Let The Dream Descend

No Backward Glances

Erik awoke, and as his golden eyes adjusted to the darkness of his room, he slowly sat upright atop his bed. He looked around his dimly lit space with drowsiness. He could clearly make out various images of melted down candles, sketches of Christine, and scattered music. He then froze, suddenly remembering the events of last night. An unwelcome sense of dread suckerpunched Erik in the gut. He quickly got out of his bed and rushed across the hall to Christine's room. Hurriedly pushing the door open, he found it empty; the only sign that the young soprano had been there were the crumpled bedsheets and her tear-stained pillow.

"Christine?" Erik frantically called out, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic tone of desperation as he hurried into the music room. He peered in to find that the room was, once again, completely empty. "Christine?" He called again, searching around the room, trying to find a trace as to where the young soprano may have gone.
As he looked around, a piece of paper caught his eye. He scurried over to where it was resting to retrieve it; the ever-growing sense of dread coming back full force. He quickly snatched it up and read the the eight words that shattered his heart into a million pieces.

'I won't tell. I'm sorry. Goodbye, angel.'

Erik felt his heart drop in his chest as he re-read the letter over and over. She had left him without even saying a proper goodbye. Although, if she had told him of her decision to leave, he never would have allowed it. Perhaps that is why she wrote the letter.
The masked man angrily lashed out blindly, cursing in agony. His arm knocked down stacks of perfectly organized music, which had once been on his organ, onto the cold floor. He slammed his fists down on the wooden instrument and let out a grunt of anger.
Erik quickly strode out of the room, determination in his gleaming with almost dangerous vigor in his golden eyes. He was going to get her back.

Meanwhile, on the shabby streets of Paris, a certain young soprano roamed about, trying not to become overwhelmed by the fact that she was by herself. Alone. The word echoed hauntingly in Christine's head, and she fought back tears as she absentmindedly walked down a back alley. She had been trying to find a place to stay for the past few hours. She continued to walk around, when suddenly she bumped into the large frame of someone in her path. Her first instinct was to back up and apologize, but the figure suddenly turned around to reveal a rather wicked looking man. His rottinging teeth were very openly presented to the young soprano as his face broke out in a smile. Christine tried her hardest not to cringe.

"What's a pretty young lady like yourself doing in a part of town like this?" The dirty man asked as he slowly approached the young soprano, who was desperately thinking of what to say.

"I... I'm just trying to find a place to stay," she said softly. The man smirked and placed his hand on Christine's backside.

"You could stay with me..." The man murmured gruffly into Christine's ear, keeping his hand firmly planted where it was.

Christine quickly took a step away from the man, her light green eyes flaring angrily. She blinked a few times to hide that fact before looking him dead in the eye. "No, thank you. I'm fine," she said politely, trying not to let on that she was utterly disgusted by the man's forwardness.

"Oh, but, doll face, we could have such a good time together," he purred as he reached out to place his grubby hand on Christine's cheek. He smelt very distinguishably of alcohol and body odor, as if he not bathed in several weeks; she held her breath.

"I said, no, thank you," Christine said more fiercely, lightly swatting away the man's hand in an attempt to make her message clear that he was unwanted by her.
Erik was never this forward, she thought to herself. And he was my teacher for years before we even met in the flesh...