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“You must come and fetch me in my dressing room at midnight exactly."
Christine's reflection stared back at her from the vanity mirror.
At this hour tomorrow, she would be married.
She would no longer be Little Lotte, nor Christine Daaé, the chorus girl. Not even La Daaé, Opera Populaire diva.
This was most likely her last night at the Opera.
From tomorrow until the day she died people would call her Madame La Vicomtesse de Chagny.
Her reflection smiled for a moment. Wasn't this any girl's dream come true, getting married to her own Prince Charming?
Luckily for her, Raoul, respecting her shy and discreet nature, had agreed to a small ceremony at his house. A priest, his family and a few closest friends would be the only witnesses.
Christine turned around to stare at the white dress on her mannequin.
It was a dream made of silk and lace. The bodice was finely embroidered, the delicate tiny crystals forming a beautiful design which began on the sweetheart neckline and descended towards her waist, fading into nothing. Sheer, fine lace covered her shoulders and clavicles and, starting at her hips, draped over the fluffy organza skirt, where the flower buds were adorned with the same tiny crystals from the bodice. Light spots, Madame Giry had called them. Indeed, when she walked, the embroidery from her skirt reflected the lights from the room.
The dress was perfect for her and yet it was so different from the one she wore... Long ago.
The Don Juan disaster had taken place one year before.
Three days after the performance, the mob finally came back from the cellars, bringing with them a disfigured, battered body and claiming to have killed the Phantom.
That night, when all the ballerinas were asleep, Christine wept.
Her Angel was dead. The last connection she still had to her beloved father was gone forever. She had never felt lonelier.
During the following month, there were no performances, seeing as the managers were still trying to sort out what path they should take with the remaining months of the season. Besides, there were policemen all over the place, interrogating the artists and staff and investigating the building.
Christine had been interrogated only once. No, she didn't know anything about the Opera Ghost. Yes, she had been taking singing lessons from a mysterious man. No, it never crossed her mind that her maestro and the Phantom could be the same. She believed him to be the Angel of Music sent from her father. No, she had nothing to do with the accidents La Carlotta had suffered over the last years. No, her professor had never promised her any roles, nor had she asked for them or even mentioned wanting to play a specific role. He took her to his underground home once, after her debut as Elissa. Yes, she was sure she hadn't been there again until the night of Don Juan. No, she had no idea how he got his money or what he did for a living. No, she didn't remember her father being friends with a masked man, nor a disfigured one for that matter. Actually, as far as she knew he had no friends in Paris. He had told her that once he died, he would send her the Angel of Music. Yes, she had firmly believed him back then. The first time she saw her Angel was when she debuted as Elissa. Yes, she was sure she had never seen him before. "What do you mean, 'are you sure he had no business with your father?', sir?".
Thankfully, seeing her distress, Madame Giry had intervened, and the policemen never bothered her again.
Christine still practiced her singing everyday after ballet class, listening intently to any voice coming from the walls and other unusual places, hoping to have any signs that Erik could stil hear her. But if he did, he never made it known, and Christine lost hope.
When the police finally let the Opera House be, André and Firmin vanished, too. All they left behind was a letter designating Monsieur Reyer as the new manager, a position Christine thought the poor man deserved more than anyone else.
Grieving over the loss of Piangi, Carlotta had also left, claiming she could no longer sing. Reyer then asked Christine if she could be their new Prima Donna, and she accepted his offer. It was the least she could do to make her Angel justice.
The following weeks had been wary, but once the people were sure the Opera House was safe again, the tickets were sold out once more.
It was after the opening night of "La Traviata" that she first saw it. A flicker of movement in box 5 when she was taking her bows. Christine wanted nothing more than to make her way to her dressing room as fast as possible and disappear behind the mirror, but her rendition of Violetta earned her thunderous, seemingly never-ending applause onstage and what appeared to be hundreds of patrons hoping for a glimpse of her backstage.
Misinterpreting her sour mood as exhaustion, Raoul was sensible enough to cancel their plans of going out for supper, providing a meal to be delivered to her dressing room with a loving note appraising her performance, and left her alone.
Christine's stomach was in knots, but the smell of warm bread was too compelling, and Raoul's thoughtfulness filled her heart. She simply couldn't let it go to waste.
When Christine made it to the lake - quite a quick journey since the traps had been destroyed by the mob -, her stomach sank.
The boat was nowhere to be seen.
Someone was there.
Resisting the urge to call out for Erik and make her presence known to whoever was at his home, Christine ran back up and made her way to the hidden door in Rue Scribe. The door was unlocked, which frightened her even more, and creaked lightly as she was opening it, though not loud enough to draw attention.
She padded through the dark corridor, listening intently, but was met with an ominous silence, the kind one would find at a cemetery, and her stomach sank even further, the warm bread not that great of an idea anymore.
When she actually started seeing the end of the corridor, she was positive she would be sick.
Erik's lair's candles were lit.
Oh God.
She had expected the place to be a mess; destroyed furniture, shattered glass, signs of physical fight. However, it was neat, as it had been before.
Feeling her heartbeat on her throat, she made her way to the music room as silent as she could, but if Erik was here he would definitely be able to hear her heart thumping. It beat so strong her entire body shook.
Putting on a brave face, she opened the room door with all her strength, as if someone had broken into her actual home and she would catch them in the act, but the scene before her made her feel faint.
An abnormally tall, thin man, bald if not for scarce, messy strands of blond-ish hair, his usual black wig nowhere to be seen, clad in only a white loose shirt, black trousers and shoes, sat in front of the piano, scribbling furiously on the parchment in front of him. It did not surprise her that he didn't even flinch when the door was opened.
Erik.
How was that possible?
It wasn't until his destroyed face met her sight that she realized she had said his name out loud.
"Have you come to destroy what's left of my heart, Christine?"
Despite his harsh tone, she could hear the sadness and desperation behind it.
"How...?"
"They found a homeless man wandering around. He was looking for a shelter for the night and broke in through the door in Rue Scribe. I tried to warn him, but...", Erik gestured to his face. Christine didn't remember what had been of his mask that night. She must have dropped it on their way to Erik's home.
"How long have you been here?"
Silence.
"How long, Erik?"
"For days I just wandered around the city; I had nowhere to go, but remained in the shadows, of course. After my so-called death was announced, I tried to stay near the Opera. I couldn't afford coming back when the police was around, but I didn't want to waste any time. So when the investigations were finally over, I came back home."
"It has been eight months."
"I know."
"Why haven't you ever..."
"Spoken to you? Christine, what would I say? And let's suppose I knew what to say, would you want to listen?"
"I spent months trying to reach you! Singing, hearing, talking to the walls like a mad woman!", Christine was yelling.
"And what for?", Erik stood abruptly, making the stool he had been sitting on fall back on the floor. "Huh, Christine? Say I answered you, what would you do? Should we play the Angel of Music farce all over again?"
"It was never a farce to me!"
"That's because you're a fool! You are a fool, Christine Daaé, and it's about time you outgrow this ridiculous, childish fantasy!"
Christine's chin dropped at his harsh words, and her eyes burned with tears. Now that was low. Silence reigned for a minute.
"You were right, you know", Christine whispered. "That night at the cemetery. I had been lost and helpless ever since...", she took a shuddering breath trying to compose herself. "Ever since my father's death. Then you came and guided me through... Everything. Now I'm an adult and still have no idea what to do, so losing you... It felt like the floor disappeared beneath my feet. I couldn't stand that. I'm sorry", she choked through tears.
When had she started crying?
"We are together now. You don't have to feel lost anymore."
"No, I'm sorry. For everything. Your mask, the cemetery, Don Juan... Raoul. I shouldn't have told him about you."
"He's your friend. You expected him to understand."
"We're getting married in four months", Christine blurted out.
"I know."
Silence.
"Why tonight?"
"The plot. Hits close to home."
"Oh."
The star-crossed lovers. The man who stood in their way. It resonated within her heart, too.
Suddenly exhausted, Christine leaned on the doorway, closing her eyes briefly.
"Come, I'll take you back upstairs", Erik walked towards her.
"Let me stay. Just tonight. Please?", Christine was ready to go down on her knees if she had to.
Erik simply led her to the Louis-Philippe room. It had remained untouched, she noticed, as if it was some sort of sanctuary; even the sheets were still slightly crumpled on top of the bed.
After that night, they fell back into their previous routine. When rehearsals were over, Christine locked herself in her dressing room for her singing lesson. Erik's advice, along with her now happy heart, had improved even more her already skilled singing, which led to sold out performances, new patrons, and a good life for all the opera workers, to whom Monsieur Reyer granted small raises periodically. After she was done with her day, she would go to Erik's home to have dinner and, more often than not, she would sleep at the Louis-Philippe room.
By the end of her remaining four months at the Opera House, she was no longer sure marrying Raoul was her best choice.
For that reason, she had decided to approach the subject with Erik and wait for his reaction; however, her maestro was one step ahead, as usual.
"You were great at today's lesson, my dear. Your maestro is very pleased with your development."
"Thank you."
"And how are the... Hm... Arrangements?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"For your wedding. Erik believes Christine has... Preparations going on?"
"Oh! Yes, hm, well, it is not going to be... Anything big or fancy. Just family and some friends. We are not even going to the church... A priest is coming to his house, obviously", she quickly added.
"I see. You should keep practicing, you know, even when your Erik is not around. Even if... You don't sing anymore."
"Well, I... Nothing is settled yet. We haven't spoken about me leaving the opera. I'm sure Raoul will understand."
"Of course."
They both knew it was a lie, though. The stage was not suitable for a Vicomtesse.
Christine took a deep breath to calm her nerves. It was now or never.
"Erik?"
"Yes?"
"If I ask something of you... Will you do it?"
"If it is within Erik's reach."
"Say I have... A hard time making a decision. An important decision. Will you help me?"
"And how is Erik to help his sweet Christine?"
"The night before my wedding. You must come and fetch me in my dressing room at midnight exactly. I must... Decide."
"Indeed."
Christine waited for his answer, expecting him to deny it, scream at her, curse her. She knew it would be cruel to turn her back on Erik once again, but she saw no other way to do it.
"I know it's too much to ask..."
"Erik will be there", he interrupted her.
"If... If I change my mind, I will let you know. Before."
"Fine. Then it is settled. Now come, my dear, you must eat."
Christine had not given him any signs of changing her mind. Eyeing the dress once again through the mirror, she straightened her posture and waited. A note addressed to Raoul rested atop her desk. Madame Giry would surely see it was delivered timely.
The moment the clock struck midnight, her mirror moved aside, revealing Erik behind it, and Christine stood up.
"Has Christine made her decision?"
"I have."
"And?"
Christine glanced at the white dress one last time.
It was beautiful, the perfect wedding dress for a Vicomtesse, or for that little girl whose favorite scarf had flown to the sea. But she was not that girl anymore. Not after she had devoted her life to music. To his music.
"Let's go."
The mirror closed behind her.