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Christine hears the soft strains of music coming from the music room, but it’s not what she usually hears when Erik is getting ready for her daily training. It’s not the sound of a piano - it sounds more like an entire orchestra is somehow in the room. She enters silently and finds him seated in his leather swivel chair, leaning forward on his knees, enraptured by the notes produced by the strange contraption he bought only a few days ago – a gramophone. The volume is quite high, and he appears not to notice her arrival.
She recognizes the piece - “An der schönen blauen Donau” by Johann Strauss II – one of the most successful compositions of the last few decades. Christine clears her throat to announce her presence and Erik swivels around to look at her. “Magnificent example of applied science, is it not?”
His enthusiasm is contagious and prompts her to answer with a smile. “You are in a good mood.”
“Ah! It is not at all a substitute for music executed in a theater, the way it’s supposed to be.” He flutters his hand dismissively at the strange device, “But it is a unique way to preserve music for the future. I bought a few records with it. This piece is an astonishing portrayal of the atmosphere in Vienna, Strauss really exceeded himself.” He hummed a few bars. “I remember the city as if it were yesterday. Have you ever been?”
Christine sits on the low stool near the chair. “I was, I mean, we were -” She berates herself for bringing up her former husband, but it’s too late to take it back, “Raoul had some distant cousins or some sort of relatives there.” She shrugs. “You know how nobility is.”
She rearranges part of her skirt and smooths it on her thighs. Encouraged by his lack of comment, she continues. “We visited Schönbrunn and the Opera house, of course. It is a lovely city indeed. It is bustling with life and you feel like you are in the center of the universe. It reminded me quite a lot of Paris, as a matter of fact.” Christine looks to the windows, her gaze travelling far beyond the line of sight in remembrance, then she brightens up and turns to Erik. “We were even invited to a few balls while we were there.” Only then does she notice that her husband’s good mood has turned for the worse, a bit of a displeased frown half hidden under his mask.
Erik rises from the chair in a sudden fluid motion and reaches out to remove the black disc from the turntable. Christine grabs his wrist and stills his movement. His arm, taut and rigid at first, relaxes, giving in to her unspoken wishes.
Her next words come as a surprise, even to her. “Have you ever danced, Erik?”
He scoffs as if the mere idea was ridiculous. “I create music, my dear. I leave distractions such as these to others.”
Almost offended at the remark, Christine pokes him in the leg. “May I remind you, I was a ballerina, when you first met me?”
“That was – that was different! You were born to be a singer; you were in the corps de ballet just - biding your time.”
She’s piqued; the Opera Garnier only selected the best for its ballet company, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of a rebuke. Actions speak louder than words. The grace with which she rises from the footstool leaves no doubt about the fact that she was not, in fact, just “ biding her time ”.
Her hand moves from his wrist up to his neck, following the entire contour of his arm and shoulder. She caresses the few fine hairs she finds where his wig meets naked skin and asks, her voice sultry, “Would you like to dance with me?”
“Christine, I –”
She would probably make fun of his panicked expression, if he didn’t seem ready to flee from the scene. She takes him by the arms and gently pulls him with her to the center of the room, offering a slow caress of his face to calm him down. She places his right hand around her waist and is quite surprised at seeing him so acquiescent. She then adjusts the position of his left hand. He’s silent as he watches her, and she feels him almost hold his breath in in this close proximity.
Once she’s satisfied with their posture, she fixes her gaze on his eyes, an encouraging smile met with an unnerved disposition. She purses her lips. “Well, then. Follow my steps, I will explain as we go along. First, your left foot forward…”
Christine soon discovers that Erik may have many, many talents, but dancing isn’t one of them.
Several stepped-on toes later – hers – they decide, out of common, unspoken agreement, to call it quits and move on to a more favourable subject for both. She doesn’t want to mortify him and have him spend the rest of the day in a sullen mood. Music works like a balm on her companion and Christine watches him revert to his old self, his timid foray into the world of dancing archived forever in the back of his mind.
Or so she thought.
It’s not unusual for her to wake up alone in the middle of the night. Erik has always kept peculiar hours and only since she and Gustave moved in with him has he tried to impose a more regular lifestyle on himself. Still, nighttime has always been most prolific for him, and she’s not surprised when she wakes up a few weeks later, his side of the bed empty. The house is silent and dark. Out of habit, she checks in on Gustave then walks back to the bedroom when she notices a shaft of light at the end of the corridor.
The door to one of the sitting rooms is partially open, letting some light filter out into the hall. Christine knows she shouldn’t peek, but curiosity has always been a peculiarly strong trait of her character and she can’t resist. At first, she can’t make out exactly what Erik is doing in there. She can hear him humming a few bars from “An der schönen blauen Donau'' from time to time, but nothing more. Then, with a quick movement worthy of a ghost, she sees him pass in front of the door, left hand raised almost to the level of his eye, right hand holding an imaginary partner.
Christine feels her heart flutter and decides that it’s time to go back to bed, before he senses her presence.
A week later she finds a red rose and a personal invitation to Phantasma’s first charity ball on her bureau.