Unconventional

The First Month

The stirring of an idea came to me one night as I was singing softly to myself but I pushed it away, not daring to open that part of my heart again. The half of my heart that still had Erik's name emblazoned on it for all eternity. Erik. But oh, if this worked it could benefit us all, I tried to reason with myself. An heir for Raoul, a legacy for Erik and a child for me. But no, no I could never betray my husband's trust, even as much as I loved.

Time passed and the longing grew until most days saw me withdrawn and lacking interest in the pleasures which had once captured me. It was as I cried myself to sleep for what felt like the thousandth time and Raoul gently pulled me close, whispering, "I'm sorry," that I made my decision.

I dressed warmly, remembering the chill that the catacombs of the opera held, even in summer. I also selected a simple gown — nothing befitting of the vicomtesse I was — for my journey would not take me to an elegant afternoon tea or a dinner party.

I remembered the route and the tricks Erik had shown me to access his home. I was thankful that he had not changed their secrets. Had he hoped that one day I might return? I knew that he still dwelled here. My secret but frequent correspondence with the Persian assured me of Erik's continued wellbeing. I would have been lying to myself if I had simply cut all ties to him. No, after that night, I'd had to make sure he would be alright.

I heard his music before I'd even gotten close to the house on the lake. He was singing. Oh, that voice! It was enough to make grown men weep at its beauty. As before I felt the pull to be nearer, like a siren luring a sailor to death, so too, did Erik draw me in.

As I entered the house the singing stopped, breaking the spell and at this my nerves returned. He stood in the middle of the music room, silent and still.

"Christine..." his voice was just a whisper.

"Erik."

"Why?"

"Later." I ran to him, arms outstretched and he caught me as I clung to him, wrapping my arms about him in a fierce embrace.

"Christine, I dream again of you, and yet you feel so real. The descent into madness must nearly be done, is this the final stage of delirium?"

"Delirium? No, I am here, truly here," I reached for his hands, and brought them up between us, urging him to look in my eyes.

"Then prove it to me. Remove my mask. The Christine in my dreams does not recoil from my face."

I reached up and did as he asked, revealing the face that I'd seen in my dreams every night.

"You do not recoil, you are not real." He snatched the mask from me and placed it back over his haunted face.

"I am! Look," I did what I knew would hurt him, but it was the only way to prove that this was no fantasy of his as I held up Raoul's wedding band.

"But you left, you married him. Why are you here? You don't love me."

The words I so longed to say caught in my throat, knowing if he knew the depth of my feelings he would keep me and I'd likely never see my husband again. "I did what you asked me, Erik. You let me go."

He sighed. "Yes, I let you go. I love you too much to have kept you. Are you happy, Christine? Does he make you happy?"

"He does."

"And the music, is it still part of your life?"

"Regretfully, no. Not for months."

"Because of him! Because a vicomtesse would not lower herself to the status of opera singer!"