.

Dualities

Negotiations went rather smoothly after the initial phases of the discussion. Most of which sailed well in Christine's favor in the managers' endeavor to appease their rightfully insulted budding starlet. This gave them more power to further increase her salary to three hundred fifty francs per night, and seven hundred francs if she were to take Carlotta's place as the lead. Further addendum included, of course, L'Chantseur's unabated presence in service to Christine's vocal training, and the remodel of her dressing room which now included the refurbishment or replacement of furnishings. After all, the opera's next Prima Donna needed her comforts, yes?

The managers lost all their negotiating powers in their initial desperation to keep Christine from walking out that door in hard bargaining. They would be fools to let her go on to another theatre for an enchanting debut. If word got out, and Erik assured them that it would, that they let a talent like Christine slip through their fingers, they would become a laughing stock for all other theatre companies.

That would be utterly horrendous to two 'scrap metal' dealers who reached for notoriety.

As they cemented the contract in ink and Christine's fine cursive, minor chaos began unfurling in the auditorium. Several curtains began falling at random in most of the opera's Boxes after a mysterious shadow passed over the stage. The Phantom was blamed while Erik was neatly seated beside Christine in front of the managers.

Being that Christine had fittings and other matters to attend to without him in the opera, Erik would have to leave the Garnier without her. It would not do to have L'Chantseur appear to never leave. That would cause far more trouble than it was worth. But before they had to part ways for the remainder of the day, Erik managed to secret her off into a parlor often reserved for the elite who did not wish to mingle with 'lowers' during an intermission or after a performance.

"You were impressive Christine," Erik praised the moment they were alone. "I may not have recognized you if I had not been standing beside you."

Her cheeks flushed again in a bashful manner that Erik endeavored to inspire more of in their future. "I don't know what came over me, really. I am having a hard time determining if I'm just emboldened, or your lesson…or just your presence. Even yesterday, knowing that you were there behind the mirror…" her eyes shifted to look out the window. "It was a comfort to know someone was there, supporting me."

Erik permitted himself a small smile but his spirit wanted to frolic like a fawn in a meadow, almost. He dared not convey that elation to her when he had much to prove regarding his worthiness. Everything was going so smoothly, and he would be a fool to believe it would last long. Especially so when he would get her on that stage and de Chagny with the rest of Paris would soon realize the remarkable woman standing across from him existed.

A moment he dreaded.

"Always," he murmured, daring to trace a finger along her jaw but only caressed air. "Your strength comes from more than just me, my dear. I merely have helped you start to realize what is already within you."

Christine pressed her cheek into his hand which sent a jolt through him from her boldness. "Because you see me?"

He inhaled sharply as his thumb brushed over her cheekbone. "All of you."

She pressed more into his caress, grasping his wrist in both of her hands before one crept up to cradle the back of his. Warm. Gentle. Kind. So very kind in her sweetness that Erik had to remember his own lesson to breathe as their eyes met. Her sapphires were so wide in her uncertainty and curiosity.

Footfalls in the corridor beyond the door drew them back to reality. Should anyone walk in on them at that moment, there would be unacceptable questions about just how Christine paid her singing teacher. A rumor that could not be allowed to spark to life.

Erik dropped his hand to great mutual disappointment, then stepped away in a few retreating steps with his back to her and his right hand resting on his hip. The fingers of his left rested over his mouth and chin while he searched for some control over want. Over the last several days, Erik made grand strides and put forth every effort into forming and deepening the bond between them. They were closer now than they had ever been and it seemed the feeling was becoming mutual, perhaps a touch too soon.

His eyes found the wide mirror with a gilded frame that hung on the wall over a slim table adorned with various top-tier liquid refreshments. The masked man looking back was the constant reminder of how out of place he was in everything. Worse yet, was seeing Christine several paces behind him as she looked back to him through reflections, her eyes glistening.

Not wanting to look at her in their reflections, Erik dropped his hands to clasp them neatly before him. Right over left as the fingers of the latter rippled in his discomfort. "Christine, I care for you more than what would be considered appropriate. If someone walked in at that moment, your reputation would be tarnished before it can flourish. I cannot be the cause of rumor suggesting you slept with your teacher in exchange for lessons."

She clenched her jaw. "What is my payment?"

"Between Daaé and L'Chantseur or Christine and Erik?"

"Both," she asked coolly, blinking away her tears.

"L'Chantseur tutors Mademoiselle Daaé as a favor to her late father. Erik tutors Christine to hear her sing, which is payment enough." Erik craned his head to the side, "He also treasures her company beyond description."

Christine turned away from him, hugging herself.

The inexplicable shift in her mood pained him. Erik was at a loss for what exactly he did in this instance to have upset her. Reading people and expressions was his greatest weakness, but he had been certain of what he read in those moments. She sought his touch; she clutched his hand to her cheek. Did he read everything wrong? God…

"Christine?" he implored with a weakening voice. "I apologize if I —"

"I have a fitting to go to," she said, her voice empty, and left him alone without further explanation.

It took everything to not follow her, begging for some measure of explanation of how he upset her, and to apologize.

Collecting himself and adjusting his projection to the world as L'Chantseur, Erik left the parlor and turned down the corridor in the opposite direction from Christine. It was necessary to be seen leaving today.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Christine went through the day feeling little more than automation going through the motions. Between fittings, studying new roles, and rehearsals, how exactly she muddled through she was uncertain. The guilt for walking out on Erik as she had, did weigh heavily on her. It was not fair of her. Possibly even cruel.

In truth, she did not comprehend why he so vexed her now. What transpired between them in that parlor was not unwelcome, but it no less terrified her when she remembered that he was the Phantom. A man who sat beside her in the office while minor chaos somehow unfurled the auditorium. How did he even manage that?

He stalked the opera like it was some sort of playground while he was bored. Traveled behind the walls and looked through mirrors. How many times had he spied her while in some state of undress, or any other girl for that matter?

Yet, he remained a complete gentleman around her.

Erik's presence both calmed and strengthened her. It was only when she was near him that she felt empowered to stand up for herself. In the office, they rallied together into a seamless team against two men who have likely known each other for decades. When he could have easily taken care of everything never even had her there, he did not silence her when she spoke. Rather, he played into it, because as far as she knew, there was no one in Vienna.

For as frightening as he could be, the kindness of his words and gentleness of his cool touch left her wanting more of such attention. Foreign, exciting, and terrifying from the newness of it and just from who it all came from.

It angered her at just how easily Erik took that touch away. It felt like a denial, that her emotions were sacrificial pawns in a cruel game.

He claimed to care for her, unmistakably wanting her company, but it seemed her reputation was more important to him than anything else. Did that mean that they would never be, or could be anything more than what were now?

When the day drew to its end, there was no lesson. No solitary figure dressed in black sitting at the piano of a near-forgotten rehearsal room.

There was no voice behind the mirror, in the walls, or in her head.

How could she be so senseless to the man who spent months on her voice and building her up to whatever he saw in her?

Even as a decorator came to her dressing room the next day to go over plans for the small remodel. Nothing.

Rehearsals, nothing.

By the end of the day, she tried to call for him where they would practice or while she was in the dressing room. Still nothing. Erik was very much becoming a ghost to her now.

She wrote a small note of 'I'm sorry,' and tucked it into the frame of the mirror with the words to the glass.

By the next morning, the note was gone. Whether from Erik receiving it or it was fluttered away by the workers who started painting the moldings white and pressing up the new wallpaper of a light silvery blue damask. It was a vast improvement of what was there before, and more relaxing.

Come rehearsals of the third day since Erik's sudden absence, two full days since she last saw or heard from him. Christine found herself missing his company as well as the ballet and Meg, her truest and most steadfast friend. Meg's rehearsals with the ballet often ran elsewhere while the chorus had their own separately. While they shared a home and a room, Christine could not quite share her troubles without giving away Erik. She was not even certain if she could speak of him to anyone else without risking his security.

Being a full member of the chorus where she could participate in named parts and be billed as such, had its setbacks. It no familiar face or mask in reach, Christine was alone in her new position.

Many remained kind and pleasant to her, unaffected by the undertones of social drama in the shimmering undercurrent of competition for position. It was only a handful of these people who were not swept up in the vigor and jockeying for a coveted position within the company. Or a better role. But Carlotta had many friends in the chorus. Friends who were average as best but no less numerous.

It was those 'friends' who started it; those terrible rumors. Faint whispers in dark corners as a scene was reset.

There was no way Christine Daaé could afford a tutor. Any tutor.

There was no way that a penniless girl could afford a tutor who could teach her to sing like that in a short time.

She must have been a good hump for that, all she was good for. The only way for her to become a star.

Those cruel words brought the full understanding of Erik's concern. The pain of such a rumor fanned the flames of her anxieties and insecurities over everything, and not one ounce of those tales was true. No, the truth was much more…complicated.

Fellow understudies such as Norris Murphy and Alison Weaver, fellow understudies to other leading performers were a comfort. They also suffered the wrath of fellow chorus members who luxuriated in favor of the Opera's stars, whom they covered for. Were these leads of their vocal class really so insecure with their skill that they had to take it out on their understudies? Did they have to strive to weaken those who were meant to be learning and growing within their art?

No wonder the Opera Ghost seemed to take issue with much of the leading cast. These grand levels of pettiness about fellows would only be a detriment to the quality of the Palais Garnier's future. Did no one else but her and Erik realize this of the vocalists? Were these new managers truly so blind to realize that this was bringing harm to them all?

When Christine stepped into the lonely ballet rehearsal room for her hope of a lesson, she found the dark silhouette of Erik waiting for her in the center. A shadow in his cloak and fedora like a wraith, reflected in the mirrors that dominated half the walls. The sight of him there sent contradictory floods of relief and anger fanned by the hurt of the last two days. "You left me," she bit out in all those feelings.

"I left you?" he murmured with venom. "I left you? You are the one who left me without explanation, denying me the chance to apologize."

Christine started to respond, but was silenced by a sharp gesture of a raised hand.

"You do not get to be vexed by my absence when my presence in some way bothered you. I gave you the space you wanted."

Her eyes fell, "That's not… that was not what I wanted."

"Then what? Perhaps I was too forward with you, Christine. But it was you who sought my touch and seemed upset when I pulled away, so forgive me if I misread the situation. Otherwise, I would have never said anything to that end."

"I was mad that you pulled away as you did," she snapped back.

"To which you know the reason already. You heard the whispers already starting just today. I saw you, how they pained you."

"But what about before then, on the roof? You have a reason for pulling away then too?"

"The roof?" Erik paused before a crooked smile formed with a musically sinister chuckle. "You are mad at me for not kissing you?"

Yes—no," curse her indecisiveness for constantly switching between the two options.

"You suggest that when the fog faded from your mind that night, you still wanted my kiss?" he pressed when she did not answer.

She was relieved, yes, but at the same time, disappointed to be denied the opportunity. "I was both… It is still both."

"I see," he began in a strange tone, which softened as he turned towards the windows taking up a long wall. "Then it seems I must explain why… which I can assure you is not for a lack of want, my dear." Erik tossed his fedora from his head with a flick of the wrist. "My voice is the only attractive quality that I possess. I know the power of it well. It has a magical power to hypnotize and persuade almost anyone to my whim."

Christine watched him glide across the room, steps without sound and majesty in his stride. Every motion and gesture in harmony to music she lacked the privilege of hearing.

"My decision to not claim your perfect lips was to your benefit, for I wished not to take advantage of a situation I created." Erik came to stand before the windows, looking out over Paris with his back turned towards her. "I would loathe for you to have any regrets were you to realize your likely first kiss was shared with a thing."

The mask was flicked away much like the hat, and then a hand reached up and pulled off the wig. Beneath it lay a head where the skin was so white it starkly contrasted against the thin wisps of graying dark hair.

She watched him with growing apprehension, digesting his words. The implication of them was the fact that now nothing was between her and whatever would be seen should he turn to face her. Deformity, scarring, how terrible would they be? He made no lie when he informed her of his lack of hair. Why would the implications of his face be any different? Despite her lack of nerve, she managed to stay rooted.

"I will not have you thinking that I have misled you again," he turned to her, strictly keeping his unmarred cheek to her. "Nor will I suffer lies that this hideous monster twisted your mind." Taking a steadying breath, Erik turned to her fully.

To her credit, Christine did not scream.

Color drained from her already pale features and her hands flew upward, one cupping her mouth and the other resting upon the hollow of her throat. Christine's heart pounded against her chest, pulsing blood through her veins with a drummer's powerful percussive beat. Not even closing her eyes tight could purge her mind of the horrible sight. That horrible and sad face.

Erik's right eye was so sunken into its socket that it was a wonder she even saw it when the mask was present. Bones protruded heavily around that eye and into his cheek. The skin over those places was stretched so thin it was almost translucent. The hollow of his cheek and the lines over his forehead were ridges and canyons, twisting and seeming to melt as though he were a corpse lying beneath a scorching sun.

The marring on the right half of his face stretched up into the side of his head where the wig would cover it from view, but there resided a distorted crater that was unlike the rest. Scarred and discolored from either burns or some other injury. Then came his lip, swollen and distorted as tight skin pulled it up towards that poor cheek.

When she dared open her eyes again to see if her imagination was getting the better of her, the horror remained and the shock palpable. Poor Erik.

"Would you have that kiss now, Christine?" he growled, which distorted his face further with every twitch of underlying tendons and muscle.

Christine still heard his pain beneath the façade.

"Could you bear the thought of it? When you have seen what the world deems to be nothing less than monstrous? The face that not even a mother could gaze upon, much less love."

Christine did not make eye contact with him. Only fleeting glances as he spoke his torments, mouth too dry to swallow the hard lump of speechlessness. Fear of him and his cursed face kept her rooted, paralyzed in fright as though she were a doe to a hunter.

"To your credit," he muttered as he blessedly turned away replacing his wig and going to his mask and hat. "You are the first woman to not scream, faint, or flee from me in terror." He stooped to pick up those discarded items. "Those are just the most common reactions."

Christine was at a loss for what to do to ease the tension in the room. As with everything regarding Erik, and life as she was discovering, there was a duality that was impossible to ignore. Her emotions and feelings were as opposing as the features of his face. One-half beautiful, the other terrifying in its form that resembled a decaying skull where flesh and sinew remained.

Then his voice, oh his voice was utterly stunning. Something so beautiful that she could not stop herself from listening to its rich tones. Speaking, singing, it mattered not as long air moved through his vocal cords, she would be content to listen. Even his darker tones and sinister inflections were heavenly and terrifying. That voice did possess every power he suggested it did. It made her knees jelly and her guard crumble.

There existed so much of Erik that Christine had little chance of knowing yet, or the motives for much of his actions as the Phantom prior to his initial revelations. Strangely, the Opera Ghost had suddenly become less sinister in much of his antics. But Erik's kindness, specifically to her, was easy to remember.

"Why do you care for me?" she asked minutely as she rediscovered her voice. "Apart from what you have already said. There is more you're not telling me."

Erik slowly turned back toward her, but would not look at her for more than a brief glance.

"Why me?" she pressed, advancing a step.

He turned away again. "You are not corrupted by the world's preconceived notions. Even now, you have not fled from me, cursed, or condemned me. You are still choosing to speak to me almost as if I were any other."

"You cannot change how you were born."

Erik met her gaze this time, "Therein lies the answer, Christine. I see you, but you are the only one who bothers to make an attempt to see me; or treat me as a man and not some heinous thing. Even if seeing my curse inspires your fear, you are trying not to be afraid."

"I do not want to fear you…" she whispered. "You were right to not…take advantage of my willingness on the roof. I cannot help but think it would be a betrayal of trust. I know it shouldn't be, since were you like every other man it would not be a problem or even a consideration."

He gave a nod as she spoke. "I am not like any other man, Christine. I know that. If I were, neither of us would be here now."

The distant sadness in his admission tugged at Christine's core and brought her to Erik's side. She raised a hand to rest on his arm or shoulder; but felt hesitant in touching him in the same manner as his hands did with her. Just floating in the air, torn. Whether this turn stemmed from fear or reluctance, the young soprano did not know.

"I may be but a Näcken to you, but you are a Älva to me. Dancing to the music of your own voice. I understand just being in your company is like reaching for stars."

She felt tears prickle at the mention of Swedish folklore. To have someone who knew of those tales was as foreign as it was to hear them outside of her homeland. The Näcken was a violinist whose music was so beautiful it lured those who heard it to a watery grave. Älvorna were often women of nature who danced in the mists of dawn and twilight, to encounter one was to leave the mark of death. "I thought you would consider me a Siren."

"You are that too, my dear. However, there are other Greek equivalents that I favor more you and I."

"Which are?"

"For another time," he caressed the air by her cheek. "For now, we should have our lesson if you still wish for one."

She gave a nod.

"We will work on the role of Countess," he said as he drifted towards the piano.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this Chapter, and Christine's reaction in the parlor floored me. I was very much consulting my Christine friend in it with: "I don't even know why she's upset here, but this is by her instance!" Took a while to work this out, and understand her motives here, Hope you liked it.

A shoutout to my Swedish friend 'Rel' for correcting me on usage of Älva(singular) Älvor(plural) and that Älvorna is more proper than writing "The Älvor." Were it not for her, and Swedish speakers would be head-desking for me using Älvor throughout.

Lastly, I had a reader-on another site fuss at me for missing words, and say I should proof-read. I have no Beta, and I do proof read. I Proof Read a lot. Chapters are actually several weeks old before I post them, so I am more likely to spot my errors. The amount of double words, wrong words(same sound though) and other things I find and correct are crazy. My brain does like to auto-correct and auto-fill-in errors so I can read it a dozen times and still miss something. If you see that I did, point it out and I will gladly correct it.