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Christine could not count being observant amongst her virtues. After all, hadn’t she trained under the tutelage of an angel for months, suspecting nothing? Hadn’t the resulting fall out, the revelation of her angel being no more than a man--A man called Erik and the Opera Ghost at that!--sent her reeling? Wasn’t the horror of his face still ever behind her closed eyelids?
And yet…there was the music. Erik’s music that had her relaxing into sleep in his underground home. Oh all the countless nights she had stayed with him when she should have begged to return home. The tall masked figure of her maestro beckoning her through the mirror day after day had her entranced. His graceful hands a feathers-breadth away from her torso as he corrected her posture while she sang. All of it, far too complicated to even fathom. All of it impossible to untangle. Puzzling.
No. Clearly Christine’s virtues did not include being observant.
Yet even she could see that Meg was upset. Her friend was curled in her bed, blonde curls askew. Rehearsal makeup dripped down her face. Her garments had been scattered on her way in, a shoe here, a skirt there. She looked very small. Her shoulders shook under the force of her sobs.
“Meg,” Christine said. Clearly she was going to be late for her lesson. Erik would be cross. Perhaps he’d neglect to invite her to stay after for tea. She found herself far more horrified at the idea than she expected.
“Oh Christine, I’m so sorry. I swore I wouldn’t let this happen again--” Meg wiped her eyes, sniffling into the back of her hand. “But I just keep hoping and hoping that things will be different. He said he loved me. I--” she started sobbing anew.
Christine withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve, noticing too late that it was one of Erik’s. The red ‘E’ stood out against the whiteness. Erik had given it to her when one of his more melancholy compositions had brought her to tears. He had been so careful while handing it to her that their hands had never brushed.
“What happened,” Christine asked.
Meg was dramatic at the best of times, inconsolable at the worst. Christine had learned in their years of friendship that Meg’s emotions could turn on the head of a pin. She lived with vicious devotion, and that meant that occasionally she’d be laid flat by what would be a minor inconvenience to anyone else.
This was different.
“It’s my latest admirer--apparently he stopped admiring me after he’d had his fill of me in his bed. I saw him out at a cafe with another woman. She was so tall and elegant, with a neck like a swan. She was dripping with jewels. He laughed at me like he’d never seen me before.”
Christine opened her arms, and Meg tumbled into them.
“You deserve better,” Christine said firmly. “So much better.”
“I know that I’m not meant for fairytales or fantasy. I know I’m just a dancer, and not anything special--”
“You are special, Meg.”
“I just want to be loved. I just want someone to look at me, and see me--really see me, and still think I’m worth it. Still think I’m beautiful. And I keep trying, but it’s so hard.” Her blue eyes welled with fresh tears. “Every time, this happens. Why do I always believe them?”
“Because you have hope,” Christine said. Together they stared down at the crumpled handkerchief.
“This is very fine,” Meg said. “What’s the E for?”
“Erik,” Christine said without thinking.
Meg nodded. She looked very tired. Dark circles under her eyes, tears streaked and shiny down her face. “Is he kind to you?”
Christine thought of Erik, of the careful way he guided her through the tunnels. She thought of the way that he played until she fell asleep, and how every time she woke she was covered with his cloak, dressing gown, or one of the blankets he had taken to keeping around his house since the first time she’d told him she was often cold. “Yes, he’s always kind.”
Even when he was furious, even when she’d betrayed him. He had jumped up, knocking her to the floor in the process, but he had not hurt her. Had not touched her at all. He’d said such horrible things…but even then, when he returned her to the surface he had been so gentle. And for the silent weeks that followed, she’d find tokens of his apology--ribbons and notes, flowers and oranges.
He had never been unkind. He had never been the monster he warned her against. He had always taken care of her. He’d always called her beautiful, even when he was silent. He’d always respected her. She’d always been safe. She’d never doubted that he would rather perish than harm her.
“An angel to all ends,” Christine said.
Meg smiled. “You deserve love like that,” she said softly. “I’ve learned that it’s hard to find.” The clock chimed out, and she squeaked. “Your lesson! I’ve kept you--”
“Friends before music,” Christine pressed her lips to Meg’s forehead. “But I’d better go. If you’re alright?”
“I’ll be fine,” Meg said, and to prove it she poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on her nightstand and sipped it down. “Go to primadonna practice so I can see the look on Carlotta’s face when you get the principal role.”
Christine giggled as she skipped out the door. “I’ll try my best.”
But Meg’s words followed her down the hall. Love. Did Erik love her? Surely he was fond of her. He’d given her everything she desired, even his voice. His hands playing instruments and making tea at her demand. Even his home. He’d made her a room. A space just for her. Perfect in every way.
But surely if he loved her he would have said. Christine frowned.
But he had said, hadn’t he? Not in words, but in his opera. That secret opus that made her blood thrum strangely in her veins til she feared she’d swoon. Don Juan Triumphant.
He was her angel. Her confidant. Her maestro.
She wondered how she could have been so stupid as to not notice that he loved her. How she could have been so stupid that she hadn’t realized how rare it was to be loved by someone like him. He had given her a fairytale. His home was the palace that gave the princess everything she desired. His music was the magic. And though he considered his face the curse, it wasn’t. The curse was both of them failing to acknowledge how much they meant to each other. The curse was her obliviousness and his steadfast belief that she was frightened of him.
Frightened of Erik! No. She was not afraid of her angel. In fact, she liked him very much, and thought that it was high time she started to show it.
***
Behind the mirror of Christine’s dressing room, a phantom waited. Tall, pristine, worried. He stood, watching the seconds tick by on his pocket watch. She had never been late before. He usually found her waiting.
It was only a matter of time, he thought. Of course she would stop coming. Of course she would run. She had clearly come to her senses.
Yet he had thought that her ease in his presence had been growing. She had been so full of smiles as of late. She’d fallen asleep in his home without fear, a curly-haired angel on his chaise, his armchair, and on one occasion the rug by the fire.
He snapped his watch shut and turned back into the shadows. He did not deserve firelight angels.
“Erik are you still here?” And there she was, his dear Christine. Red cheeks and wild hair, as if she had come in a hurry. “Ange?”
He was weak at the familiar seldom-heard endearment. Trembled at the hint of desperation in her voice. “Yes. I thought perhaps you were not coming.”
“Oh,” she looked down at her feet. “I was with Meg.”
“Ah,” the mirror slid open with a click. It had always been too much for him to be with her in the same room without separation between them. Her entire existence tempted him. She was so very beautiful.
She was looking at him very intently, almost like she had looked at him the first night. The night she had seen his face and he thought he’d ruined everything forever. Like it had then, it made him nervous. He was unused to being looked at in any way save horror or derision. Christine looked at him differently. There was a hint of something in her eyes that made his heart constrict. “Christine--”
The flush of her cheeks spread down her neck as she stepped towards him. Closer and closer and closer still til her arms wrapped around him and squeezed tight, pinning his arms to his side. Her perfect head pillowed on his chest. Surely she could hear his heartbeat? She had never been so close to him. They had seldom touched. She pulled back, and he mourned her loss. But she merely embraced him again, this time standing on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.
His own traitorous hands found the small of her back. A happy sort of sigh left her at the contact, and for a moment Erik was convinced that he had died. Surely his touch was not the causation of such a beautiful sound!
“Thank you for being my angel,” she said, and he could feel her breath against the shell of his ear. The scent of lavender rose from her hair as it tickled the bare half of his face.
“Being yours is the greatest pleasure of my existence,” Erik said, and Christine squeezed him even tighter. He could feel the smile she buried in the crook of his neck, and couldn’t even fault himself for giving himself away.
“Can I stay with you tonight? Maybe we could go for a walk in the park, or the roof. Or--”
“Anything you desire,” Erik said. She could have him. Every piece of him. She could have anything. He was hers.
She took his offered hand and followed him into the dark. For the first time in a long while, Erik felt hope.