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xoxo
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Previously,
Christine Daaé's Dressing Room, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, November, 1894
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.
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xoxo
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Chapter Fifteen: All I Ask Of You
Christine Daaé's Dressing Room, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, December, 1894
Christine settled at her dressing room table, her eyes falling upon a letter sealed with Erik's signature red rose. She felt a flutter in her chest as she carefully removed the note from its envelope and unfolded it.
To my darling Christine,
As she read, his voice seemed to fill her mind, as if he were right there, speaking to her. She instinctively reached for her locket, clutching it tightly as his words washed over her.
In honour of your beautiful performance,
Will you join me on the rooftop?
Yours forever,
~E.D
Her heart raced as she placed the letter down, unable to contain her excitement. Without another moment's hesitation, Christine hurried to her closet, eagerly pushing aside the dresses to find what she needed. But something caught her eye, one dress among the others that she didn't recognise. She pulled it from the rack, her gaze drawn to a note attached to the hanger.
Wear this tonight.
Eternally yours,
~E.D
The dress was a soft, baby pink tulle, with a white lace bodice and delicate lace flower accents scattered across the skirt and train. It cascaded down to the floor, trailing like a whispering secret. Christine marvelled at its beauty before slipping it on, the fabric feeling like a glove against her skin. She grabbed her white boots and laced them up, her hands trembling slightly with anticipation.
With a deep breath, she opened her dressing room door and stepped into the silent hallway. She moved carefully through the empty corridors, her footsteps echoing faintly as she made her way toward the rooftop, her heart pounding in time with each step, eager to meet the man who had stolen her heart.
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The Rooftop Of The Opera House, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, December, 1894
Pushing open the rooftop door, Christine stepped into the biting chill of the December night air. The icy breeze stung her cheeks, and she immediately regretted not bringing her cloak. She tilted her head upward, watching as delicate snowflakes cascaded from the darkened sky, swirling and dancing like tiny frozen ballerinas. The world seemed to still, and as the silence of the night enveloped her, a familiar melody bloomed in her mind, filling her heart with its bittersweet harmony.
Dancing bears, painted wings,
Things I almost remember…
And a song someone sings,
Once upon a December.
Christine began to hum softly, the melody growing stronger in her heart. Her voice broke through the stillness of the night as if the snow itself paused to listen.
Someone holds me safe and warm,
Horses prance through a silver storm,
Figures dancing gracefully,
Across my memory…
She wandered toward the edge of the rooftop, her footsteps muffled by the fresh layer of snow. Leaning against the balustrade, she gazed down at the twinkling Paris streetlights, watching as people bustled in and out of the surrounding buildings. The city glowed like a living painting, vibrant yet tranquil beneath the canopy of the starlit sky.
Far away, long ago,
Glowing dim as an ember,
Things my heart used to know,
Things it yearns to remember…
A gust of wind made her shiver, and Christine wrapped her arms around herself as she continued to sing, her voice trembling with emotion.
And a song someone sings…
Once upon a December…
She sank onto a small bench near the edge of the rooftop, her breath visible in the icy air. Her gaze drifted upward to the full moon, a silent sentinel watching over her. The snow continued its graceful descent, blanketing her in a shimmering frost. She shivered again, hugging her arms tighter around her frame.
"Christine…"
The whispered voice broke through her reverie, soft yet commanding, like a thread of silk brushing against her ear. Her heart leapt as she turned quickly, expecting to see him, but the rooftop was empty. Her frown deepened, her breath hitching, and she clutched her locket for comfort.
Before she could call out, she felt the familiar weight of a velvet cloak draped gently over her shoulders. Startled, she jumped slightly but relaxed as she inhaled the scent she knew so well. Erik's scent. Warmth flooded through her as his arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her close. His lips brushed against her cheek, a kiss so tender it made her heart race.
"You were exquisite tonight, my angel of music," he murmured, his voice deep and filled with reverence. Christine blushed in his embrace, leaning back against him. "Erik," she whispered, turning to face him, her hands resting on his forearms. He smiled, the moonlight catching his face in a way that softened his features. Gently, he pushed the cloak off her shoulders, letting it pool at her waist as his hands lingered at her torso. "Look at you," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. His hand reached up to cup her cheek, his gaze trailing down to the dress she wore. "My angel… so beautiful."
Her cheeks flushed, and she buried her face against his crisp white shirt, closing her eyes. "Cold darling?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Before she could answer, he pulled the cloak back up, wrapping her in its warmth once more. "Mmm, no," she replied softly, her voice barely audible over the gentle wind. Erik inhaled deeply, gathering his courage as his voice broke into song, familiar lyrics spilling from his lips.
"Say you'll share with me… one love, one lifetime…"
Christine's heart swelled, and she looked into his dark, emerald eyes, unaware that he had pulled something from his pocket. Her lips parted in wonder as he continued.
Lead me, save me from my solitude.
Say you want me with you here, beside you.
Anywhere you go, let me go, too.
Christine, that's all I ask of you.
Slowly, Erik knelt before her, his hands trembling as he revealed a black emerald-cut onyx engagement ring, framed by three cluster diamonds, the band simple yet elegant gold. Christine gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as tears brimmed in her eyes.
"Christine…" His voice cracked with emotion. "Twelve years ago, when I was merely a child, I met a curious little girl who came into my life like a firecracker. She made me see beauty where I thought there was only darkness. From the very first moment, she accepted me for who I am—despite my broken soul, despite my imperfections." Tears glistened in his eyes as he spoke. "She made me want to be the man she truly deserves. A month ago, I went to her father's grave, accompanied by Antoinette and Meg, to ask for their blessing—and his—for her hand in marriage." Christine sobbed softly, looking up at the night sky thanking her father through a silent prayer. "I may not know if I have his permission," Erik continued, his voice breaking, "but I vow, here and now, to love, honour, and protect you for the rest of my life." He paused, his hands shaking as he held the ring aloft.
"Christine Charlotte Daaé… will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
The words lingered in the air, a melody of hope and devotion, and her heart skipped a beat, caught in the spell of the moment. Her breath caught in her throat as tears welled in her eyes, and a soft, joyous laugh bubbled up from deep within her. Overcome by emotion, she reached for his hands, her voice trembling as she spoke, filled with an overwhelming love. "Yes! Oh, mon ange, of course, I will marry you!"
Erik's face softened with relief and joy as he rose, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he slid the ring onto her finger. He then cupped her face gently in his hands, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that held everything—every promise, every unspoken word, every vow that needed no voice. She melted into him, her tears of joy mingling with his kiss, a sacred moment shared between them.
When they finally pulled apart, her heart still racing, she gazed into his eyes. as she sang back to him.
Say you'll share with me, one love, one lifetime.
Say the word, and I will follow you.
Share each day with me, each night, each morning.
"Say you'll love me," she sang softly, her voice trembling with emotion as she gazed into his eyes.
"You know I do." he whispered in reply, his voice low and thick with devotion, as if the words themselves carried the weight of his soul.
"Love me, that's all I ask of you," They sang in unison, their voices weaving together in a flawless melody.
Erik swept her into his arms, spinning her around as she giggled. The snow fell harder, swirling and dancing around them like a blessing from the heavens. His cloak slipped from her shoulders, but neither of them noticed. They were lost in each other's embrace, oblivious to the cold.
As their lips parted, Christine smiled breathlessly. "We must go. Madame will wonder where I am—we have to tell them!" Erik laughed, taking her hand and twirling her again. "Christine, I love you!" he sang, his voice soaring into the night.
"Order your fine horse, be with him at the door," she teased, laughing as he kissed her hands. He nodded, leading her back inside. "And soon you'll be beside me…" Christine clutched her locket, her heart full. "You'll guard me, and you'll guide me," she whispered, their voices blending as they disappeared into the warmth of the opera house.
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Christine Daaé's Dressing Room, The Palais Garnier Opera House Paris, France, December, 1894
Keeping her engagement ring hidden within the folds of her gown, Christine exhaled a soft sigh of contentment as Camille worked through her unruly ringlets. The gentle rhythm of the brush gliding through her hair was soothing, and the young prima donna closed her chocolate-brown eyes, savouring the moment of calm amidst the whirlwind of her life at the opera house.
"You must forgive me for pulling you away from your sewing, Camille," Christine said softly, her voice tinged with genuine gratitude. "It seems the other hairdressers decided to leave early tonight."
Camille chuckled lightly, her tone warm and reassuring. "It's no trouble at all, mademoiselle. A break from my stitching is always welcome. Besides, it's an honour to prepare your hair for the stage—or, in this case, whatever special occasion has you glowing tonight."
Christine smiled, her lips curving into a delicate expression of amusement. She had met Camille a year ago when the young dressmaker first joined the opera house's bustling workforce. Their bond had grown steadily since then, nurtured by shared moments of laughter and conversation during the hurried hours before and after performances.
Their quiet exchange was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the dressing room door bursting open. Meg, still dressed in her ballet attire, dashed inside, her lilac shawl slipping precariously from her shoulder as she tried to catch her breath.
"Heavens, Meg!" Christine exclaimed, her voice tinged with surprise and amusement. "What on earth are you running from...The Phantom of the Opera?" She let out a soft snort of laughter, quickly covering her mouth with her hand to stifle it. Meg giggled, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. "Non, mon ami," she replied, her playful grin matching Christine's.
Camille stepped back, tying the final bow of a white ribbon into Christine's freshly styled ringlets. "All done, mademoiselle," she announced, her tone tinged with pride. Christine turned toward the mirror, admiring Camille's handiwork. "Thank you, Camille. My hair can be a nightmare at times," she said with a laugh, her voice warm and grateful.
Camille gathered her supplies and offered a kind smile. "It's never a problem, mademoiselle. I'll see you both tomorrow for your fittings. Goodnight!" With that, she slipped quietly out of the room.
Meg wasted no time, stepping closer to Christine and catching her reflection in the mirror. "Mother mentioned you had news," she said, her tone teasing. "Does it have something to do with that radiant glow—or perhaps a certain Phantom, mon ami?" Christine's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink as she turned her attention to Meg, but before she could speak, the dressing room door creaked open once again. This time, it was Antoinette Giry who entered, her expression bright and curious.
"Christine," she began warmly, her voice cutting through the excitement in the room. "I received your note. What news have you to share with us?" Meg's face lit up, her excitement spilling over. "Yes, Christine! Tell us!" she urged.
With an air of graceful confidence, Christine rose from her chair, her gown rustling softly as she moved. A wide smile spread across her face as she extended her left hand, revealing the sparkling engagement ring nestled on her finger.
A collective gasp filled the room.
"Oh, my dear!" Antoinette exclaimed, rushing forward to envelop Christine in a warm embrace. She pressed a kiss to the younger woman's forehead. "I'm so happy for you!"
Meg shrieked with delight, her joy uncontainable as she joined the embrace. "Congratulations, grande sœur!" she cried, her voice trembling with emotion. Christine's laughter bubbled up, light and musical. "Thank you, both of you," she said, holding her hand out so Meg could inspect the ring more closely. "Erik and I are so happy."
Antoinette stepped back, her eyes shimmering with approval. "Now, my dear," she began in a more serious tone, "you must understand—being engaged comes with great responsibilities..."
But Christine was no longer listening. Her thoughts drifted far away, carried by the warmth blooming in her heart.
Engaged to be married. To my Angel of Music.
The words echoed in her mind, each syllable wrapping her in a cocoon of happiness.
The one who has always loved me for who I am. Who has always protected me.
A life with Erik felt like the most beautiful dream imaginable.
"It's no use Mama," Meg said with an affectionate giggle, "she's not listening again."
Christine blinked, returning to the present, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Madame Giry," she said sheepishly. "May I go and see him now?"
Antoinette regarded her with a knowing look. "Yes," she relented, "but he must return you by midnight." Before Christine could reply, a familiar, velvety voice spoke from the doorway. "Of course, I will return her by then, Antoinette."
Christine's head whipped around to find Erik standing in the doorway. His dark eyes softened as they met hers, and a radiant smile spread across her face. Without hesitation, she ran to him, her gown billowing behind her like a cascade of moonlight.
"I missed you, my angel," she whispered as she threw her arms around him. "I missed you too, mon bel ange," Erik replied, his voice as tender as his touch. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head, and Christine grinned up at him, her hands instinctively reaching to straighten his white tie.
Antoinette smirked from across the room. "Yes, yes," she teased. "We're all quite aware of how much you love each other. Now, off with you."
Meg giggled, unable to hide her happiness as she watched her best friend bask in the glow of her love.
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The Phantom's Lair, Underneath The Palais Garnier Opera House, Paris, France, December, 1894
The cold evening air had left a slight dampness on her emerald cloak as they entered the lair, the remnants of snow from outside clinging to the fabric. She smiled as he slipped it from her shoulders and placed it over the back of a chair. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows around the room. She walked over to the fire, feeling its heat seep into her skin, and sank onto the rug on the floor, her back resting comfortably against the wooden leg.
She watched, as her fiancée moved and carefully place on a log on the flames, coaxing them to life. The warmth in the lair seemed to grow, matching the heat that began to spread in her chest just from the sight of him—his focused movements, the way he took care with even the smallest details.
Once the flames roared back to life, he turned, his eyes immediately finding hers. Without a word, she opened her arms to him, and with a quiet, loving smile, he came to her, sitting down beside her. Christine reached up, her fingertips grazing the cool edge of his mask before gently pulling it from his face. She kissed both of his cheeks, her lips lingering as if to convey all the love she could not put into words. His scent, so familiar to her, filled her senses, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He lifted her hand and kissed her ring softly, his lips lingering on the cool metal. "Thank you for my engagement ring, mon amour," she whispered, her voice full of awe. She stared at the intricate design of the ring, her fingers gently tracing the delicate setting. "It's gorgeous… It's funny," she trailed off, her eyes shifting up to meet his emerald gaze. "It looks so much like the one you wear on your finger. Did you plan this?"
Erik nodded, a quiet smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. His eyes softened as he watched her reaction. Christine couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and carefree, a contrast to the heavy emotion in the air. She moved closer, curling against his chest. "I love it," she whispered, "and I love you."
He sighed, contentment and warmth filling his chest. Reaching beside them, he took hold of the champagne bottle he had set out earlier. He poured them both glasses of the sparkling, golden liquid, the bubbles rising with the promise of celebration. He handed one to her, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Did you plan this, too?" she teased, raising an eyebrow at him, the glass of champagne held delicately in her hand. "What do you think I was doing after I brought you back to your room?" Erik replied, his voice low and teasing, filled with a playful warmth.
She smiled and she brushed her lips against his scarred cheek in a soft, tender kiss. As she took a sip of the golden liquid from her glass. He watched her with affection, then reached for a bowl of ripe strawberries. His gaze remained tender as he held one out to her. "Open, my love, I have a treat for you." he said softly, his voice full of quiet adoration. She opened her mouth to accept the sweet fruit, her lips brushing his fingers as she took it.
Christine rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt. She felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, the comforting rhythm of his breath. After a few moments, she spoke, her voice softer now, filled with an emotion that seemed to have no bounds. "I can't believe you went to my father's grave. To ask for his blessing... You have no idea what that means to me, Erik."
Erik's hand gently brushed against her hair, his fingers threading through the auburn strands as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Of course I wanted his blessing," he said, his voice thick with sincerity. "I know it's not the same, but… that's why I brought the Giry's with me when I went toes him." He smiled, the tenderness in his eyes, as she kissed his hand. She pulled back slightly, looking at him with a raised brow, her curiosity piqued. "What would you have done if they hadn't given it?"
Erik's lips curled into a mischievous grin, and without missing a beat, he pulled something from the folds of his jacket. With dramatic flair, he swung his Punjab lasso into the air. "Probably this," he said, his voice full of playful bravado. Christine gasped, her eyes wide. "Erik! Be serious!" She tried to suppress her laughter, but it was impossible as she playfully scolded him. "Put that away!" Erik chuckled and tucked the lasso back into his jacket with a playful shrug. "Well, if they hadn't given their approval," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "I would have taken you away with me and started a new life somewhere."
Christine's eyes softened, her curiosity piqued, and her heart fluttered at the thought of escaping everything they had known. "And where would you have taken me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if the answer would be something magical.
"America," he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.
"Mmm, that sounds wonderful," she breathed, her eyes drifting closed as she imagined it—just the two of them, free from the shadows of Paris, starting anew in a land full of endless possibilities. In that quiet moment, with the crackling fire and the soft warmth of his presence, Christine knew that whatever the future held, as long as she was with him, it would be more than enough.
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xoxo
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Translations:
Grande soeur = Big sister
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Songs:
Once Upon A December: Amy Manford
All I Ask Of You: Andrew Lloyd Webber
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xoxo
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