Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters therein. Someday, when I've made my millions, I'll buy the rights to the story just so I can write a phanfic without a disclaimer and walk around claiming that I own Erik, but until then, I remain a humble phan, and nothing more. Author's Note: Fordgirl's going offline for about.oh, let's say three days. After that, this and my other phanfic, 'Where There Is Love. . .' shall get updates. Anyway, much love and many thanks to my reviewers, and on with the phanfic! Archiving: Just give me a heads up first. *Christine's POV* "I love you, Erik," I said, as he turned my head slightly, "I love you, so much." He seemed as if he was in shock, which I assume he was. He looked at me intently, as if needed to say something, but the words wouldn't come. It would have been almost funny and insufferably adorable; my Erik without something to say, his voice silent, his eyes brimming with so much emotion and misbegotten frustration, if, of course, it wasn't such a serious moment. Finally, he murmured, "You mean. . ." "I mean," I said picking up his mask and throwing it as far across the room as I possibly could, "that you won't be needing that terrible thing any longer." I waited for a his reaction nervously. I knew that it would be hard for him to find the faith to accept life without the shield he had clung to for so long. I also knew he wanted to protect me from his scars and abnormalities, but I no longer wanted that protection. I wanted him without pretense. I wanted Erik and I to be together as we truly were; as it was always meant to be. Finally, he spoke, his words quiet as his heavenly voice was trembling, "You'll never know how much I love you," he whispered tenderly against my lips. Much relieved, although my anxiety had been mostly baseless paranoia, I smiled and fell under his spell once more. I drifted in dreams, but found none sweeter than my reality, this moment of peace in his arms. After a moment, I regained my senses, and I stated the obvious, "I know," I said, running my fingers through his hair, "but, Erik, you have to understand that that feeling is completely mutual." He smiled broadly, and impulsively kissed him again. As his lips parted from mine, he pulled me against him. He sighed, and said, "Thank you, Christine." "For what?" I asked, a little taken aback. "For being you, for being here; for making me feel like a normal man after all these years," he said, clutching me tighter, as if I was somehow about to disappear, "but, above all, thank you for being my angel." I smiled, his angel. . . I was no angel, however; I was just Christine Daae. In that moment, I realized that I had finally found a place where being 'just Christine Daae' was finally enough. I needed him, I wanted him - I worshipped him - and I finally found the true meaning in my father's words. He truly had sent me an angel of music; someone to love me and make me happy. It just so happened that my angel was merely a man, if a wonderful one. He was a man like no other, though, different in every way - he was somehow more than human. That irony was sweeping; he had spent his life thinking himself less than human, but in reality he was so much more. In that moment, I dedicated my life to proving that truth to him every day of his life. Every day of his life. . .his life with me. I could see us, in a few years, children running around the house, Ayesha still maintaining careful control of her kingdom from her perch on top of Erik's bookshelf; Erik and I sitting silently in each other's arms silently and blissfully observing it all. Children? Perhaps I was getting a little ahead of myself. Perhaps not. . . I knew tomorrow would come soon enough, I knew that I would have a chance to live each of the days left before me; I knew that this moment was already passing me by. I was overjoyed, but, it was as if something was missing, something important; then it became clear. . . "Erik?" I asked softly, "Will you sing for me?" Without a word, he began to sing. I could feel the deep power of the notes resonating in his chest, and I was swept up in the very essence of the song. The words became irrelevant; I was almost one with the music itself. The melody burned into my mind, my heart, and I could feel the unsung harmony in my soul. I stayed silent, not wanting the song to end. When his was finished, and the last note laid heavy upon the air like a brilliant cascade of falling stars in the summer's sky, I sighed. "Are you happy, my dear," he said attentively. "Yes," I purred, "because I am with you." He stirred slightly, next to me, and sat up. "My love," he said purposely, as if something had just occurred to him. He turned towards me as I sat up as well, "You must get ready. We are going out tonight." "We are?" I asked in confusion, his sudden actions a mystery to me, "Why?" "Yes, we are," he laughed, "but, if I tell you why, I fear you'll ruin the surprise." "Erik. . ." I said slowly, slightly skeptically. "Do you trust me?" He said with a smile, standing up. "You know I do," I replied earnestly. "Then, I'll leave you to prepare, Christine," he said walking towards the door. When he had reached the door, and had started to turn the knob, he paused, and added, "Only the most formal of dress will do, mind you. Keep that in mind." He looked back at me for a second, almost longingly, but he soon opened the door and walked out. I could hear his footsteps heading down the hallway towards his room, and I stood up. Walking to my closet, I threw open the doors, and scanned the dresses before me until I had found the perfect one. Taking it out of its place, I carried it to the bed, and laid it down. Yes, it was perfect. But, for what? *Raoul's POV* I stormed into the dank bar with purpose, scanning the murky ambiance until I found the subjects of my search. I walked over to them quickly, the acrid smoke becoming heavier as I ventured farther into this den of inequity. The lead man spotted me as I approached the dirty, cluttered bar. "Back so soon, Vicomte?" he asked drunkenly, his words forming an almost incomprehensible slur. "Yes," I hissed, "I am." With that I grabbed him by the tattered lapels of his coat, and pulled him towards me. His associates made no great attempt to stop me; they were both too engrossed with the wine that sat before them and too encumbered by the wine that had gone before. "You have failed; you left the monster alive, and she is with him." "Impossible," he stuttered, "he was dead when we left him." "Heed my words; he lives. And as long as he lives, you haven't completed your end of the bargain. I have paid you well, I'm sure you'll agree, but unless you complete the task. . ." "Tonight," the man said, nodding his head rapidly, "tonight we shall return to his home and finish the task. Shall we bring you the girl?" "Yes," I said, pushing him backwards as I realized him, "see that you do." With that, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bar, into the fading sunlight and towards my home to wait once more. To be continued. . . |
| Light in the Darkness |