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xoxo
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Chapter Twelve: Have You Forgotten Your Angel…
Previously,
Christine Daaé's Dressing Room, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, September, 1894
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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Christine Daaé's Dressing Room, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, September, 1894
It had been several days since they last spoke.
The silence between them had grown unbearable, filling the space around Christine with a suffocating weight. Rising from her bed, she approached her mirror, her fingers lightly brushing its cool surface, hoping—praying—for some sign of him. But there was nothing. No flicker of movement, no shadow of his presence. She had tried to reach out to him, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but her attempts had been met with silence. The emptiness of his absence stung, and anger burned within her—not just at him for his stubborn refusal to hear her out, but at herself for failing to make him understand.
Pulling on her lavender dress, she left the ties in front undone, her stays partially exposed. She paced her small room, the steady rhythm of her footsteps a reflection of her turbulent thoughts. Her fingers found the locket hidden beneath her corset, and she pulled it free, opening it to read the inscription inside for the hundredth time. The familiar words offered no comfort, only a reminder of what felt so painfully out of reach.
Her thoughts spiralled as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her frustration mounting. "Oh why must I always speak my mind? Why did suggest such a foolish suggestion. You incompetent, stupid, selfish girl. Her eyes at her reflection, giving herself a mocking clap. "Brava brava Christine!" Turning slightly to her side, to pull the front laces of her bodice together securing her dress.
"Oh, why must he never let me finish a sentence? Why can't he just listen?" Christine huffed, pacing in front of her mirror before stopping to glare at her reflection. ""And why, why do I always trip over my words like a foolish, helpless child? What was I thinking, making such a ridiculous suggestion without thinking how he would react?"
Her frustration bubbled over as she clapped her hands sarcastically at her reflection, her tone dripping with mockery. "Brava, brava, Christine! Truly a masterpiece of communication!"
She turned sharply to the side, yanking at the front laces of her bodice with more force than necessary, her fingers fumbling as she secured her dress. Her annoyance with Erik refusing to give her a chance to speak clashed with her anger at herself for not explaining better. She tugged one last lace tight, her chest heaving as she let out an exasperated sigh.
"Christine…"
She froze, her heart leaping as she whipped around to face the voice. For a fleeting moment, hope surged through her veins. But the figure that met her gaze wasn't his.
"Madame Giry," Christine murmured, her voice trembling with disappointment. A single tear slipped down her cheek, trailing the contours of her face as her shoulders sagged under the weight of dashed expectations. "I'm sorry. I thought…" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I thought you were Erik."
Antoinette stepped forward, her movements deliberate and steady, her expression a blend of concern and quiet understanding. Her presence carried a calming weight, a tether to reality as Christine's emotions swirled chaotically.
"My dear," Antoinette said softly, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. She reached out to Christine, her gloved hand brushing the younger woman's trembling arm. "You're carrying so much on your shoulders. Far too much for someone so young."
Christine wiped at her tears with trembling fingers, though the ache in her chest refused to ease. "I just… I don't know what to do," she admitted, her voice cracking with the rawness of her pain. "He won't listen to me, Madame. He won't let me explain. And now I've ruined everything."
Antoinette sighed, her brow furrowing as she regarded Christine with maternal concern. "Erik is… a complicated man, as you well know. He is ruled by his passions, his fears, his pain—and yes, his stubbornness. But you, my dear, are just as stubborn in your own way, and that is not a fault. It is a strength. The two of you are alike in more ways than you realise. Whatever words were left unsaid, there is still time to mend what has been broken. But it will require patience, understanding, and the courage to push past both his pride and your own."
Christine shook her head, doubt clouding her features. "I don't know if he'll even give me the chance. He shuts me out, and I… I feel so lost. Do you—do you think he'll ever forgive me?"
Antoinette placed a firm hand on Christine's shoulder, her gaze steady. "Oh, my dearest child, of course he will. That man down there loves you more than anything in this world. He will come around. But you must be patient. Erik is… stubborn, as are you, but his love for you is stronger than his pride. If there is one thing I have learned, my dear, it is that Erik cares for you more deeply than he knows how to express. That bond is not so easily severed. Give him time, but do not lose your voice in the silence."
Christine looked at her reflection in the mirror once more, her fingers tightening around the locket she still held. Though her heart was heavy, a small spark of determination flickered in her eyes. She nodded slowly, allowing Madame Giry's words to settle over her like a balm.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice steadier now, though the ache remained. "I just hope you're right."
Antoinette offered a small, reassuring smile. "You will find a way, my . I know you both will." Christine clung to her, the warmth of Antoinette's words soothing the ache in her heart.
Unbeknownst to her, Antoinette's gaze flicked to the grand mirror, where she could just make out the faintest glimmer of white—a mask. Her blue eyes locked briefly with Erik's broken emerald ones.
You are an idiot, Erik thought bitterly, his heart constricting. Of course she was only trying to protect you.
"Christine…" he murmured softly, the sound barely audible through the glass. A heavy sigh escaped him, and his voice, thick with emotion, broke the silence.
I was the one who had it all…
I was the master of my fate…
I never needed anybody in my life,
I learned the truth too late.
His fingers brushed the cold, smooth surface of the onyx stone, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. The image of Christine, so vulnerable and filled with sorrow, haunted him.
I'll never shake away the pain.
I close my eyes, but she's still there.
I let her steal into my melancholy heart,
It's more than I can bear.
Erik's chest tightened as he swallowed back the ache. How had it all gone so wrong? How had he pushed her away, despite his love for her?
Now I know she'll never leave me,
Even as she runs away.
His grip on the velvet box tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light.
She will still torment me,
Calm me, hurt me, move me,
Come what may.
He could feel the sting of his own doubts, his need to protect her from the world, and his own demons. He had only wanted to shield her, but in doing so, he had trapped them both in an unspoken battle of pride and fear.
Wasting in my lonely tower,
Waiting by an open door.
His footsteps echoed through the corridor, the emptiness of the theatre pressing in on him, the silence broken only by the sound of his breath.
I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in
And be with me forevermore.
But he knew the truth. He could no longer deceive himself. He had driven her away with his own actions, his refusal to listen, to trust. And yet, deep inside, there was still a flicker of hope, a wish for a second chance.
I rage against the trials of love.
I curse the fading of the light.
The weight of regret settled deeper into his soul as he turned another corner, his mind racing.
Though she's already flown
So far beyond my reach,
She's never out of sight.
Even in his darkest moments, she was with him. Her spirit, her love, never truly left him, even as they stood apart.
Now I know she'll never leave me,
Even as she fades from view.
She will still inspire me,
Be a part of everything I do.
Erik clenched his fists, the words coming to him like a prayer, a vow.
Wasting in my lonely tower,
Waiting by an open door.
I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in.
And as the long, long nights begin,
I'll think of all that might have been,
Waiting here for evermore…
Erik's gaze dropped back to the ring, the black onyx seeming to echo the depth of his anguish and his enduring hope. A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as he snapped the lid shut with a satisfying pop and slipped the box back into his pocket. Resolving himself, he took another turn through the winding tunnels, his footsteps deliberate and steady. Coming to a familiar wall, he paused, reaching for a concealed candle holder. With a swift pull, the hidden mechanism clicked, and the stone wall shifted to reveal a secret passage.
Stepping through, he found himself in Antoinette Giry's office.
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Madame Antoinette Giry's Office, The Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France, September, 1894
Antoinette stepped into her office, her breath catching as she saw Erik standing there, waiting by her desk. His figure was cloaked in shadow, his posture tense, but there was something softer in his eyes—a vulnerability that betrayed his usual stoic demeanour.
"You are a foolish man, Monsieur," Antoinette said, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection. She shook her head gently. "Go to her, Erik. She loves you. Don't let this mistake keep you apart."
Erik's shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh, placing the black velvet box on the desk with a soft thud. "Antoinette… I…" His words faltered, and he rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "I don't know if I can fix this." Erik looked at her with a deep sadness, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant to hurt her. I only wanted to protect her."
Antoinette stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You've both been through so much. Don't let this one moment, this one argument, be the thing that keeps you apart. You've fought harder battles and come through stronger. She loves you, Erik. She will forgive you. And If you don't act, the Vicomte will step in, and then what?"
Erik's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he glared at her. "You play dirty, Madame," he growled. Antoinette smirked, unfazed by his sharp tone. She raised an eyebrow, daring him to argue, but he only exhaled sharply, his resolve clearly faltering. "Where is she now?" he asked, the quiet desperation in his voice unmistakable.
"Where do you think?" she smiled at him. Erik grinned, Christine would sometimes sing on stage when the theatre was closed for the day. Her reason was that it calmed her whenever she sang in a silent room. Antoinette gazed at the ring Erik held in his hands, her expression softening. "It's a beautiful ring."
"Beautiful ring for a beautiful angel," Erik replied with a smile, his mind drifting to the moment when he would slip the diamond ring onto Christine's slender fourth finger. Erik grinned, taking the box and slipping it into his jacket pocket before opening the door. He stepped aside, allowing Meg to enter. He gave her a small smile, but Meg raised an eyebrow, looking at him curiously. He turned back to Antoinette, his expression now soft with gratitude.
"Thank you, Antoinette. Little Giry, always a pleasure."
The door clicked shut behind him, and Antoinette let out a satisfied sigh, settling into her desk chair. Meg, still watching the door, felt a pang of concern. She remembered how Christine had cried the day before, unable to stop worrying about her fight with Erik.
"Will they be alright, Mama?" Meg asked quietly, her voice full of uncertainty. Antoinette smiled softly, a warmth in her eyes. She looked at her daughter, her tone reassuring. "Yes, sweet girl, they will be fine." She paused, her gaze turning distant as she spoke with quiet certainty. "They'll be more than fine."
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The Stage Of The Opera, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, September, 1894
"In sleep he sang to me… in dreams he came...
That voice which calls to me… and speaks my name…"
Christine knelt on the empty stage, the soft glow of her lantern flickering beside her. Her eyes were drawn to Box 5, where she had hoped to see a shadow, a sign, anything. But the darkness of the theatre remained still, unbroken. She lowered her gaze to the wooden floor, tracing the countless scuffs and scratches left behind by years of performances. She signed in defeat and with a heavy heart and rose from the stage floor picking up her lantern, and ventured toward the wings, her heels echoed throughout the empty theatre. But silence was interrupted at the sound of he's voice, echoing around her as it always did.
"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance."
Christine froze, her breath catching in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes, and a sob escaped as she turned toward the source of the voice, the familiar sound of it pulling her back to memories of her father singing her to sleep.
"Angel or father, friend or phantom? Who is it there, staring?"
Erik came up behind Christine, gently turning her around to face him. His hands cupped her face, and as their foreheads met, she placed her hands against his chest. The familiar scent of sandalwood enveloped her, grounding her in the moment. She closed her eyes, savouring him, feeling her heart beat in sync with his. He smiled softly, his fingers tenderly stroking her auburn curls, the warmth of his touch sending a wave of comfort through her. "Have you forgotten your angel?"
Christine shook her head, but she pulled away slightly, her gaze meeting his deep emerald eyes, filled with so much emotion it made her heart ache. "Angel, oh, speak! What endless longings echo in this whisper?"
Erik gently cupped her cheek, his thumbs wiping away her tears. His chin rested on the top of her head. Christine let out a sigh of relief, feeling a wave of emotion wash over her. As she finally felt his arms, the ones she had missed so desperately, wrap around her waist. "Too long you've wandered in winter. Far from my vanishing gaze."
"Wildly, my heart beats against you." She murmured, rubbing her cheek against his velvet jacket, breathing in more of his scent. Erik's grip tightened around her. "You admit," he said, his gaze locking with hers, "that your soul obeys."
Christine's heart ached at the weight of his words, and she breathed in deeply, almost choking on the raw emotion that rose within her. "That my soul obeys," she whispered. Christine pulled away from his embrace, her heart swelling with joy. She stepped back, her arms opening wide as she sang from the depths of her soul. "Angel of Music!" she cried, her hands pressing to her chest, her voice trembling with emotion. "I denied you."
Erik nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "You denied me."
Turning from true beauty.
"Angel of Music!" she called out again, her voice rising in urgency. "Do not shun me," he murmured, his voice filled with longing. Christine shook her head, unable to stay away any longer. She ran into his waiting arms, her voice trembling as she spoke. "My protector."
Come to your strange angel!
Come to me, strange angel!
Erik pulled her closer, running his fingers over her cheeks as his lips captured hers. Christine melts into his embrace returning the same passion and clutched at his coat. She let out a sigh of relief, as their mouths met. The engagement ring in his pocket burned against his jacket pocket.
"I am your Angel of Music... Come to me, Angel of Music…" He sung to her as she let's out little giggles in delight as her lover pressed his kisses all over her neck.
Erik pulled Christine closer, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her cheek before his lips claimed hers with a hunger that stole her breath away. She melted into his embrace, her body pressed against his as she returned his passion with equal fervour. Her hands grasped at the rich fabric of his coat, pulling him closer as a soft sigh escaped her lips, a wave of relief washing over her when their mouths met. He could feel the weight of his engagement ring in his pocket a constant, reminder of their future together.
"I am your Angel of Music... Come to me, Angel of Music…"
His voice, low and filled with devotion, flowed to her like a tender lullaby. Christine's heart fluttered, a quiet giggle escaping her as Erik's lips moved from hers to her neck, his kisses slow and deliberate. Each soft press of his lips against her skin was a whispered vow, each touch a delicate stroke of affection that left her breathless.
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xoxo
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Songs:
Evermore: Beauty And The Beast 2017
Notes .../Twisted Every Way: Andrew Lloyd Webber
Wandering Child/Bravo, Bravo: Andrew Lloyd Webber
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xoxo
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