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The Mask

As morning came and songs written, Erik continued playing the ivory keys of his piano as he was not quite ready to trade it for the organ. Although he gave into music whenever he played and enjoyed what stemmed from his skilled hands, he remained keenly alert. Listening, ear twitching for any sound that might be her.

When the moment came, he sensed her more than he heard her approach. As slim fingers caught the corner of his mask, Erik's hand shot up and caught her wrist in a vice grip. His hold wavering, but not enough pressure to cause her discomfort.

She froze in place from his hand.

"Christine," he said in a low tone of warning. "When I remove my hand, you will have a choice to make." She tried to pull back but he kept her planted and continued to speak. "I do hope you hear me when I say: removing my mask is akin to someone striping you of your dress without your agreement." Erik released her hand and it fell away without his mask.

In a sigh of relief, Erik turned to her trembling visage. That beautiful Angel that was Christine stood paralyzed from her apparent fear and wide eyed from either his reaction, remark, or realization of her very rude attempted action.

Erik could not decipher which, so instead he used his voice and what little social instinct he possessed and plead his case. "Nothing is always as it seems, Christine. What you may see outside can differ greatly from what is within. A baker, can make two pies and burn one. The one that is outwardly perfect is readily consumed by the masses, then promptly spit out; the baker having used salt instead of sugar for its filling by mistake."

Christine's rigid posture softened as he wove the start of the parable. "And the burned pie?"

Erik struggled to maintain eye contact and ultimately shifted away. "No one wants to give it a chance, even if its filling is different." Erik turned back toward the piano and began to neaten the scores, tucking the love letter beneath the serenade.

Christine's hand fell to his shoulder and he stiffened at her touch. "Did the baker remember the sugar?"

Thinning his lips, Erik cocked his head to the side. "Yes, with the addition of citrus. It is more of a tart really."

The laughter that pierced the air was honey on his ears as it was whenever he heard her enchanting larynx vibrate with glorious sound.

"I'm sorry to have…" she trailed off. "I don't know what came over me."

"Curiosity," he answered flatly. "I can assure you, Christine, that one side does not reflect the other. I have little doubt that you could one day see me without such disgust. But you are not yet ready for that, and neither am I."

She squeezed his shoulder with such sweetness, Erik closed his eyes to savor her touch as he raised a hand to rest over hers, until he stopped himself. Instead, he forced his hand to drop with a flex of terse fingers.

Christine's hand slipped away, fingers trailing a moment before vanishing. "Where am I?"

"I have brought you," Erik voiced in a lyrical way as he rose from the piano bench and positioned himself so the instrument was between them with a spread of his hands. "To the seat of sweet music's throne…" he paused to caress the polished black wood of the lid. "My home, beneath the opera. Your fainting spell left my hands tied for options. I had no wish to leave you lying on that floor."

Reading the expression that played across her face went beyond his social skill level as her eyes darted around the room, however the flush to her cheeks was more telling. "You live here?" she asked. "The rumors are true?"

"Fifth cellar, indeed."

"Why?"

"For the same reason I became your Angel of Music, the world above will not have me." He scanned the vaulted stone ceiling above them, seeing the stage beyond it through his mind's eye. "It is not so terrible, for music is always in reach."

"That sounds… wonderful," Christine spoke as she following his upward gaze. "–To have music and opera so near I mean." The flush in her cheeks grew deeper in color when she realized that he was not watching her. Bashfulness in full swing, Christine's gaze fell to his composition of the serenade and picked up a page. "Did you write this?"

A brief smile escaped him. "Yes. Your presence is its inspiration."

"Can I hear it?"

"If you choose to grace me with your company again, I will sing it to you."

"I'd like that."

Spirit soaring with that risk of an emotion called hope, Erik's chest tingled from the well of delight. Already events of the present vastly improved upon the past.

Oh Christine, my Christine…

Erik cleared his throat and rounded the piano with a hand extending to her. "Tonight then? After rehearsal – which I do need to get you to before you are missed."

Christine studying his hand a moment, then grasped his fingers, "Tonight."

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

The Phantom of the opera is there…

"Christine?" asked a light chirpy voice.

…inside my mind…

"Hello, Christine?" Meg implored.

Christine blinked out of her daydream, "Hmm? Yes, Meg?"

"Are you alright? You have been distracted all morning. Maman will surely have your ear if you keep this up."

The two young ladies sat at a table of a café down not far from the Palais Garnier. Before them lay a hearty soup and sandwich each, to restore the energy burned from a rigorous ballet practice and prepare them for more rehearsals still to come for the afternoon.

Christine looked down to her finished cup of shrimp bisque and nearly untouched caprese sandwich, which was delicious but her wandering mind kept her from fully appreciating the meal. "I guess I am a bit preoccupied."

"By what? It's so unlike you to be this absent. I know you like your daydreams but it's never been quite like this."

"I…" Christine sighed. "Have you ever a had a dream where it felt so real that you are nothing but confused when you wake? Like the present moment shouldn't be as it apparently is?"

Meg hovered her fingers over her mouth as she struggled to chew the butter toasted baguette with ham that she had just taken a bite from. "Mmm! Not quite, but," she swallowed and took a drink of tepid water. "But! I've had dreams where everything is the same but, different."

"Oh?"

The younger woman tucked stray blond tresses by back behind her ears while deep brown eyes sparkled from one of those memories. "Yes. One of them was of being in the Grand Escalier and the color of the marble is different, or the carpets and cushions of the auditorium were purple instead of red. Sometimes there are things missing, or other things added. It's still the opera house and feels like it, but it's not your opera house. Not the one we know here and now. I do hope I'm making sense!"

Christine nodded. "You are! I've had those kinds of dreams too. But I guess I've never but much thought into them until now."

"What about your dream?"

"I can't remember much… Not in any great detail," Christine bit her inner lower lip as she sat back in her chair. "I can't hear anything being said or remember faces I saw with any real clarity, but the feeling was so real."

"What was the feeling?" Meg asked as she leaned forward with her chin perched between interlocked fingers.

Christine smiled bittersweetly as she tried to recall it in a way that she could translate it into words. "Being held close by someone. Feeling that I was loved, but more than just loved…" She smiled more reddening cheeks as her arms prickled with a delightful shiver at the next part. "Then a kiss," she sighed and neatened the place setting before her. "I guess maybe my loneliness is getting the better of me. Hearing all the girls talking about kissing their suitors is certainly no help to my imagination it seems!"

"Maybe you were dreaming of your friend, the Vicomte," Meg commented with a bounce of her eyebrows. "Though, I do wonder what 'loved, but more than just loved,' feels like."

"I can only imagine Meg. I hope we both find out just what that is, one day."

"I hope so too," Meg agreed dreamily. "A knight in shining, always there, looking over you and fending off all those unsavory fellows who want nothing more than a roll in the hay. More than what the other girls have with some fleeting patron who only wants his jollies."

"Heavens, your mother would scrape soap to your teeth if she heard that," she chuckled.

"Well… it is the truth, isn't it? Anyone who seeks out the company of a ballerina after a performance only wants a good dalliance. We see it all the time."

"True, but at least they can't win us all," Christine leaned forward with a wide grin. "We have your mother to fend off such drivel."

It was Meg's turn to giggle, "Yes. I think even the new managers are already frighten of her. She does have much of the patrons whipped when comes to you and I. Forget our standards, any suitor has to appease Maman first."

Both women shared a laugh at that as they soon finished their meal.

When the pair returned to the Palais Garnier, they could already hear Carlotta filling the house in shrill rage and argumentative demands with the new management.

"Madame, be reasonable!" cried Firmin. "Should you ever fall ill, we shall have to refund the full house! That is something we simply cannot afford to risk!"

"No! No understudies trying to steal my parts! I never sick!" she screeched with the power of her bel canto trained lungs on her side.

"Every house across Europe has understudies for their divas, as a precaution!" Firmin continued. "It is only sensible that we do as well."

"Understudies who then replaces the divas permanently!" she growled.

"Madame, I assure you," began Andre, "we are not trying to replace you."

When they came to Madame Annette Giry's side with questioning glances, the Ballet Mistress explained, "The Opera Ghost sent them a note this morning, reminding them to keep Box 5 open lest another incident befalls one of our patrons, and Carlotta is our only star without an understudy."

"Incident?" asked Meg, "And does that mean they are looking for understudies now?"

"In two days, there will be auditions. All sopranos are encouraged to participate," Annette said with a pointed glance to Christine.

Christine pursed her lips and looked down, suddenly wanting to be no larger than an ant.

"What happened in Box 5? Which patron?"

"The Vicomte de Chagny," Madame explained. "He took a seat and soon complained of it being wet within minutes of settling in, his coat and trousers were quite soaked through, but when the seat was inspected, it was very much dry."

Meg cupped her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggle, "I guess he did warn them not to sell it."

Christine smiled a little but felt sorry for Raoul's misfortune, but the story brought her eyes up to the Box in question, stage right and nestled just behind the grand tier. There she saw the faint shadow there, looking down at her although she could not make out the Phantom's presence beyond the shadow. She felt Erik's eyes watching her, instead of the tirade unfurling between Carlotta and management.

"Madame Carlotta! If you leave now, that gives us all the more reason to have the audition. Whether we hire your understudy or your replacement is entirely up to you! Whatever we do will only be by your instance, I assure you!" Firmin said firmly.

"Firmin–!" Andre began, as aghast as Carlotta.

Firmin silenced his business partner with a shot of his hand between them. "No! This will happen. We have three days before the next performance, and by God, I will have someone singing it, be it our diva, understudy, or replacement. Risking our profits is not worth any effort to continue appeasing Madame Carlotta demands."

Carlotta gasped in shock that her tantrum won her no favors with Firmin as it did with Andre.

"I said from the beginning, Andre, if we are to run this Opera, we are going to do so properly. With all the necessary cast in place for every eventuality. I will not be held hostage in by the outrageous demands of Divas or Phantoms!"