.

xoxo

.

Previously,

The Catacombs Of The Opera House, The Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France, September, 1894

"I missed you," she whispered against his scars, her voice trembling with emotion. "Every part of you."

Erik's breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes. Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Je t'aime, Erik," she murmured, her voice a sacred vow before she kissed him fully, her lips meeting his in an embrace that banished the distance and heartache between them.

Erik lifted her effortlessly, holding her as though she were a piece of heaven itself. Their kiss was deep and unhurried, each moment an eternity of passion and devotion. Time seemed to stop, the outside world fading into irrelevance as they surrendered to each other.

"Tu m'as tellement manqué, mon bel ange," he whispered against her lips, his voice raw with love and longing.

.

xoxo

.

Chapter Fourteen: The Angel Sees The Angel Knows

The Palais Garnier's Theatre, Paris, France, November, 1894

The opera house, now silent after the final performance of the night, settled into a heavy, suffocating stillness. The lively energy of the audience, the applause, and the bustle of performers and crew had all vanished. Only the occasional footstep echoed faintly through the long, empty corridors, swallowed by the vastness of the building. Erik, concealed in the shadows, watched with intensity. The walls seemed to hum with the force of his thoughts, and his focus remained fixed on Raoul, the Vicomte, who had once again made his way toward Christine's dressing room. His angel, exhausted from a day of singing, dancing, and—of course—spending time with him, was now asleep.

Erik's voice, cold and commanding, slithered from the stone walls, a whisper in Raoul's ear. "Where do you think you're going, Monsieur le Vicomte?"

Raoul froze, his breath catching in his throat as the voice seemed to emanate from the very stones beneath him. He spun around, his eyes wide, defiant. "I know who you are, Phantom! You can't hide forever!" he shouted into the emptiness, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Erik let out a mocking laugh, the sound echoing through the walls, deep and unsettling. "Hahaha, Monsieur, you clearly don't understand how a phantom operates." The laugh faded into an eerie silence, pressing down on Raoul like an invisible weight.

Raoul's fists clenched as he pressed forward, his heart pounding in his ears. He moved closer to Christine's door, eyes scanning the dark hallway around him. He knocked gently on the door, the soft tap of his knuckles contrasting sharply with the tension in the air.

"What are you doing here, boy?" Erik's voice slid through the walls again, now colder, venomous. Raoul recoiled, spinning in a circle, eyes darting as if the walls themselves might spring to life. Raoul's voice rose, desperate and angry. "I know who you are! I saw you with her! On stage, in the shadows. You can't keep hiding this! You can't keep her from me!"

Erik's response was a near sneer, calm but laced with disdain. "Jealous, are we, boy?" His voice dripped with scorn. "You should have known you'd never win her heart." Raoul's pulse raced, his frustration reaching its peak. He stepped closer to the door, his knuckles brushing the wood. "I'm warning you, Monsieur," he called out, voice edged with certainty. "Stay away from her. She doesn't belong to you."

Erik's laugh was low and mocking. "Hahaha, you flatter me, Vicomte. Why would I stay away from her when she's already mine?" The words lingered in the air, quiet threats Raoul was too stubborn to heed.

Before Raoul could reply, a familiar voice pierced the tension. "Monsieur?" Madame Giry's stern voice rang out from the far end of the hallway, her presence a steadying force in the midst of the madness. Raoul turned to see her standing there, eyes narrowed, an air of authority surrounding her.

"I'm afraid Miss Daaé isn't seeing any visitors tonight," Madame Giry said, her voice firm but composed, her gaze flicking briefly to the flickering lights overhead.

Raoul glared at her, frustration boiling over. "I'm not here to play games, Madame Giry. I want to know the truth."

Behind Madame Giry, the ballet girls had gathered in their nightgowns, casting furtive glances at one another, their fear palpable as they seemed to sense Erik's presence in the walls.

"Why doesn't he just leave her alone?" Mary whispered to Clarissa, her voice trembling. Clarissa glanced at the others, her voice barely audible. "Because he's a boy with no sense," she replied, though unease laced her words.

Ivy and Belle stifled giggles, but Meg shot them a disapproving look, her eyes flashing with the gravity of the situation. She shoved them lightly, signalling them to remain silent.

Erik, hidden in the shadows, allowed himself a twisted smile at the girls' whispered comments. Christine, darling, he thought to himself. Your friends are such delightful little creatures, he mused, savouring the tension building around them. The girls' fear mingled with the rising power he held in the darkened hallway.

Madame Giry's expression tightened, but she maintained her composure.

"Perhaps you should come back tomorrow, Monsieur," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm sure Miss Daaé would be delighted to see you then."

Without warning, the lights flickered violently, plunging the hallway into darkness. The ballet girls screamed, huddling together in terror.

"It's The Phantom, Madame!" Lily cried out, her voice high with panic as she clutched Eloise, who was equally terrified.

"I thought he'd leave us alone!" Ivy whimpered, eyes wide with dread. "Please don't hurt us, Monsieur Opera Ghost!"

Madame Giry's staff slammed against the floor with a sharp crack, and the lights stabilised, casting the hallway back into dim gaslight. She sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

She stepped toward Raoul, her voice calm but firm. "Girls," she said, steadying the trembling group, "return to your rooms. I'll escort the Vicomte out." Raoul, defeated and unnerved, cast one last glance at the frightened girls before turning away.

Erik remained hidden in the shadows as Antoinette guided Raoul toward the exit. His eyes tracked their every movement, once they were out of sight, Erik's gaze softened. His focus shifted to Christine's room, where she rested. The pull of her presence was stronger than anything else. The opera house, empty without her, felt hollow, and the loneliness that had plagued him for so long faded when she was near. With quiet steps, he approached her room, slipping inside without a sound.

Moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room. There she was, his love, nestled in the blankets, her chest rising and falling with the rhythmic grace of sleep. He moved closer, each step slow and deliberate. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they hovered above her face. Gently, he traced the curve of her cheek, the warmth of her skin a sweet temptation. Her breath hitched, and she shifted slightly, her brow furrowing as though sensing his presence in her dreams.

"Erik…mon ange." she whispered softly in her sleep. Erik smiled at the sound of his name on her lips. Leaning down, he let his breath warm her skin, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

"I love you," he whispered. Her face relaxed, a peaceful smile curving her lips as she nestled deeper into her pillow. With a reluctant sigh, Erik pulled away, casting one last tender glance at her sleeping form. Turning toward the mirror, his fingers brushed lightly against the cold glass. The familiar mechanism clicked into place as the mirror swung open with a soft creak.

.

xoxo

.