Guardian Angel

Chapter 5: Angel of Music

Christine stared intensively at the bedroom door, willing herself to rise and go to Erik with her decision. It was petrifying to think that she was choosing to encroach on another's life by agreeing to a marriage requested by her father. She could deny it; she could leave to live on her own and find a small apartment in the city living off of whatever means were available. But it was not plausible when, at any moment, her life could be taken from her. She needed Erik's protection; but, in truth, she needed him.

Not only was he all she had left in the entire world, but he made her soul feel light as air and they had only just met! Why did she dream of Erik and no other when her racing mind allowed her to rest? And the way he stared at her when she dropped his mask–it was with such reverence, devotion, love–

No, he doesn't love you, she reminded herself. And he was hardly devoted to her, if anything, he despised her! She had done nothing but insult him and damage his possessions, yet he still welcomed her into his home. He was a good and decent man, just like her father but what of his wants? Was he just supposed to cast away his life to protect her?

No, it wasn't a matter of wants anymore; it was a matter of convenience. Erik would be marrying her for her protection and she would have to accept that if she wanted to stay alive. To accept a marriage without love, to become the wife of a man whose face she only knew half of. Perhaps in time and with ample prayer, he could grow to love her and trust her enough to remove his mask so she may know the true him...

With the little courage she had, Christine opened the door and followed the tune of the piano, taking the same path as she had earlier in the day, until she once again stood at the door of the music room. It was open unlike before, and inside, was her future husband, his fingers working wonders atop the ivory keys. Again, she imagined them caressing her skin, brushing her hair, tracing her lips but before she could get too carried away, she took a deep breath and cleared her throat to attract his attention.

The music stopped immediately and Erik turned to her, his face brightening when he caught sight of her.

"Christine," he whispered, starting to stand.

"Please, don't get up," she said, not wanting to displace him more than she already was.

Erik obeyed and fell back onto the bench, sitting up straight and touching his mask for a brief moment. His shoulders rose and fell quickly and she wondered if he was nervous as well.

Christine dropped her head and twisted her hands atop her skirts before padding her way into the room, stopping only a few feet from him. She peeked up and was immediately met with the most worshipful stare she had ever seen, even more so than Raoul's. No, she had to be imagining it. How could a man worship a woman after seeing her only twice?

Averting her gaze, her eyes instead fell on the mantelpiece behind him and her heart skipped when she saw the violin there. She walked straight past Erik and started reaching for the instrument before drawing back. It would be polite to ask to touch his things, after all, she already broke one of his possessions.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she asked, "May I hold it? It was one of–my father made it."

"Yes, you may."

Christine gently lifted the violin from its mount and traced the etchings in the maple, trailing her fingers from the body and up the neck. She smiled at the familiarity of it and wished she could play if only to hear the beauty of one of her father's hand-crafted instruments once more. Carefully, she flipped it over in hopes that he had notched it like all the others and gasped at the misshapen blot of darker wood.

"Oh! I helped him make this one!" she exclaimed, facing Erik and showing him the splotch on the back. "This dark spot here, it was my fault. I accidentally spilled the stain and ruined it, but my father said the man he was making it for wouldn't mind."