Author's note:
As I mentioned in the blurb, I am a full-blooded Romani. Despite this fact, I do not speak much Romani, which is a long story in itself. As a result, I use the internet to help me with the language (so don't expect accuracy). Unfortunately, I have noticed that Romani people are often depicted in a negative light or as mythical, magical beings. ( Can you give me an example when they aren't?) In this story, I want to change that and offer a different perspective.
I should also warn you that if you are someone who does not want to read references to God, you have been forewarned. Given the time and place where the story takes place, it feels fitting for my original character to be Catholic. Please correct me if I'm wrong. As a Catholic convert, I will use this love story as an opportunity to reference God, much like Jane Eyre. So, don't say I didn't warn you."
Kudos for anyone who knows where I got the title from. ;)
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It was Christmas time, and Erik couldn't help but bitterly chuckle at how ironic it was that although he was what the world would regard as a devil or Lucifer, he sorely missed the sounds of holy Christmas music resonating throughout the opera house. As he sat in the cellars, he suddenly heard singing above. The voice was clear and pure. Filled with questions, Erik made his way up above.
The burnt remains of the opera house loomed above Celine as she huddled next to a small fire, trying to dry off from the snow that had soaked through her clothing. She had been wandering for hours, seeking shelter but every door had been shut in her face until she stumbled upon this abandoned place during the night. She sang to herself absentmindedly as she placed the soaked clothes she had just peeled off herself near the fire she had just made. She had on a thin nightgown, the only other clothing she had to wear as she dried off.
She was sitting down and as she tried to warm her hands over the flames, a sound caught her attention. Was her mind playing tricks with her or had she heard a footstep? Suddenly, a figure appeared before her, hidden from view in the shadows of the dark building. Celine couldn't see his face, but she could sense his anger and rage. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with.
"Who are you?" He demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Celine tensed up, her hand going to and clutching the small pistol she kept behind her back.
"I-I'm just seeking shelter," she stammered, her voice shaking.
He stepped forward, and Celine could see the anger in his eyes that were illuminated by the fire's light.
"You're a gypsy," he spat. "Get out of here, or I will toss you out. Perhaps I'll kill you before I do."
Celine's heart raced as she realized the danger she was in. She brought her gun into view and pointed at him, her hand shaking.
"I won't let you hurt me," she said, her voice stronger now.
The figure froze, and Celine could see the fire illuminate the shadowy again figure for a moment. She could see the fear in his eyes but then something unexpected else appeared. Relief. Relief flooded his blue orbs.
The sight alone caught her off guard and caused the vulgarities she had on the tip of her tongue to die off into nothingness.
Be the lady your parents raised you to be, Celine. Always a lady, even when others are brutes.
"Please, Monsieur," she begged, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I have nowhere else to go. If I leave, I will surely die out there in the storm. Do you not have some Christmas compassion within your heart to allow me to stay until it passes?"
Erik scoffed at her words, bitterness welling up inside him. "Compassion? When I have been given none?" he spat.
But then, a small voice inside his head spoke up.
Haven't you? it asked.
He remembered the softness of Christine's lips on his own and how she had shown him compassion.
Quickly, Erik pushed the memory away, not wanting to think about Christine or feel the emotions she stirred up inside him.
He put himself together and cleared his throat, icing himself against the woman in front of him.
"Perhaps I could have spared some compassion if anyone else had arrived tonight, but for me and many others, one more dead gypsy makes the world a brighter place. It's quite suitable for the Christmas spirit - the light of the world descending from heaven and all that."
The woman's face fell at his harsh words, and she flinched back as if struck. The pain in her brown eyes brought Erik great satisfaction, making him grin maliciously. But then, something in her eyes shifted, and a quiet determination took hold.
"If you won't show me compassion, then I will show it to myself," she said, her voice firm. "I won't let the storm kill me. I'll find somewhere else to go."
With that, she gathered her items and turned, and began walking away, leaving Erik stunned. He hadn't expected her to give up like that. Maybe beg and try to offer him something first, just as he had witnessed the gypsies who had chained him would do to others when they wanted something.
"But is it not as you said? You'll die if you go out there?" He loudly called out to her, questioning and taking a few steps towards her.
Celine was stopped in her tracks. She whirled around, her anger finally boiling over after being refused common human decency over and over again that day, and with this man's murderous hatred to top it all off. She finally saw him now in full view, wearing a mask and dressed in fancy clothes, looking like something out of one of the operas she was sure that used to be sung in the very building they were standing in.
"You bastard! You think I don't know that?" She shouted, her blood boiling with rage. "I should at least try! How can you hate me so much, when you don't even know me?" She demanded, her anger driving her on. "All you see is my looks and my race - you condemn me as a cursed being. But I'm just as human as you are!"
Erik froze, the realization of Celine's words hitting him like a ton of bricks. He had never thought of it that way. He had been treated as a monster his whole life because of his appearance, and yet he had turned around and treated Celine the same way, judging her solely on race.
He took a step back, his anger and bitterness dissipating in the face of his own hypocrisy. He looked at Celine, really looked at her, for the first time since she had arrived. He saw the fear and desperation in her eyes, and the anger and hurt that had replaced it. He saw the lines of exhaustion etched into her face, and the way her hair clung to her wet skin.
He realized that she was just as human as he was, just as deserving of compassion and kindness. He felt a pang of guilt for the way he had treated her, and he knew that he had to make amends.
"Erik," his conscience whispered in Christine's voice, "You must make it right."
He took a deep breath and looked at Celine with a softer expression.
"I am sorry," he said, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. "I have been a fool. You are right, I have no right to judge you based on you being a gypsy. Please, forgive me. As a child, I was taken captive by some of your people who would not allow me to leave and when I saw you I was reminded of them."
Celine stared at him in shock, not quite believing what she was hearing. After all the venom he had spat at her, all the times he had turned her away, he was apologizing?
Celine's expression softened, and she nodded slowly. "I forgive you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I am sorry that happened to you, Monsieur. All little boys and girls deserve a happy childhood. Not to be kept as prisoners."
Erik looked at Celine, seeing her in a new light, not as a gypsy woman but as a fellow human being. His eyes took her in for the first time. She was short and had long, curly brown hair that had come undone from her updo in the storm, and her skin had an olive complexion. He noticed the tattered nightgown that she wore, which left very little to the imagination. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks flush with heat. He was not used to such sights. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest.
"Thank you," he said softly, "for understanding." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"Please," he said, gesturing towards the chair where she had previously been seated. "Take a seat. I will bring you a blanket and tea to ward off the chill and some clothes that survived the fire that may still be of use to you."
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As Erik was in the cellars, his mind raced with thoughts of what had just transpired. He was amazed at himself for apologizing, for showing her a side of himself that he had worked so hard to keep hidden. As he rummaged through his belongings, he couldn't help but think about Celine. She was so different from anyone he had ever met before. Despite her circumstances, she had a kindness about her that he found intriguing.
And the way she had stood up to him, unafraid to speak her mind, had left an impression on him. As he picked up the clothes, he couldn't help but think about how Celine would look in them. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought.
He gathered up some warm clothing and a blanket, as well as a kettle filled with tea he had made earlier and a cup.
When he returned to her he set down the clothing and blanket and began to heat up the kettle, placing it near the fire.
"I hope this tea is to your liking," he said, offering her a small smile. "And I hope these clothes will keep you warm."
Celine looked down at the clothes he had brought her. They were a bit old and worn, but they were clean and dry, and that was all that mattered to her at the moment.
"Thank you so much," she said softly, her voice laced with emotion. "I truly appreciate it. I will leave as soon as the storm is over, I promise. I don't want to cause you any trouble."
Erik nodded, accepting her words. "Very well," he said softly. "I understand. But please, take whatever time you need. The storm is still raging outside, and it is not safe for you to leave just yet."
He stood there for a moment, unsure of what else to say. This was not a situation he was accustomed to. He was used to being alone, in his dark and quiet world. But now there was someone else here, someone he had hurt with his words and actions.
Celine felt her eyes well up with tears as she accepted the blanket and the tea. She wrapped the blanket around herself gratefully, feeling its warmth seep into her chilled bones.
"I will leave you to rest," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, call out if you need anything." With that, he turned and made his way back up the stairs, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders.
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Celine found herself in a dark room, with no source of light except for a flickering candle. She could barely see the walls, but she knew she wasn't alone. She could feel a presence, something or someone watching her from the shadows.
Suddenly, she heard a low, menacing chuckle, and a figure emerged from the darkness. It was the man she had met at the opera house, his twisted face leering at her from behind his mask and he carried the kettle pot he had earlier brought with him.
Celine tried to back away, but she found herself frozen in fear. He spoke maliciously, calling her racial slurs and making disparaging remarks about her people. Celine felt tears streaming down her face as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The man's words were like knives, cutting deep into her soul. She tried to speak, but it was as if her mouth was glued shut.
As the dream continued, Celine watched in horror as the Phantom's anger grew more intense. Finally, he hurled the kettle of hot water at her, scalding her skin and causing her to scream in pain. Celine woke up with a start, her heart racing and her body covered in sweat. She was in the chair where she had fallen asleep by the fire she had made. Celine looked around the opera house, taking in her surroundings and realizing that it had all been a dream. Her heart was still racing, and she felt a lingering sense of fear, but she was relieved to be safe and alone.
The fire had died, leaving only ashes for it's remains.
She was dressed in one of the dresses the man had given her last night.
Celine took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She rubbed her arms, feeling the phantom pain from the dream. The motion of her rubbing her arms caused the gun she had placed on her lap to fall to her feet. She sat up, and looked down at it. She then reached for it and quickly hid it away.
Despite the change in demeanor from the man who allowed her to stay in the opera house, she still didn't trust him. Her nightmare had reflected the fears she had faced as she had drifted to sleep, worrying about him coming back as she slept and taking advantage of her vulnerability in order to kill her.
Celine stood up, letting the blanket fall at her feet. She folded it neatly and placed it on a bench in the opera house. She then walked to the front doors of the house. Celine struggled to push them open. They were heavy, but she used all her strength. Finally, the doors creaked open a crack, and she peered outside.
The wind was still howling in the early morning, and the snow was still falling with great force. Celine shivered as a gust of wind blew snowflakes in her face, forcing her to quickly shut the door. It was clear that the storm was still going strong.
"The storm is still as strong as ever."
Celine heard the masculine voice from behind her, causing her to jump and slightly scream. She turned around to face the Phantom, feeling a mix of surprise and apprehension along with embarrassment. Her hand was resting on her heaving chest as she was trying to catch her breath after the fright.
"I'm sorry, mademoiselle. I didn't mean to frighten you," Erik apologized, his voice low and soothing.
Celine's brows slightly came together. She had been called many things by white french men, mademoiselle had never been one of them.
"I didn't hear you approaching," She said, her voice trembling a little.
As she looked at him closely her brows furrowed, Celine couldn't help but be struck by the sight of him. The daylight streaming in the opera house revealed him more clearly, making her see that he was actually quite handsome, despite the mask covering part of his face. His face was angular and striking, with a defined jawline and high cheekbones.
His hair was dark and slicked back, with a few wayward strands falling over his forehead. His eyes were piercing blue, framed by dark lashes that gave him an intense and brooding look. He was tall and with broad shoulders and a muscular frame that hinted at physical strength. His clothing, which was black and dramatic only served to accentuate his impressive physique.
He wore a long, black coat that Celine could imagine flowed behind him as he moved, reaching down to his knees.
Erik gave her a small smile, trying to put her at ease. "I move quietly," he replied in a calm tone.
Slowly, Celine nodded. "What brings you to me, Monsieur?" she questioned, her voice cautious.
"I heard shouting. It seems you talk in your sleep," Erik replied, his tone even.
Celine blushed, hoping fearfully she hadn't said anything about him aloud as she slept. Perhaps calling him a monster, as she had thought of him while asleep.
As if knowing her thoughts, he spoke again. "You didn't say anything I understood. You were speaking in Romani," he said, his voice softening slightly.
Relieved and grateful, Celine silently thanked God while making the sign of the cross.
Celine let out a deep exhale of relief and spoke in a hushed voice, "Deo gratias, it would have been most shameful to have spoken aloud during my nightmare in such a manner as to be understood by a gentleman such as yourself."
Erik nodded, understanding Celine's fear of being overheard while experiencing a nightmare. Madame Giry had caught him screaming during his nightmares on more than one occasion, after all. Such a shame for him for her to catch him in tears.
"I also wanted to offer you something, but first I must be a real gentleman and ask for your name," Erik said, his tone hesitant but polite.
Celine's brow raised and she was surprised at the question and curious about his offer.
"Celine," she said, her voice soft but steady. "And you, sir?"
For a moment, Erik was taken aback by the simple question. He had never been asked his name before, except in tones of fear or revulsion. But he quickly regained his composure and answered her with a quiet dignity.
"It's Erik," he said, holding out a black blindfold from his pocket. "I wanted to know if you were hungry. I have food in my private quarters. I could just bring it to you, but it would be much easier if you came with me. I can take my kettle back with me and make more tea for us both. But if you choose to go, you must put this on." He held out the blindfold to her. "I wish to keep where I stay a secret. I hope you understand that."
Despite feeling fearful at the thought of being alone and blindfolded by the man who had been so horrible to her last night, Celine's mouth watered at the mention of food. All she had to eat with her was some bread that she had stolen that had begun to mold. She couldn't even remember the last time she had a real meal. Had it been four days ago or six? The thought of a hot meal was too tempting to resist. Knowing also that she had a gun with her in the pocket of her dress set her mind at ease enough to decide what to do.
She hesitantly took the black blindfold from the phantom's hand and tied it securely around her head while giving her thanks for the offer of food.
Erik then gently took Celine by the arm.
Leading her through the dark corridors of the opera house, he moved with confidence and ease, since he had memorized every nook and cranny of the building. Celine's heart raced as she followed him blindly, relying only on his guiding hand.
They soon arrived where Erik had a small boat waiting. He helped Celine into the boat, guiding her to a seat and took his place to steer and stand behind her. The boat glided through the water as he rowed, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the sides. After some time Celine without thought began to sing under her breath as she waited for her time in the darkness to end. Her voice blended with the gentle sounds of the water lapping.
Title: Rovava
Verse 1:
Rovava, rovava
Sa lumja lel chibjake
Tu kaj te mursh, romale
Ketanes lenge shaj
Translation:
Crying, crying
My heart is so heavy
Where should I go, my Romani friends?
We've lost our homes
Chorus:
Ketanes na avel baxtale
Dikhen mange la i kale
Oj, Romale, romale
Mi piri nashavale
Translation:
We have no luck
We see only misery
Oh, my Romani friends
I am so lost
Verse 2:
Aven mansa mursh, Romale
Sa te avel, leski shaj
Oj, lungone, lungone
Si pe lenge lel chaj
Translation:
Come with me, my Romani friends
Wherever fate takes us
Oh, young ones, young ones
Our people are so heavy-hearted
Chorus:
Ketanes na avel baxtale
Dikhen mange la i kale
Oj, Romale, romale
Mi piri nashavale
Translation:
We have no luck
We see only misery
Oh, my Romani friends
I am so lost.
Her singing had been lovely, unprofessionally sung but still. Erik didn't understand what she had said as she had sung, knowing only a few words here and there that he had learned during his captivity with the gypsies who had imprisoned him. But just hearing music again after so long, after so many months without singing since he last saw Christine over a year ago, was like for him being a man dying of thirst and being handed ice-cold water to drink. He couldn't help himself; his eyes had closed a few times as he lived in the music and let it envelop him body and soul while she sang.
Erik's voice trembled with anticipation as he asked, "W-What were you singing?"
Celine's breathing hitched, realizing what she had done. She blushed and her head went down, feeling bashful for a moment. "An old Romani song I learned as a child," she replied softly.
Erik's curiosity was piqued, and he hungered for more music. "Yes, but can you tell me what the lyrics are?" he asked.
Celine stumbled over her words as she recited the lyrics in french for him. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her nervous but not with fear as he had made her feel in the past.
Erik didn't say anything for a few moments, and Celine thought he was done with the topic. But then he surprised her by asking, "C-Could you sing it again, but this time in French, mademoiselle? It was very good."
Celine couldn't believe what she was hearing. She thought he was joking, but the silence that followed her giggle made her realize he was serious. "You're serious, Erik?" she asked incredulously.
He nodded eagerly, urging her to sing. "Yes, please. Sing," he said, hungering for the music that she could provide.
Celine took a deep breath and began to sing the song in French. Her voice was hesitant at first, but as the music filled her, she began to sing with more confidence. Erik sat in rapt attention, his soul awash with the beauty of her voice.
When she finished, he sat there for a moment, silent and still. He found himself in a state of trance, feeling like he had lived the story told by the song himself. The words seemed to echo through his mind, and he realized that he related it more than he thought.
Celine felt self-conscious in the silence, wondered if she had sung poorly or if he didn't like it. But then he looked down to her, his eyes intense and he spoke.
"That was...stunning," he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. "You have a gift, Celine. A true gift."
Celine blushed at his praise, feeling both embarrassed and grateful.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Erik nodded, his eyes still fixed on her.
"You should sing more often," he said softly. "It would be a shame to let such talent go to waste."
Like my own. He thought to himself bitterly.
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Eric led Celine through the dark, winding passages of one of his private places, his gloved hand firmly clasping hers. The flickering light of the candles he had lit earlier cast dancing shadows on the walls.
He removed Celine's blindfold and stepped back, allowing her to take in the opulence of his private dining room. The room was adorned with rich, burgundy drapes and gilded mirrors that reflected the light of the candles. The table was set with fine china and silverware, each piece gleaming in the soft light.
Eric pulled out a chair for Celine and waited for her to sit before taking his own seat at the opposite end of the table. He poured her a small cup of coffee.
Celine's stomach rumbled at the sight before her. She had been expecting him to give her mere bread with butter or lard. Not this. There, on the table, lay a feast fit for a queen and king. A golden quiche Lorraine, filled with savory ham and cheese, sat beside a platter of delicate crepes, dusted with powdered sugar. A crystal bowl brimming with a colorful fruit salad, its sweet scent wafting up to her nose. There was even a small jar of raspberry preserves and a dish of whipped cream.
Eric watched her as she took in the spread before her, his eyes softening at the sight of her severe hunger. He remembered all too well the feeling of hunger that had driven him near mad when Giry had taken him in. When he had fed for the first time under her care he had fed like a mad starving animal. The memory stirred within him a deep sense of empathy for Celine.
"Please, enjoy," he urged.
Celine hesitated for a moment, making the sign of the cross and saying a small prayer of thanks before diving in. The quiche was warm and savory, its cheesy filling melting in her mouth. The crepes were light and fluffy, the powdered sugar dusting her lips with sweetness. The fruit salad was a burst of freshness, the tangy flavors cutting through the richness of the meal.
Celine took a sip of the coffee, savoring its robust flavor.
For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the clinking of silverware on plates and the soft murmur of their breathing. As they ate, Eric and Celine shared a moment of peace and contentment, brought together by a simple meal. Eric poured her another cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.
As they sat at the ornate table, Celine tried to maintain a sense of decorum as she ate. She held her silverware delicately, trying not to make a mess or slurp her coffee too loudly. But despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but devour the food with a hint of ravenous hunger.
Eric watched her surreptitiously, occasionally looking up from his own plate to study her. He could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she cut into the quiche, the way her eyes darted around the room as if she were afraid someone might take the food away from her. He knew what it was like to be that hungry, to feel like he might never be satisfied.
"Celine," he said softly, setting down his fork. "If I could be so bold: There's a time and a place to forgo eating manners. The hunger in your eyes tells me this is one of them."
Celine looked up at him, surprise written on her face. But then she gave him a small smile and a grateful look, and Eric knew he had made the right decision to speak in the manner he had done. She set down her own fork and knife, and then dug into the food with a newfound fervor.
The quiche on her plate disappeared quickly, the creamy filling a perfect match for the buttery crust. Celine then moved on to the crepes, smearing them liberally with raspberry preserves and whipped cream. Eric watched her eat with a sense of satisfaction, pleased to see her enjoying the food without reservation.
"Thank you," Celine said softly, looking up at Eric with a sense of gratitude in her eyes.
When they were finished, Celine looked up at him with grateful eyes. "Thank you, Erik," she said, her voice soft and sincere. "This was more than I could have ever asked for. I never had such a good meal."
Erik inclined his head slightly. "You are welcome," he said, his own voice polite and controlled. "I am pleased that you enjoyed it."
Celine rose from her seat and curtsied, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "God bless you, Erik," she said, her voice filled with reverence.
Erik felt a strange stirring in his chest at her words. He had always been cursed by the world around him and felt cursed by God. But hearing Celine bless him instead of curse him was a strange and unfamiliar sensation. He nodded slightly, unsure of what to say.
"I appreciate your kind words, Celine," he said at last, his voice steady and measured despite feeling anger towards God who had allowed him such a life.
Celine's smile widened, and she bobbed another curtsy. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Erik," she said, her voice soft and respectful. "May God bless you always."