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Chapter Text

The Bal Masqué was in full swing, the grand foyer brimming over with the lively sounds of music and laughter. Monsieur Firmin had organized a lavish performance to welcome the new year in swaths of black, white, and gold. Much of Paris’s high society was in attendance, dressed in their finest and most elaborate costumes as they indulged in the free-flowing champagne.

Amidst the revelry, Raoul guided me through the crowded hall, a protective hand on my lower back.

As I beheld the opulent festivities, I spotted Meg from across the room. She was a vision in her shimmering white angel costume, her Soul Marking protruding from beneath the gauzy fabric. The elegant, filigree pattern decorated her left shoulder in fine, blue-black swirls, appearing almost iridescent under the foyer lighting as she danced with her newly Bonded Soulmate, Henry.  His floppy brown curls and kind, hazel eyes complemented Meg’s ethereal beauty as they waltzed together.

A few weeks ago, Meg and I had done little more than exchange a few pleasantries with the unassuming stagehand. Until one night, after a long and grueling rehearsal for Hannibal, their Bond snapped into place.

That night, we lay awake in the ballet dormitories, exchanging excited whispers in the darkness. Meg compared the experience to a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place; an all-consuming completeness, absolute certainty that she gazed into the eyes of the one destined for her.

Just before Hannibal premiered, Meg, Henry, Madame and I snuck away into the chilly twilight to conduct the Sacred Rite in the woods that lay beyond the opera house grounds. Despite the bitter cold eating through my cloak, I attended as an honored witness, unable to hold back my beaming smile as Madame struck the ceremonial flames that would permanently bind Meg and Henry for the rest of their lives.

Meg shot me a beaming smile as they twirled past. The pair danced as if they floated on clouds, not a care in the world. I returned Meg’s love-sick grin with a weak smile of my own. I was indeed happy for her. But I couldn’t hold back the twinge of envy as I fiddled nervously with the glittering engagement ring dangling against my chest.

That moonlit night when Raoul proposed was everything I’d dreamed—romantic, enchanting, perfect... with one exception. The Soul Bond hadn’t locked into place during our kiss, as I’d desperately hoped. Even Raoul’s tender glances and gentle touches couldn’t seem to make it ignite.

The nagging disappointment caused the diamond ring to feel heavy against my skin, like a rock settling in the pit of my stomach rather than a symbol of our passion, our commitment to one another.

I drew in a calming breath as I remembered Madame’s stern warning to me. When I told her of my engagement—as one of the few people I felt I could trust with that information—and the subsequent lack of connection, she was quick to remind me that Soul Bonds were unpredictable creatures. No one could say for certain who or what determined them. They manifested on their own schedule, some locking into place immediately, while others took years to form, if they did so at all.

Madame herself had never experienced one with her late husband, yet they had still shared a passionate and all-consuming romance. I grasped at the glimmer of hope. Perhaps the Soul Bond was taking its time with Raoul and I. Or, if it never did manifest, we could share the same relationship Madame had, profound and spellbinding as any Bond. Soulmates or not, we loved each other and I should’ve been embracing that fact.

Still, I couldn’t suppress the anxious energy that skittered through me as Raoul led me towards the dance floor. Each step felt like a lead weight dragging me closer to the unavoidable moment when someone would notice the ring strung around my neck. Would they ask questions? Whisper about it behind their fans and masks? The thought filled me with dread. I had no desire to draw any more attention to myself than I already had these past weeks.

“You don’t need to hide that, Christine,” Raoul said, his voice gentle but insistent as he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. He must have spotted my half-hearted attempt to conceal the ring from the prying eyes around us. Although, if I was honest with myself, it wasn’t the curious gazes of the wealthy Parisians dancing before us that worried me. It was those striking eyes following me through the shadows, soothing and comforting as they were unsettling and enigmatic.

“I do, Raoul. They’ll see,” I whispered back, giving the ring an anxious twirl between my thumb and forefinger.

“Then let them see! We have nothing to hide,” he said. 

"Raoul, please," I began, but he interrupted me.

“It’s an engagement, not a crime,” Raoul's tone was resolute as he looked pointedly at me. I could tell from the tense set of his brow that he knew the elusive Angel of Music was part of the reason for my nerves and he was determined not to let my cryptic guardian rattle me.

I sighed. Perhaps it wasn’t a crime per se, but as long as my mysterious Angel kept watch over me, some nagging part of my mind, however small and inconsequential, would feel it was a betrayal.

I gave Raoul a hesitant look as I finally relented and let my hand fall away from the ring. We linked arms and continued toward the dance floor.

Raoul’s hand drifted to the small of my back, his touch gentle and reassuring as we took our position for the waltz. Though we kept the appropriate amount of space between us, it was more distance than either of us wished. We swept across the polished marble floor, the swirling notes and graceful dance allowing some of my anxiety to melt away, replaced by a sense of contentment. I couldn’t keep a grin from my lips as I gazed into Raoul’s handsome face.

Just as I was beginning to truly enjoy the celebration, the peaceful moment shattered. Almost every lamp surrounding the grand foyer flickered and fizzled out, shrouding the ballroom in shadows. Nervous whispers transformed into terrified shrieks as the crowd turned toward the source of the disturbance.

A blend of nausea, fear, and a strange anticipation churned inside me. I swallowed hard as the confusing feelings coiled around my stomach like a vine, my throat constricting as my gaze followed the crowd’s.

My Angel of Music appeared, as he always did, like a specter materializing out of nothing. This time, however, he appeared more like a vengeful spirit. Clad in a pair of crimson trousers and a waistcoat trimmed with gold, he was a striking figure amongst the expanse of muted colors worn by the other party guests.

I noticed a long, thin sword sheathed at his side, glinting ominously in the sparse light. The skull mask concealing his scarred face only added to his menacing aura. Frozen like a statue next to Raoul, I could do nothing but watch as he sauntered down the marble steps to the main landing.

“Why so silent, good monsieurs?” His haunting voice carried through the foyer, heavy with malice and reproach.

“Did you think that I had left you for good?” He taunted. Even from where I stood, I could see the smirk playing on his lips. He swung his arms wide, as if daring anyone standing there in the grand foyer to challenge his authority over the Opera House. A palpable fear emanated from the crowd and he reveled in it as he announced the opera he'd written. Removing a sleek, black case from behind his robe, he held it up for all to see.

“Here I bring the finished score…” he seethed. “Don Juan Triumphant!” He hurled the leather-bound sheet music onto the marble steps, causing the papers to spill out and scatter like leaves. He withdrew his sword and the audible scraping of the weapon sliding from its sheath rang in my ears, making me flinch.

I was vaguely aware of Raoul leaving my side as I watched the Phantom lay out his expectations for our rehearsal of his new opera.

He directed the sharp tip of the sword towards each cast member, as if he fully intended to pierce someone’s eye out whilst reprimanding them for their faults. Carlotta, with her exaggerated strutting, must learn to act. Piangi must slim down his rotund frame, for it wasn’t healthy in a man of his age. The managers, who received the brunt of his scathing ire, should understand that their place is in an office, not within the artistic domain.

I clenched my fists in front of me, a sheen of sweat breaking out on my skin as he turned his burning gaze on me.

“As for our star,” he said. His tone was deceptively soft, the words sliding over me like velvet as he pivoted to face me.

“Christine Daae,” he slid the sword back into its sheath with fluid grace, like a silent promise that he wouldn’t harm me. My eyes remained fixed on him as he sauntered across the landing.

“I have no doubts that she will do her best. It’s true, her voice is good. But should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn,” He said. Though his sword remained sheathed, his critical words were sharp as any blade. They struck me like fragments of ice, shredding my pride and filling me with shame. I blinked rapidly, banishing the tears that threatened to spill over.

"If pride will let her return to me, her teacher…" He trailed off. I couldn’t explain the shift in the air, so intense it was almost tangible as his lips parted and his breaths came heavier. The anger in his eyes transformed into a gentle glimmer, swaggering bravado giving way to tender vulnerability as he approached me with slow, measured steps.

My eyes locked onto his unguarded expression, a look that communicated some silent message meant only for me. The surrounding opulence faded away along with the curious stares of my fellow cast members as I ascended the staircase, my body moving of its own accord. I drifted toward him until we stood suspended in time, mere inches apart. Our closeness made my heart race with warmth, like glowing embers spreading through my chest.

The fragile moment shattered as his eyes swept from my face, down my neck, to my chest, where the ring rested between the curve of my breasts. I had forgotten all about it.

Panic rose inside me as his sharp mind swiftly pieced together the implication of the glittering diamond, and the venomous rage returned.

“Your chains are still mine!” he said, voice filled with bitterness.

In one violent motion, his hand shot out and swiped the ring from my neck. The brush of his gloved fingers against my skin made me shudder, the delicate chain snapping with little effort under the force of his grip. His hand coiled around the diamond like a vise as he held it up in front of me, his eyes wild.

“You belong to me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his tone fraught with possessive rage, acrid venom, and primal protectiveness all at once. My eyes shifted from the ring tightly grasped in his hand and back to his fierce glare.

My breath hitched, unable to keep up with the rapid cadence of my heart. Then, before I could comprehend what was happening, the words bubbled and roiled inside me like a boiling liquid rushing to the surface as my gaze held his.

“I know,” I breathed.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The hushed words lingered between us like a taut string, ready to snap. They didn’t come from my conscious thoughts, yet I knew they had risen from somewhere within me, in some long-buried corner of my mind. My Angel’s eyes widened, the bone-chilling coldness evaporating from them. His lips parted, defiant façade slipping as he took a faltering step backward. And then…

The Bond ignited like a match striking inside my chest. The force of it was a raging fire flooding my soul, the warmth of pure wholeness seeping into my every muscle and tendon, burrowing itself in the marrow of my bones. It was a swirling symphony, like every aria I’d ever practiced for him before the mirror—every note I’d ever sung in my life—converged in this moment, this perfect crescendo we now shared.

I inhaled a shuddering breath. A spark of warmth prickled its way along my right temple and cheek. Instinctively, my gloved hand flew to the area, and I ran my fingers over it, feeling the fine ridges of the Soul Markings that bloomed there, permanently engraving their sacred, binding magic into my skin. My eyes never strayed from his as I watched his chest rise and fall. His grip on my ring loosened as I read the shocked disbelief in his dilated pupils. The chain slipped through his fingers, causing the diamond to fall and clatter down the marble staircase. His own hand flew to his mask. I knew if he removed it now, there would be matching Markings swirling across his skin, on the same side as mine—directly over his scar. The thought brought a gentle smile to my lips, my heart warming.

His hand dropped away from his mask and, without a word, he closed the distance between us. His powerful hands reached up to caress my face, cradling my cheek and neck in his gloved palms. The leather felt soft against my skin as it glided over the Marking on my temple.

"I had always dreamed of this moment," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and reverence. "But I thought it a foolish fantasy..." he said.

His touch was tender, gentle in a way I hadn’t experienced since the night he’d led me through the hidden tunnels beneath the Opera House and sang that sensual, lilting melody to me in the glowing candlelight.

“…I never allowed myself to hope for it,” he said. His voice was smooth as he spoke, that exquisite timber low and husky. I leaned into his hand, savoring its warmth as the aftereffects of the Bond thrummed beneath the Markings on my cheek. I didn’t realize how dearly I had missed his touch, longed for it. My hand drifted up to meet his in a gentle caress, our fingers intertwining. 

“Christine,” Raoul’s panicked voice reached me from the top of the staircase, echoing in my ears. 

Harsh reality pierced through our private sanctuary, making me aware of the curious onlookers surrounding us. The euphoria that swept through me a moment ago was quickly swallowed by a wave of anxiety as their perplexed whispers jabbed at my ears like a swarm of gnats. The fingers entwined with my Angel’s loosened and I reluctantly shifted my eyes from him. I peered over his shoulder to meet Raoul’s worried stare as he rushed toward me.
His feet came to an abrupt stop when his gaze landed on my face. I saw the glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he registered the Markings that decorated my temple and cheekbone, clear evidence of what had just transpired between my Angel and I.

 “Christine,” he repeated. The words were a desperate plea this time as he took a careful step toward us. “Those Marks on your face…they’re not…” Tears pricked my eyes as Raoul’s expression morphed from one of concern to incredulity, his eyes flickering between me and the man I was now bound to by sacred magic.

“They weren’t there before. You didn’t…not with him,” he stumbled over his words. A torrent of emotions flashed across his features - fear, disbelief, and deep hurt shining in his eyes.

My shoulders sagged under the weight of bewilderment and confusion. Why, out of all the secret and intimate moments my Angel and I spent together, did the Soul Bond have to reveal itself now? In front of the entire cast and half of Paris, no less! Worst of all, in front of Raoul. Whatever entity decided the Bond must be playing a sadistic joke on me as it sat on some celestial throne, cackling maniacally at my expense. 

I glanced back at my Angel. My heart stuttered as his eyes darkened, the menacing coldness creeping back into them as he glared over my shoulder at Raoul. His hand left my face, reaching for the hilt of his sword as he pivoted to face him.

“Why are you here?” My Angel said. His voice was a sharp bite slicing through the tension. 

Raoul's weight shifted as he glared down at us, confusion and frustration evident in every strained line of his muscles.

 “Well, I was going to fight you,” he responded, his voice low and guarded. “But now I just want to know what the hell is going on,” he said.

I took a small step toward him. I wanted desperately to explain, to make him understand, but I didn’t know where to start. 

“Raoul,” I said, my voice trembling. “I know it’s all so sudden, but this Bond…it changes things,” I said. My soft plea came out weak, almost feeble. It was woefully inadequate, and I felt a twinge of guilt as all the longing I once felt for him resurfaced. I swallowed hard, suppressing a sudden wave of nausea. Confusion and doubt gnawed at my insides. His eyes flickered from me, to the Mark decorating my face, then back to Erik. His mouth formed into a tense line as he gripped the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side.

“Does it, Christine?” Raoul said. He didn’t spare me a glance as he spoke, his steely gaze fixed on my Angel’s masked face. “Or does it simply bind you to a fate you do not desire?” 

The challenge hung in the air between the three of us. A pang of unease shot through me. That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? But I already knew the answer. I did desire it. I always had, and that realization rattled through my bones, almost as momentous as the Soul Bond itself. 

“Oh, please,” my Angel sneered, his tone full of disdain. “You had your chance, Vicomte. You are not the one. The Bond has spoken, and it is never wrong.” 

The undercurrent of a threat laced his words as he ascended a step toward Raoul, like a predator poised to attack its prey. The air hummed with the possibility of a violent confrontation I prayed wouldn’t break out between them. 

“Isn’t it?” Raoul said sharply, raising his chin in defiance. He reached for his sword with a swift motion, the blade gleaming in the dim light. “You are mad! A killer!” He shouted, each statement punctuated with a jab of the blade, directing accusations towards my Angel that made me bristle as if he’d thrown them at me. But he stood calmly, barely flinching at Raoul's insults or sword jabs.

“If the Bond is truly infallible as you claim, would it have chosen a murderer?” Raoul said as he glared at my Angel, eyes alight with anger. “Maybe it isn’t as perfect as you think. I’m willing to prove it here and now,” Raoul said, brandishing his weapon.

My Angel scoffed.

“It would be amusing to see you try,” he countered, his tone sardonic. From my vantage point, I could see the barely contained rage in the tense set of his jaw. 

“But it is common knowledge that coming between a man and his fated Mate is an undertaking for morons and imbeciles,”  The muscles beneath his red waistcoat rippled with power. In one swift, violent motion, my Angel drew his sword once again, the blade shining with a menacing aura as he directed it at Raoul.  “You must be both if you think you can attempt such a thing and live!” he spat, his voice resounding off the marble walls.

My eyes locked on the two of them, the crowd’s tense whispers growing louder by the second. Blood thundered in my ears, adrenaline racing through me as I watched them face off. My muscles tensed as every instinct inside me demanded I intervene, that I stop this confrontation before it escalated further. But before I could take a step, an exasperated voice sliced through the tension. 

“Enough!” 

I paused. My head snapped around to see Madame Giry storming up the steps toward the three of us, skirts bunched in her hands. Her brows knit together in annoyance, marring her otherwise lovely features as she approached Raoul and my Angel.

“You will cease this belligerence at once, both of you!” Madame’s voice echoed through the room, sharp and demanding. I recognized that tone from countless rehearsals when she’d had to correct a dancer’s form one too many times. 

Despite her slight build, her presence was intimidating as she positioned herself between Raoul and my Angel, her piercing gaze flitting between them. They both lowered their weapons, their aggressive stances relaxing at her approach. She let out an exasperated sigh before turning to Raoul, her expression softening as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand you are hurting, monsieur. But this is no way to handle it.” She said. Raoul gave me one last grief-stricken glance before begrudgingly sheathing his sword.

Turning her attention to my Angel, Madame leaned in closer. Her voice was a tense whisper, barely audible to my ears as she spoke to him. Though I could only catch snippets of her hushed whispers - “dressing room” and “go quickly”-the reprimand seemed to be enough for him to sheathe his weapon as well, the lingering aggression draining from his stance. 

After giving a brief nod to Madame, he turned back to me. In one fluid motion, his arm was around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His brawny forearm pressed against the small of my back as he leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“We must go now, my dear. Hold on to me tightly,” he instructed.

I could only obey, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. With a swift movement, he flung his free arm out to the side and a burst of fiery light erupted in front of my eyes, momentarily obscuring my vision. A flurry of smoke enveloped us, filling my nose and lungs, making me gasp for air. My muscles tensed. The floor gave out beneath us. 

Chapter Text

A bolt of terror lanced through me as the air rushed violently past, stinging my eyes with its force. 

On pure instinct, I gripped my Angel’s shoulders, crushing our bodies flush against each other. 

My fingers dug into his waistcoat as the breath tore from my lungs, heart threatening to dislodge itself from my rib cage—until we landed with a soft thump onto cushioned ground.

His muscled arms circled my torso and shoulders, hugging my smaller frame against his to shield me from the impact.

I lay against his chest for a moment, rigid as a board. My head spun from the dizzying plummet.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his warm breath tickling my ear.

“That was…not the most graceful entry, I’ll admit. But we couldn’t well linger above ground,” His deep voice rumbled against my cheek as he disentangled our limbs. 

 “I’m fine, just disoriented,” I reassured him breathlessly as a familiar, grimy scent reached my nose. 

“Where are we?” I asked, lifting my face from where it rested on his firm chest. A few rogue curls had escaped my styling, tickling the Marks across my cheek. I brushed them away as my Angel maneuvered out from beneath me with a deft roll.

“One of the opera house’s lesser-known tunnels,” came his pragmatic reply, echoing off the surrounding walls. He extended a gloved hand to pull me upright.

I took it, my eyes straining to adjust to the sparse light. Muggy, ancient masonry enveloped us in near-total blackness, the only illumination a faint orange glow from a distant torch that backlit his imposing silhouette. He wasted no time lacing his fingers through mine, guiding me forward into the darkness. 

“This way, my dear,” my Angel said, urgency coloring his tone as our footsteps echoed through the dingy corridors.

I bunched my voluminous skirts into my free hand, raising what I could of the silk and tullè folds off the dampened stone to avoid tripping. Still, the cumbersome layers felt like rocks strung around my waist and I stumbled to keep up with his brisk pace.

  I thought with a hint of annoyance that ball gowns were not made for traversing dark, hidden passages as the chilly underground air prickled goosebumps along the exposed skin of my collarbones. 

"We’ll go to your dressing room first," my Angel said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at me. "Madame will help you change out of that ridiculous soufflé you call a dress," 

His gaze swept the length of my rosy pink gown, now slightly rumpled from the fall. Even the blackened sockets of his skull-shaped mask couldn’t disguise the unbridled disdain simmering behind his eyes.

"Then we’ll return to my home to discuss all of this," he said.

I bit the inside of my lip, fighting back an impulsive retort to his scathing criticism of my attire, and instead gave a small nod. 

“Of course,” I replied softly. My heart stuttered at the idea of what was to come…the Sacred Rite…how we’d navigate this nebulous Bond of ours…Raoul. I swallowed hard, shoving the irritating ruminations away for now. 

 The mention of Madame buoyed my spirits. She had been a rock, a guiding light in the turbulence my life had recently become. If anyone knew how to handle this, it was her. A smile played on my lips as I shifted my attention back to the stony path.

Up ahead, faint glimmers of candlelight flickered in the wall sconces, illuminating the cobwebs that dangled from every corner of the tunnel, clinging to the desolate stones like weathered skin.

I shrank away from them, my grip tightening a fraction around my Angel’s long fingers. I pressed my body closer to his, as much as my ample skirts allowed. My scant knowledge of the maze-like tunnels left me with few other choices.

Would you ever want to do anything else?

A tiny voice whispered inside my mind as a pleasant tingle ran through the Markings on my cheek like popping champagne bubbles. 

The thought evaporated when we rounded another bend and a chorus of tiny squeaks echoed down the corridor. I sucked in a startled breath when a pair of mice scurried around the folds of my gown and disappeared through a hole in the wall. My Angel forged on, unperturbed by the passing rodents.

We wended around another corner, the familiar, angled pane of my dressing room mirror at last taking shape in the distance. I tilted my head to peer around my Angel’s sturdy form and through the foggy two-way mirror. 

Madame Giry stood by the softly glowing candles atop the vanity, the set of her jaw tense, hands clasped at her front, and eyes shining with an anticipatory gleam as she watched us draw nearer. 

With his free hand, My Angel gripped the side of the mirror-door, the glass pane rumbling against the frame as he slid it open in one, deft motion.

He turned back to me, his gloved hand brushing my shoulder. The soft leather pressed into my skin as he ushered me over the threshold, nodding in Madame’s direction.

“I’ll be waiting when you finish,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. I thought I caught a hint of longing in his gaze before he slipped behind the mirror again, out of sight. I had no time to linger on the thought as Madame laced her hand through mine. "There you are..." she said, her voice urgent.  "Come, let me help you out of this dress.”

I could do nothing but nod as she whisked me through the dressing room, to the privacy screen near the door. The moment we slipped around it, Madame positioned herself behind me, her deft hands tugging at the snug laces of my bodice until it loosened around my waist. Next came the skirts, falling in a puffed ringlet at my feet until I stood in only my undergarments.

Amidst the soft ruffles of fabric, Raoul’s stricken expression flashed behind my eyes, the way his own had glistened with unshed tears, his shoulders sagging, mouth agape with shock…

Guilt drummed against my heart as Madame circled me, her nimble fingers plucking the rose-shaped trinkets and ribbons from my curls. The loosened ringlets tumbled around my face and, for a moment, I saw the noble young boy who had saved my scarf from the ocean, who had spent a carefree summer with me, a girl so far beneath him in status. Sweet, loyal Raoul, who had promised to be my light and shelter, who had done nothing to deserve the anguish I was thrusting upon him.

I couldn’t force down the gnawing question any longer.

“Madame, what about Raoul?” I said, my voice trembling.

"Hmm?" she hummed absently as she gestured for me to raise my arms so she could slip a thin, cotton nightgown over my head. I lifted them, and the breathable fabric skimmed my form, a welcome relief from the heavy ball gown. “What about him?” She asked.

 "We shared so many memories as children…and I saw how upset he was on those steps earlier. I can’t imagine how all this has affected him. I know I had said this Bond would change things, but Raoul is such a good man, and I-"

"That he is," Madame interjected, silencing my nervous babbling as she adjusted the soft fabric over my shoulders.

“A good man indeed, kind and noble. And I’m well aware you two were rather close growing up…" She retrieved the wrap for my nightdress from its spot over the privacy screen, holding it out for me to slip my arms through the diaphanous fabric. Her eyes flicked up to mine as she cinched the silk belt around my waist, her prudent gaze pinning me to the spot.

"But tell me, Christine, does a childhood playmate truly rival a Soulmate?" She asked, arching a delicate brow.

The poignant question caused my breath to hitch, giving me pause. My eyes drifted to the patterned rug beneath our feet as my brows drew together, my lip finding its way between my teeth. Words failed me. 

"Do not look so sullen, Christine.” Madame tutted, a weathered hand snaking under my chin. I lifted my eyes from the floor to meet hers. “I have anticipated this day ever since you reached womanhood.”

I gave her a questioning look. “You have?” I asked. 

“Oh, most definitely," Madame said. A knowing glint shone in her eyes as her mouth curved into a tender smile.

 "Don’t think I never noticed when you two had a lesson? What, with the way you’d go around grinning all week as if in a dream…" she said, ruefully shaking her head. "And the way you looked at him on those steps tonight…I just knew something was bound to happen," her tone was wistful as her thumb drifted up to caress my cheek, trailing over the spot where my Soul Markings had bloomed not an hour ago. "Come to think of it, You haven’t seen these yet, have you? The way they make your skin dewy or your eyes sparkle?" Madame said, her voice taking on a mystical edge as she traced the Markings.

I shook my head. Madame’s hand drifted away from my cheek to rest on my shoulder as she steered me around the privacy screen. I followed her lead, treading across the carpet to the waiting mirror.

"Just look at them…" she whispered. 

My reflection stared back, illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

The Markings immediately pulled my gaze toward them and my fingers drifted up to brush their graceful contours. My jaw slackened as I drifted toward the glass, awestruck. Transfixed. 

The intricate designs hugged my left temple, curving around the swell of my cheekbone like elegant vines. Some bowed and arched in long, swooping tendrils, while others coiled into tight spirals. They unified with my features as if I were born with them, had never existed without the fine, dark swirls undulating against the paleness of my skin.

Madame approached me, Her gaze meeting mine in the mirror, warm and soft as she placed her hands on my shoulders.

“When it comes time to perform the Rite, I know the Bond between you two will gleam brighter than any star,” she said, her mouth ticking up at the corners. I returned her warm smile as she patted my shoulder, even as anxiety lanced through me. The Rite. The sacred ritual that would solidify my acceptance of our Soul Bond…and of him.

"Remember, this Bond is a great honor, Christine," she said, her voice weighty, "but it is also a great responsibility." Her blue eyes bore into mine for a long moment, letting the words sink in before giving my shoulder a faint squeeze.

“I must go now, Christine. He will be here for you shortly,” Madame said, her hand dropping away. The door clicked softly shut as she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone amidst the room’s softly glowing candles.

Suddenly, the mirror slid open and my Angel stepped around the frame, his tall form dwarfing the space. The candlelight flickered over him, casting his sturdy form in stark relief against the shadows of my dressing room. My eyes devoured him, grazing his tall form, the candlelight dancing on his chiseled features. He stepped over the threshold and closed the distance between us. I noticed he’d removed his waistcoat and cape, leaving him in only the red breeches, boots and a billowing white shirt that hung low over his chest. He leaned against the frame, the flickering candles dancing over the contours of his skull-shaped mask.

Here, in the stillness of my dressing room, he was no longer the menacing specter that had stormed into the ballroom, but a man. A man whose name remained a mystery. 

"Are you ready to go, Christine? I’m sure you’ll want to rest," He said. The exquisite texture of his voice would never cease to make my heart race. I fought the urge to close my eyes and bask in it, instead meeting his piercing gaze. 

"I am ready," I assured him. Pleasant sparks ran through my Markings, filling me with a new sense of boldness. "But, before we go, could you perhaps answer a question that has weighed on my mind ever since we met?”

He paused at the threshold, head tilting slightly.  "Oh?" He asked, his usually rough timber edged with a soft lilt.

My heart hammered despite my newfound boldness. "I think I deserve to know my Soul Mate's name, don't you?" I asked. 

His eyes widened behind the mask and I could see the hint of surprise in them. The question lingered in the air, and I worried he wouldn’t answer until a smirk tugged at his lips. 

"Yes, of course you do," he said, a playfulness in his voice. "I’m not certain of my birth name, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve gone by Erik,” His eyes twinkled with mischief, the candlelight reflecting in them. 

"Erik," I rolled his name over my tongue, savoring each syllable like fine chocolate.

 I stared into his pale, blue-gray eyes, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His lips moved closer to mine, our breaths mingling as I pressed my body into his. 

A racketing sound at the dressing room door jolted me from the moment. I whipped my head toward the source of the noise. 

"Christine!" Raoul's muffled voice pushed through the wood paneling, frantic and desperate. "I know you're in there. Please, just open the door!" The handle jiggled uselessly and I thanked the Heavens Madame had the foresight to lock it. "We need to talk about this, Christine! Please!" 

I turned back to face Erik. The vicious glare he shot toward the door could’ve scorched the wood to a pile of ash, and Raoul with it.

"We must go," he said, gripping my hand, his tone clipped with urgency. "Quickly," 

There was no time to argue as he shoved the glass pane aside, pulling me through. Cool air met my skin once again as we hurried into the labyrinth of tunnels.