It was Christmas Eve. The Opera had performed its final show before breaking for the season. Anticipation and joy thrilled through the air, the Palais Garnier was decorated with deep green wreaths of pine and trees so tall it was a wonder how they managed to get them into the building. And Christmas was the perfect excuse for a first kiss. Christine Daaé had been in love with Erik, her singing teacher since he came to her as an angel, a comforting voice in the darkness. He had taught her, but she had also confided in him, shared her secrets, her hopes and her dreams as well as her heartbreak over losing her father and struggling with her career as a dancer.
When she had discovered he was no angel, but a man of flesh and blood, she had felt it an answer to prayer and had fallen even more in love with him. She had been secretly pleased that the illusion had shattered, for now perhaps he might touch her. And they had come close, on occasion. Erik had moved their lessons down to his home and there had been times when their fingers had brushed when scrutinising the notes on the pages of music. Every time this had happened a frisson of excitement had raced to Christine's heart. And yet, it went no further than that, for every time she got too close, he closed up and moved away.
One day, boldness and exasperation overcame her. She knew she shouldn't have done what she did, she knew it was wrong, but she caught him whilst he was composing, completely absorbed in the music. She stole away his mask.
Anger, tears and apologies had followed, on both their parts, but it was too late, for their bond had been shattered when she had broken his trust. Christine had fled at the sight of his face, and found solace in the arms of an old friend, Raoul, the Vicomte De Changy. But as the months wore on, her heart continued to beat ever more for her once-angel and so she left Raoul and returned to Erik.
Yet Erik, fearing that she was so far above him, kept his distance, resuming the role of teacher only. He loved her with all that he was but he would never dare tarnish her soul with his own. So he resisted and locked his heart away, denying himself the one thing he wanted the most; to be loved for himself.
Determined to finally be bold enough to share her feelings, Christine had asked Erik if they might spend Christmas together, just the two of them, creating their own traditions. He had agreed, of course, for he'd do anything to please her, though he held reservations about having her under his roof and his own restraint, for he wanted her with a longing that scared him in its intensity.
Christine readied herself in her dressing room, donning a dark red dress that she'd picked out especially to please him. She was excited and eager to see Erik, to change the course of their story. As if thoughts could contain magic, the mirror slid open to reveal him. He was smiling and, she noted, for once had deviated from his usual attire, even if only slightly.
"How jolly!" She exclaimed as she lightly touched the emerald green bow tie and matching waistcoat he wore.
He chuckled at her exuberance. "Merry Christmas, Christine, thank you for choosing to spend the season with me."
"There's no one I'd rather spend it with," she smiled.
She felt a sense of nervous energy as they made their way down to his home. She was determined to create a happy memory for him this season. Hundreds of candles met them as they stepped from the boat and Christine delighted in the Christmas tree she could see in the living room, adorned with yet more candles and sparkling ornaments.
As she approached it, Erik handed her something. "For the top," he said.
"It's an angel! Oh, Erik, everything you've done…it's just so…"
"Yes?" His eyes sparkled expectantly.
"You're, you're just so…" Everything, you're everything to me she wanted to cry. "Thank you," she finished meekly.
"You're welcome, my Christine."
His Christine. Why did she like the sound of being possessed by him so much? She couldn't stop herself from flinging her arms around him, holding him close and breathing in the comforting aroma of him.
He seemed embarrassed. "Well, I just thought, that you would enjoy it. The angel, I mean. I must attend to the dinner," he said, reluctantly breaking the hold and escaping to the kitchen. Christine was not deterred and used the opportunity to set her plan in motion. Now, where would be somewhere he would end up standing? Somewhere unavoidable…
She glanced about the room and landed upon the obvious - his grand piano. Smiling, she dashed over and climbed upon the bench, standing on tiptoe to reach an oil lamp fixture above the seat. There she tied a small cluster of mistletoe, bound in red ribbon. The snow white berries gleamed in the light and she giggled at her own mischievousness. Hearing him approach the room, she scampered down and tried to act nonchalant. For all her skill as a seasoned actress, she felt that he could see right through her.
"You're up to something," he accused.
"No, I was just putting the final touches on your gift."
"My gift? No one has ever given me a gift before," he said in disbelief.
"But it's Christmas, whyever would I not bring you something?"
"I have something for you, too," he replied, walking over to the tree. "I thought to wait until tomorrow, but you seem so excited, why wait? Close your eyes." Christine obeyed and felt him place something delicate in her hands. "Open them."
She held a beautifully intricate rose made of metal and glass. Around the stem was tied a black satin ribbon. It reminded her of days in the past when he had gifted her with real roses following a great performance. Her eyes filled with tears at the memory that no longer was.
"You need to say the magic words to make her sing," Erik said.
"And what would those be?" She smiled.
Taking a breath for courage at the boldness of his next move, Erik leant forward and whispered in her ear. "Open your petals for me, dear Rose, for I am your Nightingale come to sing you to sleep."
"From the Persian story you once told me?"
"Yes. I remembered it was your favourite."
"Open your petals for me, dear Rose, for I am your Nightingale come to sing you to sleep," she commanded and gasped as a delicate tune began to play and the rose slowly opened its petals. Christine began to softly cry. "That story… The rose was blind. Erik… to call this beautiful doesn't do it justice. Thank you, wherever did you find it?"
"Find it? I made it, Christine," he replied, as though it were obvious.
"You made it? Oh, I really don't think my gift can live up to yours," she said as she lowered her eyes in dejection.
"Of course it will," he bid, gently taking her shoulders and urging her to look up at him.
"Alright, close your eyes then," she mimicked his earlier request. Her intention had been to have him play something on the piano but she found she preferred this stance. "Follow me." She tenderly took his hand and led him to the piano, moving the bench aside that he may stand beneath the mistletoe. She knew it was just an excuse to kiss him, but she still held a lingering fear that he did not want this, and so she kept the mistletoe as a pretence. "Keep your eyes closed." She stood up on tiptoe once more, for he was a great deal taller than her and, without a moment's hesitation, pressed her lips to his.
He went rigid against her but as she coaxed him to kiss her back, she felt his arms softly wrap about her waist and pull her close to his body as he deepened the kiss. Oh, to finally kiss him, the man she had adored from Angel to Opera Ghost. The mask was a slight hinderance, but she did not wish to draw attention to this for fear of rousing his temper, or worse, hurting his feelings. So she continued to kiss him, pouring all the love she felt into that act. The desire to touch his face arose, but she daren't, and so kept her hands tightly fisted into the soft velvet lapels of his coat.
As the kiss ended, breathless, he murmured, "Christine… may I open my eyes now? I wish to look upon your beautiful face, my rose."
"Yes, Erik," she smiled.
As he opened his eyes, he caught sight of the mistletoe and his expression became hard. "Ah, a pity kiss, I understand. Thank you for your 'gift', my dear," he said, suddenly cold, suddenly the Phantom once more.
"No, Erik! Why would you think that? There's another part to your gift."
"Five minutes of staring at my face without revulsion, perchance?"
"No! The… the mistletoe, it meant nothing, it was just in case you didn't want to. It was an excuse to kiss you.
"An excuse?" He said as he eyed her warily.
"Let me offer the rest of my gift, please?"
"As you wish."
She breathed heavily as she approached him once more, nervous, anticipating. "I want us to be more than teacher and student, more even than friends. I want to be with you. Erik, I love you. I'm in love with you."
He remained silent, wary.
"Erik, say something, please."
He suddenly reached out and grabbed her, faster than she could think. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers, as though they were a lifeline.
"Do not toy with me, Christine. Is what you speak true? Because if it is, I will never let you go. I will be yours, and you will be mine forever, do you understand?"
"Yes," she smiled as she wrapped her little arms around him, cuddling him close and gifting him something he had never known.
Fin.