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The halls of the opera house bustled with people backstage as Christine wove her way through, dread in the pit of her stomach. She noticed most of the cast and crew to be tense, more so than they were for any other show she remembered the Opera Granier produced.
She remained furious with Raoul and his persistence she perform the lead in the Phantom’s Don Juan Triumphant, that he so easily pushed her, insisting that it was up to her to deliver them from the Phantom’s control. Despite what Raoul claimed about the Phantom manipulating her, he himself had manipulated her into his own plot.
Under other circumstances, she would have coveted the role of Amnita. The opera itself was unlike anything she had ever heard performed despite the mockery it received during rehearsals, filled with a certain darkness, suffering, and passion that she expected from her maestro that the others didn’t appreciate.
The thought of her angel sent a pain to her chest, nestling right in her heart.
She missed him terribly, hating everything that had happened, especially between them.
Seeking her fiance in an attempt to calm herself before she retreated to her dressing room to prepare, Christine wandered closer to the managers’ office, knowing that Raoul was meeting with Andre and Firmin as well as the chief of the Sûreté to prepare for the show. She knew when Roaul took charge of planning their strategy to stop the Phantom she couldn’t protest their plan though she had tried in the very beginning, even if the idea of him being arrested and imprisoned sickened her.
As distorted as his soul had become, Christine felt compassion for him, unable to fathom everything he must have had to endure because of his face.
The hall to the managers’ office was deserted unlike most of the rest of the building, letting her hear the faint voices inside.
The dread steadily grew as she neared, instinctively quieting her footsteps.
“Monsieur le Vicomte, are you sure this will work?” she heard Firmin’s voice ask as she paused just shy of the doorway.
Roaul’s voice followed, a dark edge to it. “Yes. By the end of the night, he will be dead.”
Christine felt her heart stop, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle her gasp.
“Does Mlle Daaé know about this?” Andre asked.
“No, because she would never agree to this,” Roaul said before continuing on. “Do your men have their orders?”
“Yes sir,” an unfamiliar voice said, who Christine suspected was the chief of the Sûreté. “My officers are to secure every door. They have been instructed to shoot when it’s clear, and shoot to kill.”
Blood turned to ice, Christine slowly backed away, wanting to get as far away from the men as possible.
It wasn’t part of the plan. Killing the Phantom wasn’t part of the plan she had reluctantly agreed to be the sacrificial lamb to.
She ran back to her private dressing room, the one she had spent so many nights having her private lessons in, nearly slamming and locking the door behind her. Almost falling over, she gripped one of the tables tightly, willing herself to remain upright as she suddenly felt faint.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she made her way to the vanity, staring at her reflection as she sat on the stool.
Her normally fair complexion had taken a sickly pallor, her blue eyes glassy with the threat of tears.
Christine closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of the woman that stared back at her as she buried her face in her hands.
Fury suddenly blazed within her as she thought of what Raoul had planned to do.
As she pleaded to him to believe her about the Phantom on the opening night of Il Muto, he didn’t believe her, merely attempting to convince her that she had no more than a fanciful dream. Only during the masquerade ball did he finally believe her when her maestro appeared in the flesh dressed as the Red Death. When they had fought in the cemetery, the Phantom had indeed been the first to strike, but Raoul had come with his sword drawn before he had appeared, ready for a fight. He had even told her once everything was over and they married, she would never have to sing again, saying that it was beneath a vicomtesse and it would do well to put the past behind her. He had acted as if taking music away from her was doing her a favor.
It was not the protection he offered her that drove his actions, but rather his wounded pride. He was in love with the little girl she was when they met by the sea, his Little Lotte, not the woman she had become.
She often wondered if she had never played the part of Elissa, if she had remained a chorus girl, if Raoul would ever have even noticed her.
Seeing her childhood sweetheart in a new light, Christine’s heart sank as she realized that he viewed her as something to possess, and that his own ego was what spurned his hatred of the Phantom.
Remembering all of her interactions with her Angel of Music since finding him to be nothing more than a man, she had truly felt no danger towards herself from him. The only time she had truly felt fear towards him was when she unmasked him, and that had been more about his anger than his face. He had been her confidant and best friend.
A pang of sorrow lodged itself in her chest at the realization that she had never apologized to him for stealing his mask. Instead, she treated him as something to hate and fear.
She wondered what kind of life he’d known based on his reaction.
Thinking back to what she heard in the hall, she felt ill at the idea of them succeeding, of creating a world where the Phantom no longer existed. The mere idea was unfathomable, that she could go on living while he laid dead.
Her stomach rolled violently with the thought that they would surely put his body on display, not just for being the infamous Phantom of the Opera, but because of his face.
Despite her best efforts, a couple tears escaped as she contemplated his death and what it would mean, feeling immense pain beneath her ribs.
She longed to hear his voice, seeking the comfort and music that only he had ever been able to provide her.
A life of comfort and privilege but devoid of music and filled with a heartbreak she somehow knew which she would never recover from stretched out in front of her, and she didn't want it.
Another path seemed to form in her mind, one filled with danger and uncertainty, but also filled with music and what she realized was love.
Sucking in a harsh breath, Christine raised her head, a feeling of rightness washing over her as she silently thought to herself what she had known deep down in her bones for a long time.
She was in love with her angel.
Hadn't she wished so many times when he had merely been her angel that he were a flesh and blood man so she could freely love him? Hadn't she felt inexplicable joy when that wish was realized the night he led her behind the mirror?
Steely determination taking over, she rifled through the room until she found a pen and paper, fully aware of the possible consequences of her actions but refusing to be an accomplice to murder.
The letter was rushed, her usually neat script slanted and ink almost smudged in some places, yet she didn’t care, knowing she only had so much time.
Not bothering with an envelope, she merely scrawled Raoul’s name on the outside of the folded letter, having outlined why she was leaving and only lamenting she could not give back his ring to prove to him that she was ending their engagement.
The only thing she grabbed was a photo she kept in her room of her father and his wedding ring, having no other possessions that she truly cherished or felt she couldn’t leave behind, as well as a lit candle. In that moment she was immensely thankful she hadn’t given the ring to Raoul, her father giving it to her to give to her future husband. She retrieved one of the black satin ribbons she had kept from her angel's roses, tying back her riot of dark curls.
Making sure to leave the rest of the room undisturbed save the letter waiting on the vanity and casting a regretful look at her waiting Amnita dress that would never be worn, she examined the full length mirror, finding where it latched and pulling it open. Careful of the rug and to cover her tracks, she stepped through, shutting the barrier firmly behind her before staring down the long corridor that led to the Phantom’s domain.
She was grateful for the candle as she reached one of the torches, letting the flame catch to provide some illumination to the darkness that stretched before her.
The corridor held an oppressive air without her angel by her side. The cold air weighed on her as she moved as quickly as possible, praying she would remember the way he had led her without becoming trapped in the labyrinth.
Faintly remembering being told there were traps, she swallowed hard, praying she wouldn't trigger any, yet wondering if he would know if any were set off, if he would come investigate.
She quickly pushed the thought from her head, rationalizing that it would slow her down, especially if she was injured.
She didn't dwell on what would happen should a trap be fatal.
The air grew humid as she felt herself descending lower beneath the opera house, instinct telling her she was going the right way. She quickened her steps as she heard the faint sound of water lapping against a shore, knowing she was approaching the underground lake.
A shaky cry of relief nearly escaped her as she turned a corner to reveal the dark water before her before she quickly sobered, noticing the lack of the boat he had transported her on.
Of course, she thought, why would he leave it here when he would be in his home?
The relief quickly turned to frustration before shifting into desperation as she contemplated how to cross.
Inspecting the area, she found nothing to help her, no ledges to climb on or secret passageways or even a second watercraft to transport her.
She stilled as the boat in question came to mind, suddenly remembering it had been a gondola, meaning he had used the rowing oar to push the boat to their destination.
Holding the flame above the water and finding her pale reflection staring back at herself, she held her breath as she lowered herself onto the freezing water. She was submerged to her mid thighs as she fully entered the water, fearing how much time she had wasted.
She cursed the skirts that billowed around her legs, slowing her down by their weight. She wished she had the foresight to change into a pair of trousers, but hadn't thought she would be wading through the underground lake.
The path was familiar to her, passing by grotesques staring down sinisterly in the torchlight as the water rippled behind her. She found two large statues of Atlas holding the roof as she turned the corner, her heart racing as her steps hastened, practically feeling her angel's presence nearby. The faint smell of candle wax filled her sinuses, helping to confirm her feeling.
Catching sight of the portcullis lit by candlelight in the distance, her breath froze, at a loss for how to pass the barrier.
Sudden fear gripped her, terrified that she was too late and that he might not even be there.
Before her mind caught up, she was suddenly screaming for him and nearly running to the barrier, praying with her entire being that he was there and she wasn't too late. "Angel! Angel, please! I need to see you!"
Over the sound of the disturbed water she heard the faint sound of rushing footsteps before a tall figure appeared just beyond where she knew his bedchamber to be.
"Christine?" her angel exhaled in disbelief.
She nearly wept in relief as she nodded, the torch falling from her grip and extinguishing as it was swallowed in the dark water.
She stepped closer to the portcullis as he seemingly shook himself, hurrying to a lever and pulling it. Ignoring the water falling in rivets from the rising metal, she ducked under the gate, finding she couldn't bear another moment being away from him.
Her angel hit the lever again, the gate barricading them from the rest of the world. She barely registered the splash as he himself jumped in the water over the sound of her heartbeat drumming in her ears.
Before she knew it he was before her, his yellow eyes reflecting cat-like in the candle light as he grasped her arms.
"Christine," he exhaled, taking in her shaken form. "Come, let's get you out of this water."
Keeping a firm hold on her as if worried she would collapse, he led her out on the water to the banks of his home. Her skirts dragged behind her, heavy with water and leaving wet trails behind her on the stones and Persian carpets.
Settling her onto the organ bench, he quickly retreated into an alcove, returning only a moment later with a heavy blanket. He took care to wrap it around her, trying to warm her as much as possible.
"Christine, why are you here?" he asked quietly.
He used the same tone he used as her maestro, leaving her no choice but to comply, despite having no urge to resist him.
"Raoul," she spoke quickly. "He plans to have you killed."
Her heart sank as she took in her angel's stoic expression, realization creeping in. "You knew."
"I did," he confirmed.
Swallowing thickly, she really looked at him, seeing for the first time his attire. She had always seen him dressed as a gentleman, but he was dressed more elaborately than was usual for him. He was dressed as if he was to perform himself. The only thing that was out of place was his trousers, having been soaked to the knee when he went to her.
Christine felt herself begin to shake, thinking about how her angel was about to willingly walk into what could very well be his death.
"Why did you come here?" her angel questioned again.
She closed her eyes, her heart constricting.
"Christine?" he asked, much softer than before.
Her eyes snapping open, she saw his golden gaze fixed on her, worry furrowing the visible half of his brow.
"I don't want you to die," she told him in a strangled voice, the dark thoughts she had back in her dressing room returning.
Inhaling deeply, she reminded herself where she was, that she had reached her angel in time, but the danger had not yet passed. "I did not want any part in Raoul's plan, but he and the others made me. He hid the extent of the plan from me, telling me he only was planning for you to be arrested."
"How did you find out?" he pressed gently.
"I overheard him speaking to the managers and head of the Sûreté," she replied clearly. "He admitted that he knew I would not agree if I knew. I refuse to be an accomplice to your death."
Pushing the blanket from her shoulders, she took his offered hands to stand before him.
"I can't bear the thought," she confessed. "I can not imagine a world where my Angel of Music doesn't exist. So I left a letter to Raoul to tell him that I refused to be a pawn in his plans and not to follow me."
"You told him you were coming to warn me," he muttered in disbelief.
She swallowed heavily. "I want my freedom, and I know now that I will never have that with him. As a vicomtesse I would lose my music. I would be losing my Angel, and I can not do that."
He fully understood what she did, as well as the consequences she could face. In refusing to be an accomplice to Raoul's plans, she allied herself with the Phantom. If they were caught, she would walk right beside him up to the guillotine.
His eyes widened, voice strangled as he uttered a single word, the full implications of her actions sinking in. "Why?"
Finding the courage to leave her heart bare to him, she slowly raised her fingers to his mask, her eyes never leaving his. She gingerly lifted it from his face, revealing the distorted flesh of the right side of his visage.
Before he could turn and hide, she quickly lifted her hand to his cheek, tenderly stroking the rough skin. He froze beneath her touch, his breathing suddenly ragged.
He closed his eyes, the very same she had once said had appeared to contain all the sadness in the world, but not before she saw the tears beginning to well up as he leaned into her touch.
She realized with a sharp pang to her heart that he had never been touched before, at least not with any love. Her eyes stung with her own tears.
"You're not alone," she promised him. "Not anymore. I'll follow you anywhere you lead."
Yellow eyes suddenly snapped open, staring down at her in wonder, love, and barely concealed hope.
Reaching as high as she could go, she pulled his face down to her, gently pressing her lips to his.
He stilled beneath her touch, unsure of how to react or merely in shock, Christine didn't know, but she felt something within her shift into place.
Pulling away, she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, his expression unreadable.
She didn't know who moved first as they then met each other again, meeting each other for another kiss, the world falling away around them.
Her heart nearly beat out of her chest and fire burned her veins as she felt his long fingers tangle in her dark hair, his other hand tenderly cupping her face. His lips moved beneath hers, responding enthusiastically to the kiss.
This is right , she thought to herself, this is where I'm meant to be .
Her lips burned as she reluctantly pulled away from him as her lungs screamed for air. Unlike the previous time, his eyes were closed, his breathing heavy as a couple tears streamed down his face.
"I'm dead," he muttered. "You've kissed me and I'm dead."
Feeling a few of her own tears escape, she shook her head, pressing her hand still holding his mask to his thin chest over his heart, delighting in its rapid beating. "No, you're alive. You're alive and I love you."
His eyes snapped open, alight with growing hope. "Say it again. Please."
Her lips curled into a loving smile. "I love you."
He released a weak sob before pulling her to him again, where she went willingly, languishing in his embrace.
She shifted so her hand could bury itself in his hair, pressing gentle kisses to his marred cheek as he pressed his face in her curls. A slight tug met her fingers, alerting her that his neat black hair was a wig, but she didn't dare remove it. She had made that grievous mistake before when she removed his mask; she would let him reveal that part to her when he was ready.
His arms tightening momentarily around her before he loosened them, he pulled back enough to meet her eyes.
"Christine, I love you," he nearly sang to her, making her already full heart nearly burst.
She hummed, her cheeks nearly hurting from how widely she smiled.
"Erik," he said softly.
She realized what he had told her, that he was giving her a precious part of himself, one she had no doubt he had hidden away for a long time.
"Erik," she repeated, caressing the name.
He gave her a small smile. "It has been a long time since anyone has used my real name."
"I shall have to remedy that," she replied with a small chuckle.
His smile grew. She noticed fondly that it was crooked due to the disfigurement of his lips. She had never seen anything more beautiful.
She wanted nothing more than to remain in that moment, to remain in the safety of his arms, their emotions completely bared to the other, but knew it had to be broken, that they were still in danger.
Her grin slipped, hating that she would have to taint what she suspected was his first true moment of happiness.
"We have to go," she urged, loathing the way his face fell. "They might have found that I disappeared and may be on their way."
Wearing a solemn expression, he gave her a curt nod, shifting back into the Phantom. "We don't have time to pack much. Only grab what you deem necessary. I have a few changes of clothes for you that you can take."
Nodding, she offered his mask back to him, regret filling her as he easily slid it back into place. She stepped away to move to where he directed her to go, not wanting to question why he had clothes for her.
"Wait," she suddenly stopped, looking back at him. "My ring, the one Raoul gave me. Do you have it?"
The visible half of his brow pinched, he strode to the desk, pulling a drawer open and retrieving the diamond ring.
Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he held it out in offering.
She moved to stand beside him at the desk, grabbing a pen and piece of parchment, dipping the pen into an inkwell.
Let me go. Don't follow us.
Blood red ink traced back her simple message, to which she took the ring from Erik and laid it on the parchment.
"To give proof that my time with him is over," she said by way of explanation.
He gave her a small nod, his previous expression of disbelief remaining, as if he really was unable to fathom that she would leave the Vicomte for him.
She retrieved one of the valises he had produced, going to where he indicated to quickly pack away some clothes for herself in it.
Christine paused, seeing Erik packing a bag with what she realized were the francs he had collected as his salary, before creeping her way to the small alcove she knew contained the wedding dress he had created for her. She felt a sharp pang of regret at having to leave it behind as it would take up too much room, wishing she would have been able to wear it for him.
On impulse, she reached for the mannequin’s head, removing the veil and taking special care to fold and pack it, wanting at least a small part of the dress for when she inevitably became Erik’s bride.
The sound of clinking glass registered in her ears, making her turn back to see various small glass bottles and vials being packed away.
"What are those?" She asked curiously.
"Medicines," he replied easily, glancing back at her briefly. "I would like to think we shouldn't need them, but I would rather not take that chance."
Nodding, she returned to her task, packing some clothes for him with hers.
Looking back on the small amount they had that they could carry, Christine sidled up to Erik, gently resting a hand on his arm as she looked forlorn at the way she had come to him. "How do we get out of here?"
"There is more than one way," he explained as he pulled away.
He retrieved his cloak, fastening it before grabbing another one, draping it over Christine's shoulders and fastening it.
Erik held his hand out to her, palm up. His golden eyes bore into hers. "Do you trust me?"
She placed her hand within his, his long fingers wrapping protectively around her. "With my life."
Her eyes fluttered shut as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
He led her to the chair that resembled a throne, sitting atop it and drawing her to him to settle on his lap.
“One love, one lifetime,” she vowed, lifting her hand to cradle his face.
His larger hand raised to cover hers, repeating her words. “One love, one lifetime.”
Reaching forward, Christine gently pressed her lips to his once more before pulling away, allowing Erik to press a hidden lever, letting the seat of the chair give way and descending them into darkness and freedom.