The Quest - *Phantom of the Opera* (a fantasy romance)

Chapter II

Dearly Beloved

II

.

Christine could not breathe.

The cloaked figure retreated a step, almost vanishing into the thick mist.

"No- wait!" Startled into action, she stepped forward, then stopped in sudden apprehension. "Who ... who are you?"

Her words came stilted, scarce with the hope it was him and heavy with the fear that it wasn't. She prayed that this was not yet another hollow dream conjured by the desires of her heart and performed within the workings of her mind.

She had waited so very long...

Empty silence once more threatened to bury her deep within its dark abyss, to rise up and call her mad, and then -

"Have you forgotten your Angel?"

The silver tones of music beckoned, chiming softly across the bracing air. She stared, unable to move, unable to think, unable even to sing into his mind as he'd taught her. She forced trembling legs forward. One step. Another.

Can this be real?

Likewise, he took a halting step in her direction then stopped as if undecided.

The fog of disbelief scattered from her mind.

You are with me...

Truly with me!

With a harsh sob, she grabbed her cumbersome skirts and swiftly covered the distance between them. Flinging her arms around his shoulders, she heard his surprised gasp when the force of her joy almost unbalanced them both. She had no further regard for the dictates of propriety. Rules and conventions seemed foolish under such circumstances. Never again would she pretend a reserve she did not feel.

Pressing her cheek to his shirt, Christine felt the steady, rapid thuds of his heart beating. Her first time to embrace her Angel, though he had yet to lift his arms and hold her. He felt so solid, so strong, so ... real. Not a dream. He had come to her! With a joyful smile, she twisted to look up at him through her tears.

NO...

Her breath caught in distress. She took an impulsive step back, lifting her hand to the despised mask covering the right side of his face. His hand stopped hers before she could remove it, his grip firm in warning.

"I have broken its power over my life. The darkness is gone. It is nothing more than a mask, Christine."

"No, it's more," she whispered. "Please, Mon Ange. Let there be no more obstacles between us. Especially not that one."

His hold remained hard around her wrist. "You don't understand what you ask of me."

Oh, but she did. She wanted him to trust her not to malign this one weakness he had permitted to mar his strength. To have faith that she wouldn't trample his aspirations, which she felt confident they shared. To renew his trust in her that she would never again emotionally injure him. She'd never meant to, she'd only done what she felt she must. But oh, how she had wounded him! The remembrance, the realization, tore at her heart.

His smoky green eyes mesmerized, but at the same time observed her, wary, uncertain.

Be strong, Christine. Much is expected of you...

Memory of the silent edict produced within her a fount of needed assurance. In one manner, she had always been able to reach him.

Lifting her voice softly in pure notes that both beckoned and beseeched, she sang: