Chapter Twelve - Masked Misery
The day of the Masque Ball came suddenly, the Palais Garnier set abuzz with excitement and glee. The ballet girls were chattering on as if there was no tomorrow, delighted that Angelique could add her own touches in their costumes and masks, and Monsieur Monchamin was most satisfied with his dragon mask, paying Angelique handsomely for her troubles.
As Angelique gathered several items to take back to Erik's home, she was startled by a knock at the door. "Who is it?"
"It's Christine, dear. May I come in?" said her visitor.
"Of course! Come in," she said, setting her items aside and tugging the door open for her friend.
Christine entered and shut the door after her, scanning the walls suspiciously. "Is there anyone…I mean, is he-?"
"If you're talking about Erik, no, I'm fairly certain he's downstairs, if you know what I mean," she said, not wishing for any passersby to hear their conversation. "How have you been these past few days?"
"Fine…wonderful," she answered, a half smile on her lips. "I'm enjoying my time here before…well, before I have to return."
Angelique patted her arm comfortingly. "I know it's difficult, but in time I'm sure he'll understand that it isn't mean to be between you two…not like this, anyways."
Christine nodded, smiling weakly before embracing her friend. "Thank you, Angelique. You're always so easy to talk to."
"That's what friends are for, aren't they?" she chuckled, squeezing the singer's hands as they pulled away. "I presume you have your costume and will attend the Ball?"
"Yes…I'll be there," she nodded, her eyes glistening for a moment. "I'll let you go then…Angelique?"
"Hmm?"
"…you really enjoy being with Erik?"
A soft smile worked its way onto her lips as she answered, "With all my heart. He's become so dear to me, Christine…I haven't been this happy since my parents were alive and well, together…"
Christine kissed her cheek and patted her arm. "Then I'm happy for you." With a small smile, she left the room, shutting the door behind her once more.
Alone at last, Angelique gathered her belongings once again and pressed the nail into the wood, entering the darkened halls and descending into the lair of Phantom.
~OG~
Having set his costume in his room, Angelique left for her quarters and locked herself in her room. Taking a quick bath and getting dressed, she left her curled hair draped over her shoulders before stepping out snatching her mask and heading for the Louis-Philippe Room. There, awaiting her arrival, was the Red Death.
"Oh, Erik!" she gasped, her face lighting up as he came into view. "You look incredible! The costume really suits you!"
"It does, does it not?" he beamed, giving the cape a dramatic swirl before announcing, "Do not touch me! I am the Red Death, stalking abroad!" He truly was a sight to behold, covered in scarlet velvet, golden ribbons, and black satin, a large plume-filled hat covering his head to accompany the skull-mask he had saved in his room. With a sword strapped to his side and knee-high boots to complete the look, he was a dashing devil to see.
Turning to thank her, his brows furrowed at her. "Angelique…what are you wearing?"
"My costume," she answered quickly, walking away from him. "Shall we go?"
"No, we shall not," he said, stopping her in her tracks. "…you put so much time and effort taking care of others' costumes that you did not take time for yourself."
"I'm Cinderella, Erik," she insisted, blushing as she struggled to stand her ground. She was so busy and concerned for the others' costumes and masks, especially Erik's, that she had taken an old dress, patched it up, and wore it with a brown mask and grey flats.
"While your imitation of Cendrillon is…impressive," he said carefully, stroking his chin. "Erik happens to have something up his sleeve."
"And that is?" she asked, cocking her head at him.
Curling his forefinger towards himself, he motioned for her to follow him, stepping into his room and pulling out a large box. "Erik bought this just in case…he hopes you will wear it," he said rather shyly, offering her to box.
Curious, she accepted, tugging the lid of the box off. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her as she dropped the lid onto the floor. "Oh, Erik…you didn't-!"
"This is the Cinderella Erik envisioned you to be," he said, pulling the brim of his hat over his face. "…will you wear it-?"
"Yes, of course!" she laughed, embracing him at once. "Oh, thank you!"
"Angelique? Would you…attend the Ball with Erik?"
"I thought that was what we were doing anyways," she smirked.
"Erik means…as a pair."
She blinked, her face turning red. "O-Oh…"
"Erik understands if-" he began.
"No! Erik, I would love to," she interrupted him, touching his arm. "Just…give me a moment to change, won't you?" With that, she ran off with the box, he heart fluttering within her breast. "Could it be…?"
~OG~
There was not a single person who did not stop and stare at them as they entered the foyer. They were a strange combination – the sinister, crimson skeleton stalking into the room appeared to be a demon from hell, and yet, beside him stood a vision in white, as if she had fallen from Heaven to join in the festivities. Angelique blushed as she let Erik lead her into the room, feeling all eyes on her. She had pinned some of her auburn hair back so that it would not fall over her sparkling, silvery mask that glittered like a thousand stars, matching with the tiara she wore upon her head and the crystal clear slippers that she kept on her feet. Her gown was a gossamer white hue, flowing around her legs as she walked, her neck and arms exposed as a loose, sheer material hung loosely around her upper arms.
"Erik, they won't stop staring," she whispered, suddenly feeling his arm around her.
"Let them," he whispered in her ear, placing one hand upon her waist and grasping her left hand with his other. "You were meant to be admired."
"Erik," she whined softly, blushing as he chuckled.
"Dance," he commanded.
He guided her, leading her all around the room, making her feel as though she was flying. Everything around them seemed to melt away as she let him take charge, spinning and gliding before the crowds. Looking into his eyes, she felt as though the magic of this night would never end…
"The death's head of Perros-Guirec!"
The voice brought Erik to a halt, startling Angelique. Erik's head whipped around, his eyes landing on a pair, one man, one woman, each in their own domino costumes. The young woman tugged at the young man's arm and forced him to follow her, frantically whispering something to him. Angelique felt her body become cold, her stomach twisting within her. "Erik-?"
"I shall return," he growled. "Wait here."
She reached for his arm but he moved too quickly, a sharp pang running through her heart as she watched him leave. A foolish, drunken man reached out, mocking the saying she had sewn and embroidered on his cape, only to have Erik crush his wrist for an instant before vanishing into the corridors, in search of the black and white dominos. It was as though a bucket of cold water had been splashed on her, rudely awakening her from a what felt like a beautiful, fleeting dream.
"Of course…Christine," she whispered, realizing who the two dominos were. Hugging her arms, she bit her lip, struggling not to cry. Why, oh why did she want to cry so badly? Why did it hurt her so much? Unwilling to be caught by anyone, she gathered her skirts and ran up the stairs of the grand foyer, her destination already in mind. She ran as quickly as she could, nearly tripping over the last step in her haste. Without any further delays, she hurried past the velvet-lined and glittering opera, beyond the forbidden Box Five and its neighbors, past the managers' office and into the abandoned backstage world of the performers. Navigating through the twists and turns of the dressing rooms, props, and beams, she yanked the door open to her workroom and collapsed onto her cot, burying her face in her arms and pillow, crying her heart out.
"Why?! Why does it matter?! You should have known better, you foolish girl…he loves Christine…he wants Christine…oh God, I've fallen in love with the Ghost…the Ghost who loves the angelic singer…oh why did I have to go and fall in love with him?!"
She wept on and on, never stopping for a moment's breath when she sensed a presence in the room. Raising her head, she found herself being watched by a handsome man dressed in a prince's fine suit, swiping his hat off of his head to kneel before her. "Wh-Who are you? What are y-you doing in here-?" she demanded to know, struggling to regain control of herself as she wiped her face with her fingertips.
"Angelique…it is I, Philippe," said the man tenderly, offering her a handkerchief.
"Ph-Philippe?!" she gasped, sitting upright and scooting away from him. "But…but how did you know-?"
"When I saw you enter, the loveliest woman in the room, I knew it was you," he chuckled, still offering her the kerchief, which she reluctantly accepted. "Also, I followed you back here. When I saw you moving to the workroom, it only strengthened my belief that it truly was you…also, you left this." His left hand, which had been hiding behind his back, came forth, with one of her slippers in it.
She gasped, looking down at her feet. Sure enough, one of them was missing. "It must have come off when I tripped on the stairs…"
"May I?" he offered, motioning for her to stick out her foot.
Cautiously, she did so, watching him slip the shoe back on.
"There. Perfect," he smiled, standing up once more. "Now…who was that man that made you cry?"
"Pardon?" she asked, averting her eyes.
"I do hope you can forgive me for being so forward, mademoiselle, but what else could be the cause of your grief? I saw you both dancing together…and how he abandoned you there." He frowned at this, holding back a growl. "Who is this man?"
"I…I don't know, monsieur," she lied, removing her mask from her face and setting it upon her pillow.
"How can you not know? You came in together-" he protested.
"He offered to walk me in," she fibbed smoothly. "Then asked for a dance."
"Then why are you crying?"
"I…I miss my father," she answered, getting up and walking to the stocked shelves. "Monsieur le Comte, I'm sure you have better things to do than follow me around and check upon my well being. You should go back to the party."
"Will you join me?" he asked, his tone tinted with hope.
"No, forgive me," she shook her head. "I'm not in the mood for a party at the moment."
"I understand," he answered quietly. He remained still, watching her run her fingers over the bolts of cloth and applications, his throat dry with anxiety. "…Mademoiselle Archambault, I-"
"Please, monsieur, don't let me hold you back from the Ball," she interrupted him. "Go and-"
"I'm worried for you," he blurted out. "And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day we first met."
Her head whipped around so that she might gawk at him, utterly stunned. "W-What?"
"Forgive me, Angelique, but I care very deeply for you," he confessed, taking a step towards her.
"But…but what about La Sorelli?" she asked, hugging her arms as she backed herself against the wall. "Surely, she must be important to you if-"
"I only think of you." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he said, "For the longest time, I was interested in Sorelli, but when you came in…it was as though an invisible arrow struck through my heart. After finding out about your stepfamily, and seeing you crying like this…please, Angelique, let me take you away from all this."
She stood her ground, looking him in the eye, and shook her head, her eyes mournful. "…I can't, monsieur. I can't and I won't."
"Why not?!" he demanded, coming towards her. She did not flinch, nor did she change her mind. "Please, at least tell me…is it someone else?"
She shook her head. "There is no one…but I do not wish to be told what to do any longer…I hope you can forgive me, but I cannot return your feelings, as I do not have any towards you other than the highest regards, as well as my opinion that you are a good man and a trustworthy friend."
He stepped back, the words sinking in slowly. Heaving a defeated sigh, he nodded. If she changed her mind, he would be waiting and willing to take her, but he would not force her to think any differently for his behalf. "Very well…know that I shall always offer you solace in my home, as well as my…friendship." Taking her hand in his, he kissed it and bowed, silently leaving her in peace.
She waited until she was certain he was gone, his footsteps no longer audible in the halls. Shutting the door, she pulled out a box from under her bed and opened it, revealing a plain working dress she had stored in case of an emergency. She set to work quickly, taking off the mocking, wretched, beautiful gown she gown and slipping on her frock. Lovingly, she placed her costume into the box and stuffed it under the bed once more, wiping away her tears with Philippe's kerchief. Stuffing it into her pocket, she looked around and saw the unfinished gowns. Eager to be distracted, she got to work immediately, cutting, stitching, measuring, comparing…
So enthralled in her work, she did not hear the trapdoor slide open or hear the figure enter the room.
"Angelique."
The voice made her freeze, dropping her needle and thread as she heard him walk towards her.
"Angelique, what happened to the dress?" Erik asked, taking his hat off his head.
"…I put it away," she answered quietly, picking up the needle once more and forcing herself to work again.
"Didn't you like it?" he inquired, his brows furrowing as she continued about her business and did not face him.
"I adore it, but I wanted to work a little more, so I put it away."
He wrung his hands together, guilt bubbling within him. "Erik apologizes he was away so long-"
"How's Christine?" she asked innocently, making him stop in his tracks.
He frowned, counter-attacking with his own question. "Why didn't you come home straight away?"
"As I said, I was working…besides, you have Christine." A tear slid down her face, though she controlled her voice as best as she could. "She should be able to keep you company until I-"
"Damn it all, Angelique, what's the matter with you?!" he snapped, thrusting his cape aside and grabbing hold of her arm. "Stop playing coy with Erik-!"
"Let go!" she demanded, wriggling in his grasp. "Erik, you're hurting me!"
"You are coming back now!" he snarled, starting to drag her towards the secret door. "Erik wants you back now-"
"You're hurting me!" she all but screamed, tears running down her face as she hit his arm feebly as so not to hurt him.
He stopped, one foot in the doorway, the other in the workroom. His eyes were large as he stared at her, her words shaking him to the core. He couldn't fathom their effect, not now, while she remained on her knees, avoiding his face, crying all the while. His eyes moved to his hand, harshly gripping her wrist, her fingers curled in agony and determination. Like an iron trap, he unlatched his hand from her, watching her fall to the floor and cover her face, weeping at his feet. The sight brought back memories from when he first brought Christine as she lay before him in agony at the knowledge that he was no angel. He had let Angelique down somehow…and the pain shot through him like a knife. "An-…Angelique-?"
"Just go," she begged in a whisper, her body racked with sobs.
His heart ached at the sight of her, wanting to wrap his arms around her…but he stood away, bowing his head shamefully and leaving her behind. He had hurt her, so he would not touch her, nor would he force her to come back…he wanted her to do that of her own accord. Shutting the door from his side, he listened to her cries, his soul crying out within him to go back and be with her. He hadn't the faintest idea what could have upset her after going off to figure out what that bratty Vicomte and Christine-
"That's it." His eyes widened in shock as it hit him – he had abandoned her, looking for Christine, the one hope he continued to cling to, and then expected her to be perfectly fine with it. "Why wouldn't she be? She is Erik's friend, after all…unless…" He shook his head. "Impossible. She could not possibly think of him that way…especially not now." Casting a baleful look at the shut door, he pulled out a golden band from his pocket. It shone dully in the torchlight of the corridor, just like his hopes for either of the two young women in his life. He had intended for this ring to be given to Christine once he returned home and found her back in her room, as she had promised…but after seeing Angelique in the dress…after dancing, after all this time together…after seeing her cry…he began to doubt.
Shoving the trinket back into his coat pocket, he trudged his way back home, confused and weary.