Chapter 27: Shadows and Hopes, or Something That Wasn't There Before

Dark, shifting shapes swarmed around him, too vague to be fully identified, and yet holding enough power to constrict his lungs. Black claws dug into his skin, and a cacophony of sounds and pictures flooded him.

Erik shouted and threw himself forwards, unsuccessfully trying to break free. The distorted, jarring voices cackled in triumph.

The gloom at his feet thickened, and writhing tentacles crawled up his body. Thrashing, he tried to shake them off, but to no avail; it was as if they had already become a part of him, merging with his flesh.

"NO!"

Ignoring the pain, he attacked the coils, tugging and clawing, but he wasn't able to rip them off. The animated blackness moved higher, piercing his arm and curling around his neck. He wanted to scream, but to his terror, he found that he no longer had a voice.

No matter what he did, there was no escape.

The darkness surged again, and its wisps forced their way into his mouth and nose.

"NOOO!"

With a choked shout, Erik jerked up, yanking at his shirt and bedding. His eyes frenetically darted around in search of the threat. His heart pounded in his ears.

Part of him dimly recognised the familiar, shadowed contours of the cave he used as his bedroom, but dread still flooded his veins, pulsing in every muscle. His breath came in short, ragged gulps as he fought not to fall to pieces.

With a guttural roar, the Phantom slammed his fists against the bed. The cut on his arm and his bruises instantly reminded him of their presence, evoking a groan of pain. Grimacing, Erik shifted to sit in a more comfortable way. Sweat ran down his skin, and his whole body was trembling shamefully.

Hell, he was not a child, to allow himself such a pathetic display of weakness!

Rage flared inside him once again. His hands clenched, and another sharp pang pierced his injured arm. The Phantom swore loudly and tried to relax the muscles, staring into the barely lit space.

Hell.

He had failed again, hadn't he? Once again, he was nothing more than a–

Stop!

The inner command sounded strangely similar to Meg's voice, and Erik couldn't help a wry smile.

If she were there and could hear his thoughts, she would definitely scold him. Probably even threaten him that she would start to scream.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and a warm feeling slipped into his chest.

Erik huffed and reached for the cup that the Girys had left on his nightstand. His hand shook slightly, but he managed to take a few sips. The cool, herbal infusion eased the hoarseness in his throat.

Meg undoubtedly looked at some things quite differently than he. Scraps of their conversations flashed through his mind, followed by the recent memory of her gentle embrace. His good cheek grew strangely hot, and he hurriedly chased away the image.

He could understand that the ballerina had leaned on him in the chapel because she had needed it, but why in blazes would she hug him like that? If he hadn't been so shocked and tired, he would have probably moved away, not knowing how to react, but deep inside, a part of him was glad he hadn't.

The Phantom glanced down at his deformed hand; it looked monstrous, even half-concealed by shadows. And yet Meg didn't seem to mind it at all.

He had no idea what she thought or felt, and half the time he was unable to name even his own cursed feelings, but… He could no longer hide that there was something that hadn't been there before.

His heart beat in a bizarre rhythm, and the sensation of warmth flooded him again.

Erik exhaled and brushed away the wet strands on his forehead.

Well, Meg's extremely peculiar hugging habits weren't something he had to debate right now. What was important was that she believed in him and in finding good solutions. No matter what, she never gave up. Perhaps he could give this attitude a try too.

When he thought about it all, somehow the semi-darkness surrounding him no longer seemed as black and overwhelming as before.

Madame Giry once again scanned the letter he had given her and then raised her gaze to him, her stern brow furrowed.

"So to sum up," she said, "after receiving Monsieur Levefre's letter with its explanation, Messieurs Andre and Firmin want to give their cooperation with you a second chance. They have already decided to stage your opera to fill in for a series of concertos with foreign artists that had to be cancelled due to illness. And they request your assistance in directing it. At least as long as said assistance will be limited to sending written suggestions either to them or Monsieur Reyer, and you will refrainfrom" – she glanced back at the sheet – "any deeply disturbing, eerily eccentric and unseemly actions."

Erik couldn't help but scowl at the last quote. A few days had passed since the accursed duel, and it still shocked him that its only consequences had been Christine's relocation to the hotel and extra guards patrolling the opera corridors. Both decisions had raised some questions among the employees, but they had been simply explained, either by Mademoiselle Daaé's new status as a betrothed to a member of an aristocratic family or by some administrative changes.

As far as Erik knew, the incident hadn't been reported anywhere, and he couldn't have been more grateful. Everything had ended far better than he had expected, and he suspected he owed it all to Christine. Nevertheless, even in his wildest dreams, he would never have imagined that the managers would send the Opera Ghost a message.

"Yes, it appears so," he confirmed. "I have received a message from Monsieur Lefevre as well, along with an offer of further help in mediation with his successors. I cannot say that their reaction is something I expected, though." A frustrated sigh escaped him, and he started to pace again.

"But it's a good sign, isn't it?" Meg glanced at him uncertainly from her place on his green-grey sofa, where she sat by her mother.

The Phantom exhaled loudly. "Perhaps. I don't know." A clipped edge in his tone made Madame Giry frown again, her eyes narrowing at him.

"But you wanted your play to be staged, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did!" His voice sounded harsher than he intended, and Erik forced himself to take a deep breath. "I'm sorry." His apology brought a flash of astonishment and something he couldn't name to the elder Giry's face.

Erik averted his gaze and rubbed the nape of his neck. "I'm just not exactly sure if it is the right time. Nor if I want to achieve this goal this way…" he grumbled more gently.

There was a short pause, and then he heard Madame Giry again.

"Well, the managers have already announced that we are going to stage The Music of the Night at the beginning of May, so I guess they are going to do that whether you agree to help or not."

The Opera Ghost winced.

"Technically, I gave them the score and libretto, so they can do that." His hands clenched. He hated that it all was happening so unexpectedly, but the thought that, without his help, someone could profane his work was even more repugnant. His mouth pressed into a thin line. "And what do the others think about it?" He glanced back towards the women. It was still a bit weird to see them seated so casually in his library, but slowly he was starting to get used to their more frequent visits.

The ballet mistress shrugged.

"The reactions aren't so different than for any other piece. The majority is a bit anxious about the fact we have just a month to get ready, and some are excited about the mystery of staging the Phantom of the Opera's work. Carlotta Giudicelli and Ubaldo Piangi complain that the music score is hardly an opera, but Eugene Reyer calls it innovative and is evidently impressed by it."

"And Christine?" Despite his attempt to act indifferent, a hoarse note slipped into his voice. His eyes flitted aside.

This time, it was Meg who answered his question.

"She seemed a little shocked hearing managers' decision, but I don't think that staging something you wrote truly bothers her. She has even given me and a few choir girls a mini lecture about which Swedish songs the first act is inspired by and how extraordinary the composition is, so I daresay she is even excited." Her words were filled with warmth, and as he glanced back at the ballerina, he found that she was smiling softly.

A hard-to-define mixture of feelings slipped into his chest. Erik cleared his throat.

"And what do you two think about it?" His question seemed to surprise them.

Madame Giry eyed him with a strange expression and then rubbed her temple in thought.

"Such a sudden decision seems a bit off to me, but on the other hand, we really don't have anything to fill in for the cancelled series of concerts. Moreover, Pierre Lefevre undoubtedly could have helped to set some things straight. You definitely should be cautious, but going with it might not be such a bad solution." Her strict features softened, the corners of her lips curving up a little. "At least as long as you behave."

Erik sent her a dark glare and then moved his gaze to Meg. The dancer shifted in her seat, a tiny wrinkle appearing on her forehead.

"I think it's worth trying. Perhaps it could even be a step closer to ending all the other misunderstandings. Besides, it would be great to see your work staged." A warm smile brightened her face, and for some unfathomable reason, it was enough to change the rhythm of his heartbeat. Again.

The Opera Ghost scolded himself inwardly and quickly turned away.

Swallowing, he focused back on the topic. "Well then, I might give this new deal a try. And if you agree, I would gladly hear your ideas about the choreography for a few pieces."

Meg smiled and pressed the folder with the score and her notes to her chest as she walked with her mother through the underground tunnels.

The fact that Christine was accommodated at the hotel made sneaking out easier, and so the ballerina was able to visit the Opera Ghost even more often. It was a bit like when they had been rewriting the spring festival's script, but this time the music and the plot were much more complex. The choreography was meant for the ballet dancers, so she could no longer ask Erik for assistance, and with a strange pang, she realised that she missed their practices, no matter how awkward they had been. She had to admit, though, that dancing to melodies written by the Phantom of the Opera was an overwhelming experience.

She had already known that the pieces Erik wrote were beautiful and full of emotions, but, oh heavens, hearing him play his own, multidimensional compositions was an entirely new experience! The mood in the opera changed from light-hearted joy to unbearable longing, from soft comfort to throat-gripping dread, from shy hope to devastating despair. It all tugged at her heartstrings, and sometimes she felt as if it were the music itself that guided her, tremulous and tender, or strong enough to sweep her along.

Meg wrapped her arms tighter around the folder.

The plot was very interesting too. It told the story of Nadir, a Dark Elf from the underground Kingdom of Unending Night. Fascinated by the world of humans, Nadir often ventured above at dusk, coming to the edge of a forest to observe the life of a nearby town. One of its residents was a musically talented merchant's daughter, Aurora, who lived near the city walls. Almost every evening, she would sing in the rose garden while her father played the fiddle, filling the night air with the sweetest of music. Nadir couldn't help but listen to them, sometimes quietly joining them on his flute.

However, one day, everything changed. Due to the delay caused by a broken wheel, the merchant's small caravan was forced to travel alone through the forest at night. It was the opportunity a group of thugs had been waiting for. Witnessing the ambush, Nadir sprang to the travellers' defence. Thanks to his fencing skills and inhuman strength, he managed to chase away the bandits, but he himself got injured too. What was more, at the end of the fight, his cloak fell, exposing his pointed ears, dark skin, fangs and claws.

The Dark Elves were considered untrustworthy demons by most of the human folk, but to his surprise, despite their shock, the man and his daughter didn't flee from him. Instead, they took him to their house to treat his wounds, keeping his secret. Surrounded by their kindness, he couldn't help but fall in love with Aurora, and she seemed to reciprocate his feelings.

And so, even after his full recovery, Nadir started to visit her every dusk. The rose garden no longer had a duo, but now held a trio of musicians creating the music of the night.

Unfortunately, their happiness didn't last long. Rumours spread by some members of the beaten-up gang made the townspeople more suspicious of strangers. One night, they discovered Nadir's true identity. Cornered by armed men, he had no choice but to use his ability to walk through shadows to flee to the underground Kingdom, taking Aurora and her father with him.

From what Christine told Meg, in the first version of The Music of the Night, which the soprano had received from her teacher, the plot had ended right there. However, later, a second act had been added:

Though Aurora loved Nadir, she could not help but miss the bright sky, and slowly she grew weaker and more miserable. Watching her suffering filled Nadir with despair. The Elf wished to do all he could for her, but living fully in the world above was not possible for him – even if he could hide his appearance, as a creature born out of darkness he could not stand being exposed to full direct sunlight.

Torn, Nadir turned to the Norns for help and heard an old legend about two lovers whose affection was so deep that they challenged fate using the Shadow Path. The Norns warned him, though, that everything came with a price: the ones who wanted to alter their future and go through the Path had to sacrifice some aspects of their being, but also stay true to themselves. If they lied or lost too much of their true selves, they would be reduced to the Shades and trapped there forever.

Despite such ominous warnings, Aurora and Nadir made their decision and set off on a similar quest. On their way, they faced many trials and confronted their fears, changing a bit with each one of them. The story had an open ending, but one could assume it was a happy one, as the last scene showed another rose garden with music coming from it.

The corners of Meg's mouth twitched again.

When she had praised Erik about the score and libretto, the Phantom had scoffed and averted his gaze, saying that it was just "an overly simplified, too sugary and unrealistically optimistic tale" he had written to "fit the audience's preferences", but she knew that, deep inside, her compliment meant more to him. And though he would probably never admit it aloud, he liked the plot too.

After all, it was not only a romance set in fantasy scenery. It was a story about overcoming obstacles and fighting for people you cared about. A tale about changes and growth, which were sometimes very hard and demanded sacrifices, but nevertheless were worth going through.

A warm smile brushed her lips, and she hugged the score again.

"You really do like him."

Her mother's quiet statement pulled the ballerina out of her thoughts, almost making her trip. Glancing up, Meg found the ballet mistress's sharp, pale green-blue eyes scrutinising her closely. The dancer's cheeks grew hot, and she hurriedly averted her gaze.

"Of course I do. We're close friends."

Antoinette Giry snorted under her breath.

"That's not what I meant, child," she said. "You look at him just the way Jules looked at me." Her tone softened, a hint of warm amusement slipping into it. "You even blush exactly like your papa."

Bewildered, Meg looked up and saw her mother smiling gently.

"I…" the ballerina hesitated, and her heart thudded faster. The confused mixture of feelings she had been trying to ignore for the past weeks flooded her again, and suddenly it all became as certain as the sun. "I think I do, Maman," she admitted quietly, surprised at how relieved she felt by this confession. Heavens, she really did like Erik! Joy filled her. "I really do," she repeated louder. "But he…" she broke off, saddened.

In response, her mother sent her another smile and fondly brushed away a strand of Meg's hair.

"To be honest, I've never seen Erik look this way at anyone before either. Though, he's probably too stubborn and reserved to admit it any time soon."

Raoul quietly took a seat in one of the first, shadowed rows.

The first two weeks of April had whizzed by with the speed of a steam engine. Easter, which he had spent with Christine and her foster family, came and went in a flash, along with the days after it. Unfortunately, the ladies didn't share his opinion on the Phantom and had belittled the threat he posed. Due to his apprenticeship, the announced theatrical season and the fact that both Girys wanted to first learn more than the few English words they had assimilated while coworking with various artists, they had decided to postpone their departure to summer. Nevertheless, there were already a lot of things they needed to start taking care of. On top of that, they also had to deal with preparations for the new performance.

His eyes wandered to Christine, who was gracefully moving across the stage. She seemed to be in her element there, her usual shyness receding as she got into a role.

Raoul couldn't say that he enjoyed seeing her in the madman's work or watching her in Ubaldo Piangi's embrace, but he had to admit that she looked and sounded stunning as Aurora.

The play was definitely different from any other opera or operetta the viscount had seen, but he could not deny it held some fantastical, almost mesmerising, charm. Moreover, it definitely wasn't the story and music he had expected from a power-hungry, hatred-filled and manipulative monster.

Though, maybe it was only so because the Phantom had written it for Christine? The whole score and libretto seemed to be tailored to her tastes, and that irked Raoul more than he would have liked to confess. It was almost as if the Phantom were able to take a glimpse into the depths of her soul…

The thought brought an unpleasant sensation to Raoul's chest. His muscles tightened, and he shifted on his chair; it was upholstered with soft red velvet, but suddenly it no longer seemed comfortable.

In less than two weeks, all of it is finally going to end, he reminded himself.

The machine of his plan to ensnare the Phantom had been set in motion even more smoothly than he had foreseen. The aristocrat had braced himself for diabolical tricks, but nothing like that had happened. The Opera Ghost had obediently accepted the terms of the deal with Messieurs Andre and Firmin. Furthermore, the letters he exchanged with Monsieur Reyer – who was conductor and the musical director in one – or the managers to discuss the technical matters were strictly formal and polite. In the first of them, the shameless manipulator had even stated that he would be glad to return to his advising duties, but only on the condition that it was be acceptable for everyone, for, as he had declared, he did not wish to cause any further problems or discord.

Raoul gritted his teeth.

This whole false courtesy and composure were definitely an unexpected turn, but he was not going to let it fool him. The others were more prone to being deceived by such schemes, but on the other hand, it also helped to keep the true intention behind staging the play hidden.

After the first confusion, the artists and stagehands accepted the decision and mostly complained only about the short time left for preparations. Some, like Monsieur Reyer, seemed almost enthusiastic about the play. Christine adjusted to it quickly, as well. Perhaps even too quickly.

Raoul winced.

After the argument, things between them had slowly returned to normal. Christine had even thanked him cordially for taking her opinion into account and not reporting the incident at the cemetery.

The memory of that conversation settled heavily in his stomach, as did the echo of Phillipe's curt remark that the viscount shouldn't have hidden such things from his fiancée.

With another grimace, Raoul forced himself to push away these feelings.

His father always used to say it was the man's job to make the hard decisions, and though they had some big differences, perhaps Raoul had to agree with him on that this one time.

His mouth twisted slightly again.

His father was a great man, but that didn't change the fact that their relationship was… well, a bit complicated, to put it gently. For the past few years, their interactions had improved and could even be described as amiable, but mostly when it came to business or other trifling things.

August de Chagny was probably more progressive than many aristocrats, but he firmly believed that one's responsibility, duties and good name were more important than everything else, and that was where his and his son's worldviews clashed. In the Count's refined, organised and sensible world, there wasn't much space for joy or gusts of heart.

Thus, of course, the biggest disagreement between them had been about Christine.

Raoul sighed inwardly and ran his hand through his hair as his mind travelled back in time.

After his family had moved to England, he had asked for permission to go to France and visit Christine at least during the summer holidays, but his passionate speech about love hadn't had any effect. Responsibilities should come before childish affections that won't last, the Comte de Chagny had said. And that meant graduating from school and studies and adjusting to the family business first. Only after that plan was fulfilled could Raoul be considered a responsible adult. If, after that, he still wanted to try to court a low-class girl, he was free to do so as long as it didn't bring shame to their name.

A few weeks after that conversation, teenage Raoul had tried to get to Paris on his own, using the money from selling some of his belongings, but his daring escape had been stopped before he could board the ship. As a result, he had been punished with house arrest, a threat of a ban on his correspondence with Christine if he ever repeated the attempt, and a year of military training to let him taste "a real drill that would teach him discipline".

At that point, Raoul had realised one truth about his father: August de Chagny never argued or shouted, but somehow it also meant that he hardly ever sought a true compromise – even if he heard out the other side's reasoning (which didn't happen every time), it was always he who gave the final verdict. His son and wife's role was to politely obey as long as they depended on his care.

Something in Raoul's stomach twisted unpleasantly as a tiny voice asked him if that was the rule he wanted to implement in his own life. Chasing away the question, the aristocrat focused back on the rehearsal.

When he had informed his father last year about his plans to go to Paris to find Christine, the Count hadn't tried to stop him and had even coldly wished him good luck. He wasn't completely despotical or heartless.

On the stage, Monsieur Reyer announced a short break for rearrangement. Getting out of her role, Christine waved to her fiancé shyly, Meg Giry joining her enthusiastically.

Raoul let his lips stretch in a smile and raised a hand in greeting too, ignoring a strange feeling inside him.

A moment later, Christine was down and by his side. "Did you have a hard day in the office? You look a little tired and absent today." Her caring dark brown eyes moved up to him as he stood to greet her.

Raoul swallowed.

"There were some problems with the steam engines' pistons shipment in one of the factories we supervise," he confessed honestly, "but it's nothing that could not be solved. And definitely no concerns serious enough that a dinner with such an amazing and talented fiancée could not chase away." Taking the soprano's hand, he laid a brief kiss on her knuckles, and Christine smiled at him.

"We should finish within an hour," she said.

Her feet thudded softly again against the wooden boards of the stage's stairs as she climbed back to join Meg Giry and the others.

Left alone in the semi-darkness, Raoul sat again, trying to ignore the shadow of discomfort creeping over him.

He was not lying to them. He was simply keeping some fragments of information to himself for their sake. Christine was far too emotional, delicate and empathetic. He had to protect her and bring an end to this manipulating monster's reign.

He just had to.

Author's notes:

Dark Elves and Norns (the beings spinning the threads of fate, the seers) are elements of Norse mythology, but the characters of the opera here are not perfect copies of them, just something inspired by the original myths.

Nadir is the opposite of zenith (the lowest point on the celestial sphere downwards from the observer; the Sun is at nadir when it is 90° below the horizon), so I found it a fitting name for a Dark Elf. :)