot, all modesty was lost.
Taking a seat beside him, Christine stole a glance at Erik. He seemed darkly amused by all that was going on, but held any judgement aside.
'Erik,' she said loud enough so that her voice would not be washed away. He looked to her instantly, eyes shining golden. 'Do you wish to join them?' She asked. His expression of disgust made her laugh before explaining. 'I meant walk among them. This is the one night where no one would think twice about your mask.'
He seemed to consider this a moment. 'Only on one condition.' She cocked her head to the side. 'That you will remain unmasked and beside me. I want to be myself if I am to do this. And you as you always are, by my side is the only way I might achieve it.'
She smiled at him and nodded. 'I will always be by your side.' She promised. He had provided no mask for her, so the main part of the condition remained moot. She knew what he meant, however. He did not wish for her to pretend to be anyone but her. Not that she ever would.
Exiting the Box, Erik carefully locked the door behind them. He did not wish for his private seats to be defiled by the revellers about. They pushed their way through the crowds to find themselves at the grand staircase, standing at the top of the stairs and looking out over the sea of colourfully dressed party-goers. There were white and black dominoes, animals of different sizes and breeds, more than one king and court, and many more of undiscernible theme. One thing was certain, however, none looked as beautiful to Erik's eye as the angel of night beside him.
They beheld the insane joyousness below for a moment or two before making their way off to the Grand Foyer to see how it glittered and shone in the light of its many chandeliers. It was part way to this room that a mass of people pushed Christine backwards and Erik forwards, breaking their hold upon each other. Calling out to him seemed useless as he knew she was missing and the noise level was too great for much to reach anyone. She decided to hold her ground as best she could and wait for him to ride a swell of humans back to her. That was when an eerily familiar voice sounded behind her.
'Christine?'
She whipped round as the voice had been at her ear. It was the only way it could have been heard, she realised, but it was beyond frightening to not recognise the man who stood before her. He was gazing at her as though she were part of a dream.
'I am sorry, but who are you?' She asked, instinctively edging away a bit.
'Christine, is it really you?'
'Do I know you, Monsieur?' She looked him up and down a moment. He had a strong jaw and soft, pale blue eyes. He looked to be in his earlier forties but his hair was still a dusty blonde and his face had minimal lines, though he did seemed to have suffered some intense grief once.
'Christine, it is me, Raoul!' He assured her, stepping closer and looking desperately at her for any sign of recognition.
'Raoul?' She asked, squinting at him as something teased the back of her mind.
He seemed to scan the crowd a moment before taking her arm and guiding her over to a quieter nook. She was too confused to think much on it until she found her eyes being met with his.
'Christine, I cannot believe it is actually you. You do not look a day over twenty. How are you alive? I buried you.' He bemoaned, almost close to tears, but also growing frightened.
'Raoul,' she said it slowly, feeling the familiarity toying at her.
'You do not remember, do you?' He suggested. She shook her head in response. 'Christine, I was your fiancée twenty years ago. I thought you dead.'
Something in her clicked at this. She remembered now. She remembered it all. He had proposed in the park and they were to be married, but a few weeks before the wedding there was an accident.
'Raoul, oh, Raoul, forgive me for not recognising you! It has just been so long!' She practically wept.
'Christine,' he cooed her name, pulling her into his arms.
From across the sea of people, Erik looked over the multitude of heads to find his angel. At last he happened to glance over to the side of the room in a small corner to see her…talking to a man. His heart leapt to his throat and he took quick yet unsure steps towards her until she saw her embrace the stranger who was now holding her like a long-lost prize. He heard her speak a name, and his stomach dropped. His feet froze in place as his mind spun in several directions at once. Then, curse of all curses, he saw her kiss this handsome man on the lips. Rather, he had pulled her into it, but she was not exactly protesting. Staggering over to a wall for support, he felt the room tilt and go red.
His blood boiled as he thought of that fop kissing his angel! He was about to rush over to her when he heard her next words somehow drift over the cacophony of the crowd. It was as if his ears could only hear her.
'Raoul, I have missed you, but-'
'I have missed you, my sweet Christine. Come, let us leave here. We have much to talk about and catch up on.' He started to pull her away and Erik closed his eyes. If there was a distance bond between them anymore, this would certainly put it to an end. She would leave here with that handsome man and never give a second thought to her poor, unhappy Erik. It would all be over and he would die knowing that at least for a while, he had been able to love her. No, he would always love her, but he could not continue on without her. He turned away, not being able to take any more of the happily reunited couple any longer.
'Raoul, I can't.' She pulled back on his insisting hold.
'But Christine-'
'No, Raoul. Our time came and went. Please forgive me, but you must learn to accept it; to move on. I am an angel now and must look after…someone else. Please try to understand. I know it does not make sense, but know that I did truly love you all those years ago.' She said, breaking free from his grasp and disappearing into the crowd. She could still hear his distraught cries as she tried to keep her vision cleared to find her shadow; her Phantom.
Erik felt something brush his arm, but only moved the limb sharply away to keep it from being caught on some horrid masquerade partier. When he felt it again, he rounded sharply on the being, raining fire in his eyes down upon them and looming over like a great black god of darkness. That is, until he saw the cobalt eyes that were brimming with unshed tears. It felt like someone had taken all wind from him as he saw her shrink slightly from his gaze.
'Take me home, Erik. Please. I want to go home.' She barley murmured it, but he heard it as if she were shouting.
He nodded dumbly and felt her arm loop in his, though he did not give the contact much thought as they made their way through the crowd.
Christine tried to hide her tearstained face in his arm as she clung to his hand like a lifeline, but he only took it from her to open the door to Box 5. Once in, she dared a glance at his face but it was even more unreadable than normal with the mask. His eyes did not stray from their task of leading her down below through the cellars and coldly helping her into the boat. He barely assisted her in getting out which frightened her to no end.
'Erik,' she said in a small voice as they entered the house. 'Erik, are you angry with me?' She asked, but he did not answer. He went straight to his room and did not even bid her goodnight before securely closing the door.
Going to her own room, she undressed and slipped into the pyjamas he had decided it be best she keep. Coming back out into the drawing room, she found it to be empty. She waited upon the sofa, thinking perhaps he was just taking his time getting out of his costume –though truly it was not all that different from his regular clothes.
After a few hours, she resigned herself to her room and lay upon the soft mattress, gazing up at the ceiling and finding her discovery tonight swirling insistently in her mind.
She had remembered so much. Her father's name was Charles, he had been a travelling violinist, and she had been born in Sweden. She had met Raoul Vicomte de Chagny as a child when he had run into the sea to fetch her red scarf that the wind had so cruelly blown from her. They were apart for many years until they happened to meet again when she moved to Paris after her father had died. Raoul had quickly charmed her and they were soon engaged, though his family made some protest as to her social standings. They were going to be married until one day they were out walking and she saw a man was about to be hit by a carriage. She had run out to help him, pushing him out of the way, but she did not remember what happened then. She suppose she was hit instead and died.
These memories hurt to think about now, but she knew she must remember them. They were hers, after all. They reminded her of who she had been before…
Sitting up in bed, she heard a strain of music coming from the drawing room. Dressing in her powder pink dress, she cautiously ventured out to find Erik with his violin perched reverently beneath his chin and his back decidedly to her. She realised now that it was morning, the whole night having been consumed in her thoughts. She listened to his music and felt a warmth grow in her, despite his cold demeanour. She had always adored it when he played this particular instrument, but now she fully understood why.
'You play like Papa did.' She whispered, making him stop harshly. He lowered the bow and violin, but refused to face her.
'I remember,' she said, stepping out a little farther into the room. 'He would play for hours just for me. He would tell me stories and fill my head with little poems and songs. I would sit with him every evening to hear his music.' She explained, eyes glossing somewhat at the memories. 'You would have liked him. And he you.' She added, flicking her eyes up to his tensed back.
'Erik, please talk to me.' She begged him, reaching up to run her hand down his taught shoulder blade. He stepped out of her reach and over to the organ. She waited as he gently set down his violin and took up the ivory keys in slow, melodious woe. He played with heartbreak and incomparable sorrow.
Coming over to stand behind him, she let the music wash over her. It was sad and lonely and oh so broken. She felt the tears threaten to start all over again but willed them back. She did not wish to cry this away again.
'Stop.' He ignored her and continued. 'Please, stop.' She begged a little harder. 'Erik, stop, please. I cannot take much more of this.' She reached out and grabbed his hands, holding them above the keys.
'Neither can I.' He looked at her with coldly barren eyes. He ripped his fingers free from her hands and rose from the bench to walk off towards the kitchen.
'Erik,' she chased after him, snagging a hand again. 'Why are you acting this way?' She begged of him. He refused to turn around.
'Why do you not ask you precious Vicomte? I am sure he would never be so cold and dull.' His voice did not sound like his own. It was harsh and mechanical, cutting away his silky purr.
'What? Erik, what are you talking about? What is going on?'
He rounded on her then, full height and intimidation restored as he burned her much like he had the previous night.
'Is it so hard to guess, my dear?' He spat the name he had often used so caringly. 'I saw you and your lover last night. I saw your embrace and your…' He felt once more like all of the air had been leeched out of him. 'Kiss.' He finally finished, fighting to keep his head held high.
These words hit her hard, bringing her to shake her head.
'And now you remember your past. Now you know what I so selfishly kept hidden from you for so long. Now…you will leave the monster.' He turned away, not being able to even consider looking at her.
'Erik, you are not a monster! There is nothing you could have kept hidden from me.' She insisted.
'I was there.' He said almost too quietly for her to hear.
'You were where?'
'I was there the day you died.' He admitted, feeling the pain welling up in him. He would surely break soon. 'I saw your lifeless body bleeding out onto the street and I…I ran. I could not…Oh, Christine, you were so beautiful then, just as you are now. Your hair fanning out around your head. Your impossibly blue eyes staring at nothing. I knew you were dead the moment I turned round, but if it had not been for your fiancée racing over I would have stayed. I would have held you, and though I did not know you, I would have wept over you.' His tears made soft spats on the rug covered floor.
'How were you there?' She asked, her mouth almost unbearably dry.
'Because I was the man who cost you your life. You pushed me out of the way. Your selfless act cost you your life and future. I lived while you died. That is why Heaven bound you to me. This is proof of God's hatred of me. He wanted me to suffer knowing I would be looked after by the girl who foolishly ended her life to save mine.' His shoulders hunched and his legs wondered how they were still standing.
Christine backed away, her hand which had floated in a motion to comfort him, paused by his words, now came to her mouth to hold in the hysteric gasps.
'I had Nadir find out who you were. I remembered the instant I saw the obituary report. I could not tell you. I could not lose you. I…' He turned to see her eyes glossed over with freely running tears as she slowly shook her head. This made his knees give out as he crumpled to the floor. He clutched the hem of her dress and held it to his eyes as he wept.
'Forgive me, Christine!' He cried, enough to make any heart crack from the pain in his voice. 'Forgive your Erik for hurting you! He never meant to, he swears. He-he loves you. I love you, Christine!' He sobbed her name, kneeling before her as she watched with abject horror as he unhinged his already limited control over his sanity. Tears now streamed down her face as she observed his complete self-destruction.
Unthinkingly, she started to back away, no longer recognising the pool of tears that was the man before her. He watched with somehow growing despair as her dress slipped from his skeletal fingers. Then he heard the most awful sound he could imagine. A distinctive thudding clink echoed through him as he saw a small gold band bounce along the floor to him. He had nothing left now. All was gone and destroyed because of his own foolishness and selfish actions. He had lost his angel. There would be no requiem for him, no completion of his magnum opus. Nothing. He would slip quietly away, he vowed. She would be free and he would cease to be. All would be settled and right with the world without him there to mar its surface with his pestilent existence. Perhaps now God would be kind and allow Christine some peace to join her father in Heaven.
