'A Night at the Opera'

"Erik? Are you sure that we won't be seen?"

"Quite sure, my darling. Quite sure."

In spite of his assurances, Christine leaned back against the cushion of her chair, inadvertently attempting to veil herself behind the curtain. Erik sat beside her, silently adoring her for her needless apprehension, but he said nothing. It was more than enough to trust that she wanted to be here with him. It was perfectly hopeless to suppose that she would do so without fear or anxiety.

But it never stopped him from hoping.

"I didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long," she continued regretfully, waving her fan absently before her. "Have we… have we missed anything significant?"

"Hush," he spoke softly, placing a slim white finger to the mouth of his mask. "And no, this is still the first act. Try and be as quiet as possible though, for no matter how well we are hidden from view, we can still be heard."

She nodded in apology, her eyes turning to the majesty and grandeur of the scene before her.

It was a marvelous setting, though the décor was indeed one of the furthest things from her mind. In truth, Christine was feeling rather torn, whether by her desire to make Erik happy, or by the very real understanding of what that would actually require her to do.

Including spending their evenings thus.

Surprisingly though, it was a comfort to be here with him, watching the spectacle before her in the quiet intimacy of his company. She listened to the rich, powerful sounds of the tenor climbing towards her, marveling at the different emotions expressed with each and every chord sounding in her ears. The words themselves were of no consequence, sounding somewhat clichéd and… if it were appropriate to say, uninspired.

Such thoughts, she imagined, were Erik's influence rubbing off on her.

No, what moved her was the loneliness she felt behind that sad lament. The loneliness and the despair. It wound itself into her heart, reminding her of so many memories she had hidden away. So many things she had forgotten. Was it possible that such feelings still existed, even now that she had decided to be with the man she loved? Would she ever forget the pain? The suffering?

Hadn't she already?

A silent tear rolled down her cheek. It was all she could do to relieve the conflicting strains of her heart.

"Perhaps we should leave," he said quietly.

She brushed the tear away with her fingertips, and turned to him with a sad smile. "No," she whispered. "Forgive these tears, my darling. You don't… that is… I want you to understand… I am happy, Erik. I realize it now. Our tragedies are over. I am happy being here with you."

He remained still, but his burning eyes betrayed the emotion flooding through him. "Are you?"

Her only answer was to take his hand in hers.

It was impossible to say whose was trembling more.

"Thank you," she finally spoke after some time had passed. "Thank you for bringing me here, Erik."

"Anything," he replied soberly, pressing his palm against hers. "Anything for you, Christine."

So they sat there, hand-in-hand, swept up in the sweet adulations of their love as they watched the poor wretch of a man continue screaming in the maddening, sweltering heat of the Torture Chamber.