One Love, One Lifetime [a Phantom of the Opera Phanfiction]

1: Down Once More (And Again in a Flashback)

A knock on the large gold mirror echoes throughout my dressing room.
    "Christine, my angel, may I enter?" His voice alone causes an intense burning sensation in my cheeks.
    I giggle like a little girl, running a horsehair brush through my waist-length curls and facing the smaller mirror connected to my vanity. "You know what you have to do first."
    Erik scoffs. "I really think we've passed introductions by now, Christine."
    "Then I guess you won't get to see my new dress..." I taunt him.
    He sighs heavily and I picture his hot breath fogging up the other side of the mirror. "Fine. I'm here, the Phantom of the Opera." Fake annoyance drips from his words and my laugh welcomes my secret lover into the room. He waltzes over to me, carefully placing his hands on my shoulders as if I'm as delicate as the lace on the new dress he has yet to see. "How is my angel of music this evening?" He massages my tight muscles and winks at my reflection in the mirror.
    "Oh, she's alright, but I heard she was going on a date with someone tonight." I watch anxiety scamper across his half-masked face that I wish he'd be more comfortable revealing to me. "I can't remember his name... does Erik sound familiar?" I turn around to face him and stand up, enveloping his robust figure in mine. "Happy anniversary, my love." I rest my chin on his chest, smiling up at his chiseled face. Erik kisses the top of my head, a delicate peck so as to not mess up my freshly brushed mane.
    "Now, about that dress..." Erik trails off, slipping his hands down my body.
    "You don't think you can watch as I put it on, do you?" I ask him. He pouts, sticking his lower lip out. I reach out and pluck it like a cello string. "I'm kidding. Help me undo this corset."
    Erik unfastens the buttons and clips of my attire and it slips to the floor, a light blue puddle contrasting against the dark oak planks that rest beneath our feet. His eyes devour the sight in front of him, my slim yet toned and curvaceous figure a result of many years dedicated to ballet. The way he's savoring the sight is as if he's already eating dinner.
    "Erik," I laugh. "Save it for later." Although I tell him this, the truth is I adore it when he looks at me in ways like he is right now, like there's no such thing as roses or stars or diamonds. Like I'm the rarest, most beautiful thing in the world.
    I walk behind the privacy screen, ensuring a maximum surprise factor for Erik when I am changed. Ignoring his pleas of "Hey, you said you were kidding" and "Come on, it's a special day", I slip into the new dress I'd had my seamstress fashion just for our anniversary date. It's reminiscent of the gown I wore when I first visited Erik's lair. Floor length and white with a sweetheart neckline, drop sleeves, and adorned with lace, it's sure to plunge Erik's jaw through the floor.
    "Ta-da!" I step out from behind the screen to see the angel's face flood with a blood rush.
    "Christine..." He trails off. I feel myself too, blush under his adoring stare. "How did I get this lucky?" He murmurs, but I hear it all the same. He takes my hands in his, peering into my soul with his enchanting eyes. "Are you ready, my dear?"
    A nod is all I need to signal to him, and with a quick swish of his long black cape, we disappear through the mirror and begin the trek down to Erik's candle-lit lair. He carries a torch in the hand that's not protectively clasping mine, and I reminisce on the first time we walked this route together. Somehow, every time we travel through this maze takes my breath away as much as the first.
    As he rows across the lake in the sturdy gondola, he hums 'The Phantom of the Opera', as we had once dueted a year ago on this path. I let my hand brush through the cool water and fling a few droplets onto Erik. He smiles, chuckling, and I crawl across the boat to hug his legs like a child. He ruffles my hair as we approach the beach to his lair.
    Although candles are usually spread out mindlessly throughout Erik's cavern, tonight the majority is all arranged in a group around a picnic blanket that rests on the ground next to his organ. A single rose rests on top of the cloth, a symbol that's become a classic token of his love. Next to it lies an envelope sealed with his signature red skull wax stamp.
    He's prepared a bountiful meal complete with my favorite foods, including lamb with mint sauce and potatoes au gratin.
    "Oh, Erik!" I throw my arms around him and he swings me around before sitting me carefully on the blanket. "You thought of everything. Thank you."
    His eyes shine like a galaxy. "I'm glad you like it. You should read the note," he replies, placing the envelope in my lap and shyly avoiding my gaze as I read the handwritten letter.