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xoxo
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Previously,
Chapter Eleven: So Do You End Your Days With Me?
Antoinette handed him a small box. "I know you may not be my son. But I like to think you are apart of my family and a protector and an angel to Christine. So here is a reminder that you are loved and protected by me always…" Erik looked at the small ring in the box, and kissed Antoinette on the cheek. "Thank you my friend I shall cherish this always.
Christine, who was just eighteen grinned at him, as they looked at the stars on the rooftop. "What did Madame Giry give to you for your birthday ange?"
"Love, my sweet Christine." Christine looked down at his right hand and kissed his ring. She giggled at him.
He pulled it off looking at the dark black stone that sat around the thick gold platinum band. Erik sat it next to his parchment paper and began to sketch.
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xoxo
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The Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris, France, September, 1894
"Mama, why are we here?" Meg asked, clutching her cloak tightly against the chill of the autumn air. Her voice held a note of unease as she glanced around the solemn cemetery, the towering headstones shrouded in a misty grey.
"I'm not entirely sure," Antoinette replied, her breath visible in the cold. "Erik left instructions for us to meet him here." They approached the familiar grave and stopped before it. Antoinette's gaze fell on the weathered inscription etched into the stone.
…Gustave Daaé…
Born: 1821
Died: 1882
Beloved Husband & Father
"What happened to him, Mama?" Meg's voice was soft, hesitant. She had never asked Christine about her father before, aware of the pain it stirred in her friend.
"He passed from influenza when Christine was just ten years old," came Erik's voice, smooth and quiet, breaking the stillness. The crunch of gravel under his footsteps announced his arrival.
Antoinette turned to face him, offering a solemn nod. Memories surfaced—of the little girl she had brought to the opera house all those years ago. Christine had been so vibrant, yet marked by the deep sorrow of losing her parents in such rapid succession. It had been heartbreaking to witness.
"He was a great man," Erik continued, his tone reverent. "Someone I regret never having the privilege to meet."
Meg's curiosity got the better of her. "Monsieur, may I ask why we are here?"
Erik clasped his hands behind his back, his posture formal yet tinged with nervous anticipation. "I've asked you both here because I was hoping to have your blessing."
"Blessing? Blessing for what?" Meg's eyes widened, and then realisation dawned. "Oh!" she gasped, her excitement bubbling over as she glanced at her mother. Antoinette's eyes were misty, her emotions clearly stirred.
"Mama?" Meg prompted, uncertain.
Antoinette reached out, her voice trembling with warmth. "Oh, my dear boy, of course, you have my blessing."
Erik's lips curved into a rare grin as he inclined his head in gratitude. Then his gaze shifted to Meg. "And you, Little Giry? Will you give me yours?"
Meg tilted her head, a playful seriousness in her expression. "Will you promise to love her unconditionally? To never turn her away when she needs you most?"
Antoinette chuckled, patting her daughter's hand. "I think you've been reading too many of Christine's novels, mon chéri."
Erik placed a hand over his heart, his voice solemn and full of conviction. "I will devote my life to her—to love and cherish her for all eternity."
"Well, then," Meg said with a laugh. "You have my blessing, too."
"Good," Erik replied, his tone lighter now, a hint of humour creeping in. "Because I couldn't have my future bride's best friend disapproving of her marriage."
Meg giggled, the sound warm and lively against the somber backdrop of the cemetery. Erik turned back to Antoinette, his expression serious once more. "With both of your blessings, Madame Giry, I must give you this." He handed her an envelope, its seal unbroken.
Antoinette raised an eyebrow as she took it. "Another letter for the managers, Monsieur Opera Ghost?"
Erik chuckled, shaking his head. "Non. These are my designs for Christine's engagement ring."
Antoinette's brow softened, and her lips curled into a small smile. "Well then," she said, tucking the envelope safely into her cloak. "It seems you've thought of everything."
Erik inclined his head, his confidence masking the tremor of hope in his chest. Everything now rested on Christine's answer.
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The Stage of the Opera, The Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France, September 1894
"Now, if you please, mademoiselles, messieurs, gather around here," Firmin called out, waving his hands to corral the cast members into a group.
Christine glanced at Meg, who was absently picking at her nails. "What's happening?" she whispered.
"I'm not sure," Meg replied, shrugging. "Mama mentioned this morning that the managers have some big announcement to make."
"Ladies and gentlemen, please—Madame," Firmin pleaded again, his voice tinged with exasperation as the chatter continued unabated.
Antoinette sighed, stepping forward. She raised her cane and struck it sharply against the newly waxed floor. The resulting thud silenced the room immediately.
"Ah, that's better," Firmin said, smiling nervously. "Now, as you all know, the new year is nearly upon us. To mark the occasion—and to celebrate the installation of our magnificent new chandelier next week—we've decided to host a masquerade ball!"
A wave of excitement rippled through the cast, and Christine's lips curled into a soft smile. The thought of a ball where Erik could attend, his mask blending into the festivities, filled her heart with hope.
"Oh, Christine, you must bring your suitor along!" Eloise said, clasping her hands together with delight. Christine gave her friends a polite smile as they giggled among themselves.
Before Christine could respond, Raoul appeared at her side, his grip seizing her arm with an unsettling force. "Who's taking you to the ball, Christine?" he demanded, his voice sharp, laced with frustration.
Christine frowned, yanking her arm free with a quick motion. "No one, Raoul," she replied, her voice thick with irritation.
"I overheard your little friends gossiping about your suitor," Raoul continued, his voice dropping into a venomous hiss. "You've been avoiding me, Christine. What does he have that I don't?"
"Leave me alone, Raoul," Christine said, her voice shaking, the memory of his grip still lingering painfully on her skin. "You're hurting me."
"Christine!"
Raoul stepped back, his breath shallow, his chest rising with each angry inhale. He adjusted his waistcoat, his gaze darkening with a mixture of fury and something Christine couldn't name. He leaned in, his voice low and menacing.
"This isn't over, Little Lottie." he whispered, his words hanging heavy between them, before turning away and leaving her standing in the echo of his threat.
Christine stood frozen, her arm still tingling from his grip. She wobbled slightly before Belle appeared at her side, linking their arms.
"Are you alright?" Belle asked softly, concern evident in her eyes.
"Yes," Christine replied, though her voice was barely above a whisper.
Belle frowned, unconvinced. "Christine, I may not know you as well as Meg, but I can tell when you're upset. Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, Belle," Christine insisted, forcing a small smile. "Please, let us make haste. Madame will have our heads if we're late."
Reluctantly, Belle allowed Christine to lead them away, though worry still clouded her features as they disappeared into the wings of the opera house.
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Back Stage Of The Opera, The Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France, September, 1894
Christine sat on the edge of the dressing room table, focused intently as she laced up her ballet slippers, her fingers working with a practiced ease. The quiet of the room, usually a sanctuary before her performance, was suddenly broken by the sound of harsh footsteps approaching. Carlotta, with her usual air of superiority and ire, stormed into the room, her eyes narrowed with barely contained fury.
Before Christine could even glance up, Carlotta's hand flew across her face in a sharp slap, the sting leaving a fiery red mark on her skin. "It was you, wasn't it?" Carlotta's voice dripped with venom, her gaze fixed on Christine with accusation in every line of her face.
Christine's hand flew instinctively to her cheek, the warmth of the slap still radiating there. Her heart raced, confusion clouding her thoughts. "I don't know what you mean," she said, trying to maintain her composure, though her voice trembled slightly.
Carlotta's eyes darkened, her lip curling in disgust. "Oh, yes, you do, you little bookworm," she sneered, stepping forward. "You stole my book!"
Christine's brow furrowed, her mind trying to process the absurdity of the accusation. She stood slowly, her posture tense. "Why would I steal your books when mine are so much more interesting?" she retorted, her voice cool but edged with frustration.
Carlotta's face twisted with rage at the defiant tone, and she took another step toward Christine, her chest heaving with the intensity of her fury. "You little bitch! Must you have everything?" she spat. "First, you take my spot in the Opera, and now you take my possessions! What more could you possibly want from me?" Her voice was rising with each word, her hand poised to strike again.
But before Carlotta could make good on her threat, a strong voice cut through the tension. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Meg's voice echoed from the doorway, her tone firm and unwavering.
Carlotta froze, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face Meg, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed and her gaze steady. With a sharp scoff, Carlotta took a deliberate step back, her fury still palpable but restrained.
"You'll pay for this," she snarled, her eyes burning with hatred before she stormed out of the room, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor.
Christine remained frozen for a moment, her hand still pressed against her cheek where Carlotta's slap had left its mark. Her eyes, wide with shock, began to well with unshed tears. The weight of the confrontation, of the accusations, and the hatred in Carlotta's eyes pressed down on her like a heavy weight in her chest.
Meg rushed to her side, her usual playful demeanour replaced with concern. She gently placed a hand on Christine's arm, her voice soft with worry. "Oh, Christine, what happened? Are you all right?"
Christine's lips trembled as she looked up at Meg, her eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and pain. She shook her head, unable to put her feelings into words. Finally, her voice broke, barely a whisper as she spoke, the weight of everything—Carlotta, Raoul, keeping her love for Erik a secret—coming crashing down on her.
"Everything," she whispered, the single word carrying the burden of all her frustration, confusion, and despair. Meg hugged her tightly, understanding without needing further explanation, as Christine let the tears fall.
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The Ballet Dormitories, The Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France, September, 1894
The door to the dormitory creaked open, and Meg entered, her face drawn with concern as she supported Christine, who appeared utterly shattered. The ballet girls, all in various states of readiness for practice, stopped mid-action, their eyes wide with worry. They quickly gathered around Christine, who was gently lowered onto the bed she had once shared with Meg. The once lively dormitory was now heavy with a somber quiet as they all huddled around their dear friend. Ivy and Carissa ran out of the room to get Madame Giry,
"Christine," Meg said gently, "You mustn't let her get to you. La Carlotta is just a bitter, horrible woman who thinks she can do whatever she pleases without consequences." She wiped away the fresh tears from Christine's cheeks with a cold cloth, pressing it softly against her flushed skin. The fabric of the cloth seemed to cool the heat from her face, but the sorrow in her eyes lingered.
Christine let out a long, shaky breath before speaking, her voice fragile. "She accused me of stealing her book. I... I don't even know how that could be. I read a lot, yes. I might have borrowed it without thinking. But this is the first time she's come after me like this. Ever since my performance in Hannibal, it feels like she's been out to get me, especially since I've taken centre stage."
The room fell quiet as the girls processed Christine's words. They all knew that Carlotta's jealousy had been simmering for some time, but this was different. This was more than just a diva's petty tantrum; it was a deliberate attack.
"Of course she feels that way!" Eloise exclaimed, her voice sharp and filled with disbelief. She took Christine's arm in both of her hands, her tone firm and protective. "Christine, have you looked at yourself and her? You are so much more beautiful, braver, and a better singer than she could ever hope to be. She is just a jealous, miserable woman who can't stand how much brighter your star shines than hers."
Meg nodded in agreement, offering Christine a soft, reassuring smile. "You don't have to let her tear you down, Christine. You've earned your place here. She doesn't control you."
She's so jealous of you because you are young smart and can sing and dance better than she could ever dream of."
Christine managed a weak smile, the weight of her friend's words helping to soothe her raw nerves, but her eyes still betrayed a deep sadness. Her attention shifted as the door opened again, and Clarissa and Ivy entered, with Madame Giry trailing closely behind.
"Now, girls, I don't have time for nonsense. I—" She stopped abruptly as she saw Christine's distress, and her tone then softened. "Christine!"
Christine broke into uncontrollable sobs, burying her face in her hands as she crumpled into the older woman's arms.
Meg, sensing the gravity of the moment, turned to the other ballet girls. "Come on, girls," she said quietly. "Let's go practice."
The ballet girls hesitated, uncertainty in their eyes, but Antoinette, who had been quietly supporting Christine, spoke up. "Girls," she said, her voice calm yet authoritative, "please, listen to Meg. I shall join you in a moment."
With a final glance at their friend, the girls slowly out of the room, each casting a concerned look back at Christine. Meg gave Antoinette a brief, reassuring glance before gently closing the door behind them, leaving the two women alone.
Antoinette stepped closer to Christine, cupping her cheek in her gentle hand. Her touch was tender, filled with the love of a woman who had seen so much suffering in her time. "What happened, my dear?" she asked softly, her voice rich with empathy.
Christine turned toward her guardian, her lips trembling as she whispered, "Carlotta… Madame."
Antoinette nodded solemnly, pulling Christine into an embrace. She could feel the tremor in the young woman's frame, the weight of the cruelty that had been thrust upon her. She stroked Christine's hair, trying to offer a sense of security, even though she knew the pain ran much deeper than this one incident. "Is that all?" she asked, her voice gentle.
"No," Christine whispered, taking a shaky breath. "What if I can't protect him? What if I'm not strong enough to keep Erik safe from everything that wants to tear us apart?" Her voice broke the quiet, low and broken, like the fragile glass of a shattered dream, and the pain in her words sent a chill through Antoinette's heart.
She knew that the love between Erik and Christine was a dangerous, fragile thing, tested by secrets and sacrifice. But what truly pierced Antoinette was the raw fear and vulnerability in Christine's voice—a fear that, despite her strength, threatened to undo her. Antoinette moved closer, her presence a steadying force. She placed a hand on Christine's shoulder, her fingers gentle, but firm. "You're stronger than you know, my dear. Love like this... it's never easy. But you'll find a way. And no matter what happens, you don't face it alone. You have Erik. You have me. And we'll fight alongside you."
Christine turned, her tear-streaked face still holding that haunting sorrow, but her eyes now burning with something else—resolve. It was faint, like a small flicker of light in the distance, but it was there. "I will fight for him. I won't lose him. Not without a fight."
Antoinette smiled softly, a bittersweet pride swelling in her chest. "That's all anyone can do. Just never stop fighting."
Christine lifted her head, her tear-streaked eyes locking with Antoinette's, a haunting sadness in her gaze. She gently pulled away from the embrace, her gaze drifting toward the double glass doors leading to the balcony. With slow, deliberate steps, she moved toward them, her body trembling under the weight of her emotions.
Antoinette watched in silence, her heart aching, but she didn't follow. She respected Christine's need for space. The cool night air seemed to embrace Christine as she stepped outside, her figure silhouetted against the soft glow of Parisian streetlights. Her eyes searched the city before her, taking in the sprawling beauty of Paris. Yet the lights did little to pierce the darkness that had taken hold of her heart.
Standing behind her, Antoinette held her breath, her eyes never leaving Christine's figure. Christine's presence was so strong on stage, her voice a clear, powerful bell that rang with emotion, but in this moment, her heart felt fragile—like a bird's wing trembling in a gust of wind.
Antoinette's heart broke as she realised just how vulnerable Christine truly was. Her voice, so strong in song, contrasted sharply with the fragile heart beneath. Such strong voices, Antoinette thought, and yet, such fragile hearts.
The silence stretched between them. Neither moved. Antoinette stood, rooted to the spot, her heart aching for Christine—the girl who gave so much, yet whose spirit seemed on the edge of breaking.
We keep behind closed doors
Every time I see you,
I die a little more
Stolen moments that we
Steal as the curtain falls
It'll never be enough
As you guide me to your house
I can't stop these
Silent tears from rolling down
You and I both have
To hide on the outside
Where I can't be yours
And you can't be mine
But I know this,
We got a love that is hopeless
Why can't I hold you in the street?
Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't it be like that?
Cause I'm yours
Why can't I say that I'm in love?
I wanna shout it from the rooftops
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't it be like that?
Cause I'm yours
It's obvious you're meant for me
Every piece of you, it just fits perfectly
Every second, every thought,
I'm in so deep
But I'll never show it on my face
But we know this,
We got a love that is hopeless
Why can't you hold me in the street?
Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't we be like that?
Cause I'm yours
Why can't I say that I'm in love?
I wanna shout it from the rooftops
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't we be like that?
Cause I'm yours
I don't wanna live love this way
I don't wanna hide us away
I wonder if it ever will change
I'm living for that day, someday
When you hold me in the street
And you kiss me on the dance floor
I wish that we could be like that
Why can't we be like that?
Cause I'm yours, I'm yours
Oh, why can't you hold me in the street?
Why can't I kiss you on the dance floor?
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't it be like that?
Cause I'm yours
Why can't I say that I'm in love?
I wanna shout it from the rooftops
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't we be like that?
Cause I'm yours
Why can't we be like that?
Wish we could be like that
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Christine Daaé's Dressing Room, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, September, 1894
Christine's heart raced as she stood before Erik, the words she'd been holding in for so long finally bubbling to the surface. She had tried to ignore the mounting fear inside her, but the reality was undeniable. Raoul's actions were growing more erratic, more aggressive. She knew Erik would want to take her to the masquerade ball, but Christine knew Raoul would be there, and the danger of Erik been exposed to the world, she didn't want to loose him. She had to tell him that this was the right thing to do in order to protect their love.
"Erik," she began softly, her voice shaking with the weight of her concern. "maybe… maybe you shouldn't take me to the masquerade ball."
Erik's gaze sharpened immediately, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He stepped closer, his brow furrowing in concern. "Why, Christine? I thought this was what you wanted."
"No, Erik," Christine interrupted, holding up a hand, her voice trembling with the anxiety she could no longer contain. "It's not that. I just… I'm afraid."
Erik's expression shifted quickly, and his eyes narrowed in sudden hurt. "Afraid? Of what?" he asked, his voice low, almost threatening, as if he expected to hear the worst. "Are you afraid of me? Afraid of being with me?"
Christine took a step toward him, her heart aching at the pain in his voice. "What, No, Erik! That's not—I'm not afraid of you," she said urgently, trying to explain herself. "It's Raoul. He…" She reached out to him, her hands trembling as they hovered near his chest. But before she could finish her explanation, Erik recoiled, his face darkening with an emotion she couldn't quite read.
"He's what confessed his love to you. And you want to be together is that it?" He spat bitterly,
"No, Erik, it's not like that—" she tried again, but he was already pulling away, his face twisted in pain.
"You told me you loved me," Erik continued, his voice shaking with hurt. "You said you wanted this, that you wanted us. But now you're afraid to be seen with me because of what? Your old sweetheart now owns you?" His voice rose as he spoke, each word cutting through Christine like a blade.
Christine's heart shattered at the misunderstanding, and her own tears began to well up in her eyes. "Erik, please, listen to me," she pleaded, her voice desperate.
But Erik, consumed by his own insecurities, wasn't hearing her anymore. "I was a fool to believe that someone like you, someone so perfect, could love someone like me," he muttered, his words laced with self-loathing. "I should have known better. This was always too good to be true."
Christine reached out again, trying to stop him, but he stepped away from her, his face set in a mask of pain and bitterness. "I was foolish to think that someone like you, an angel as you've called yourself, could truly love a monster like me."
"Erik, no!" Christine cried, stepping forward, but he was already moving toward the mirror. "Don't do this. Please!"
But he was already lost in his own spiral of emotion. "I should have known better than to trust in something like this," he muttered, his voice breaking, before he turned his back to her and approached the mirror.
In one swift motion, Erik slammed the mirror shut with a force that echoed through the room, the sound ringing in her ears. Christine flinched as the sharp noise reverberated around her. She sank to the floor, the weight of his words and the loss of their connection crushing her.
"Erik…" she whispered through her tears, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry… I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you."
But Erik didn't hear her. He was gone, lost in his own torment. Christine, with a broken heart and shaking hands, pressed her palm to the cold surface of the mirror, whispering again, "I'm sorry…"
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xoxo
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Translations:
mon chéri = my darling
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Songs:
Secret Love Song, Pt. II: Little Mix
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xoxo
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