Page 34 of Angel's Fall

“Are you alright?” he asked, and Christine jumped. She had to have been in deep thought not to have sensed him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I—” She was holding something in her hand, and Erik saw a red stain on the white fabric.

“Are you hurt?”

Christine’s face softened with amusement. “I’m fine. It’s just the monthly curse. It snuck up on me.”

It took Erik several seconds before he comprehended. “Oh.”

“You need not trouble yourself,” Christine said, but there was still something sad in her eyes that left Erik perplexed.

“Aren’t you relieved to be...safe?” He couldn’t think of a better word for her being free of an unwanted child for another month. He’d been careful until recently, to protect them both. That had changed the night she told him she loved him.

“I am, of course.” Christine looked down and Erik was not sure she meant it. “It’s just an inconvenient time, as always, with a performance tonight and everything else. And I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Why would you disappoint me?” Erik sat beside her and lifted her chin so she’d look at him. Her eyes warmed as she smiled. “Do you think I care if I can only hold you?”

“You might.”

“I have told you before that I’d give anything just to spend a few moments more each day in your light. I don’t care about anything else.” Erik was surprised when she embraced him, but glad that wrapping her in his thin arms could perhaps bring some comfort.

“Help me into my dress then.” Christine gave an elegant little sniffle when she drew back. Erik obeyed, assisting with the skirt first then the separate piece for the top.

“It’s curious to me, you know, how dresses like these are lies,” Erik commented and received a perplexed look. “Two pieces made to look like it’s one dress. It’s a deception.”

“All fashion is deception; you should know that,” Christine chuckled, turning to look at him as she straightened her bodice before touching his mask. “Do you ever think of changing it? Your mask, I mean.”

“Changing it how?”

“I don’t know. Maybe add a beard or something?” Erik laughed and was glad of her smile.

“Perhaps glasses too? I do worry I’ll start to need them as much as you soon.” That suggestion received a light glare even as the idea planted itself in Erik’s mind. “I did think about it, years ago: making a mask that would let me move about more easily, like a normal man. It just always felt like a bit too much of a lie.”

“As we’ve discussed, it’s all lies and artifice, the face put out to the world,” Christine countered. “Would it really be so bad to have the option?”

“Would you want that? For me to...” Erik shook his head. The thought of goingup thereanymore even with a mask that made him look something like a normal man was still so strange and frightening.

“Maybe. One day.” Another shadow of melancholy passed over Christine’s eyes.

“It wouldn’t hurt for me to have another project to distract me.”

“Not at all,Monsieur le Fantôme,” Christine smiled at the title. “I don’t think that name would work at all if you were to walk among the living. What is your surname, anyway? I’ve never asked.”

“I’ve never used one,” Erik replied with a shrug. “I certainly don’t want my father’s name.”

“What about your mother? What was her last name?”

“Gilbride,” Erik answered quietly. “It means a servant of Brigid. She’s a goddess or a Saint in Ireland, depending on who you ask. She watches over smiths and bards and sacred fires.”

“Erik Gilbride. I like that.” It sounded so wonderful on her tongue. “I think he would look dashing with a beard.”

Erik thought about it as they ascended to the Opera above, arm in arm, discussing the merits of Gounod over Meyerbeer and Halévy. They had walked like this in the catacombs and the Bois at night, but what would it be like to stroll with her above with no one looking at him like a freak or a monster? Would Erik feel brave with such a wondrous creature on his arm, or would all that old fear still rule him?

Too soon, they were at the stables again. They had decided together it was best for Christine to be seen more often than not going into the Opera rather than appearing at random from her room.

“Will you be watching from your box?” Christine asked at the threshold. Pale daylight stained the stones when the passage opened and the horses whinnied.

“It wouldn’t do for the ghost to miss a performance. Madame Giry would worry. Will you be going to see the patrons after?” There were few things he hated more than how artists like Christine had to bow and scrape before the patrons after a performance. He hated it all the more knowing the boy would be there.

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