The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter 35

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***Chapter XXXV***

He who sings scares away his woes.

~Cervantes

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A warm nocturnal breeze whispered along the rocky shoreline, ruffling the hair at Erik's damp neck. He stood with his boots planted apart on the pale sand, his muscles rigid, and stared out at the dark ocean for some time. With a low growl of frustration, he tore his shirt over his head and threw it to the ground.

He had not realized it would be this difficult.

Always, he had known Christine was the counterpart of his spirit ever since he made her into his Queen. In his opera kingdom, he had granted her a measure of himself but through their union, she had become his equal. While such knowledge had given him quiet assurance, the evidence of his dream resounded triumphant. To have her create with him had infused him with both delight and disbelief to at last witness and hear the fulfillment of his greatest aspiration. For twenty-two years of loneliness he had yearned to have someone to share in every aspect of his persona: To combine in the passion of both flesh and heart, while bonding in a creation of music and song. That was all he ever wanted. That "someone", only his Christine.

Her exquisite face and form had stirred his desires, covered his walls, inspired his songs...while her melodious voice soothed away the bonds of torment that once inflicted his soul. Nonetheless, at that time, he had consigned such hopes of a life with his beloved to the outer reaches of the shadows that ensnared him. Even as he wreaked terror on all those in his opera kingdom who opposed their union, even as he had pursued and beguiled her, seducing her within a masquerade and in games of make-believe that his great need for her had fostered — only a whisper of belief had nurtured his heart that she would ever truly become his.

To attain such miraculous favor mystified him. To realize he possessed as reality the fantasy to which he'd clung astounded him. As they had composed their first opera together beneath the light of five candles, he fully realized the extent of the gift he'd been given in his Gentle Rose, his Precious Queen, his Beloved Angel. His Priceless Treasure. She was the essence of compassion and insight that wrung far greater emotion from their masterpiece, and he loved her for all she comprised with all that he consisted of...would do nothing to cause her even a brief moment's unforeseen pain.

Nothing.

Briefly he shut his eyes in longing, closing out the dark night as well. The memories continued to taunt his flesh. With stoic calm he removed his boots, letting them drop heedlessly to the ground...

They had composed their magnificent concerto far beyond the dawn, throughout the entire day. In the past when Erik would create his operas, he would withdraw into a world where no one could reach him. But with Christine, his soul mate, she belonged to that world; a world in which only they dwelt and all else faded into absence. Indeed they had both shown surprise when afternoon sunlight peeked through the chink of curtains to stream upon their heads bent so close as to touch. And though she'd not once purposely said or done anything to distract him from penning their notes in the time he'd spent secluded with her, he felt her nearness with her every quiet movement, with each exhalation of her sweet breath, with the rose fragrance of her hair and skin – all that was Christine had lured his senses almost beyond what he could endure.

Each time he had played his violin to create a new movement and she sank back among the pillows to feel the music, closing her eyes, her face soft with rapture, he had greedily observed her every feature, her every expression, the quick rise and fall of her breasts — until he knew his mistake and the fire burned inside his loins. Not to stare at her as he played, that had been impossible. The nearness of her on their bed, the sheet only covering her to her slender waist, repeatedly lured him to the sight of her naked beauty beneath the loose chemise, which the candlelight made almost transparent. And earlier, when she'd bent over the box, the gaping neckline had given him an unlimited view of each generous curve of her porcelain skin. The cool water he then drenched himself with had offered little relief.