Between Mirrors and Roses (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction) ✓

16: Secrets Revealed

Christine

I made Erik and myself some tea while he kindled the fire in its hearth. We knew, instinctively, that neither of us would be sleeping any time soon.

I sat on the sofa, nursing my cup but not drinking. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. My book sat face down on my lap.

Erik was more relaxed than I—or at least appeared to be, leaning back in his chair and resting one leg on the other.

"So where do I start?" I laughed shakily.

Erik hid his true feelings under a facade of coolness. He tilted his head at me. "How do you know my name?"

I hoped he didn't think I was some sort of spy or liar. Well, I had been lying, but not ever about my affection for him. "This is going to come as a shock, so please let me finish before you say anything," I said.

Erik nodded for me to continue.

"Well," I began. "First of all, I am not from this time. I lived in the 21st century until a few months ago."

Erik narrowed his eyes, and I continued.

"I walked through a mirror and found myself in a dressing room with the corps de ballet. Somehow I became Christine. I had some of her memories, but not all, and I still remember my previous life just fine..." I shrugged. "I don't know any more than you how it's possible. Do you remember the first time you took me down here?"

Erik nodded again.

"That was the day I arrived. It's been me this whole time, not Christine, or maybe I was Christine as well...I don't know.

"In my world, you are just a character. Someone wrote a piece of fiction a long time ago—or maybe in this time—and the story spread. Now there are many variations, including a musical." Seeing the puzzlement in his face I realized that musicals didn't exist yet, so I explained. "A musical is like an opera: it tells a story through songs, but the music is a different style. Anyway," I spread my hands, "I had always loved your story, and for some reason, I was given a chance to live it—to meet you."

Throughout this monologue, Erik's face remained mostly impassive, but as soon as I finished, I could tell that he wasn't taking me seriously. "Is that all?" he said sarcastically. "I am no more than a fictional character, and this whole world only exists in your story?"

I bit my lip. "I can't explain it either..."

Abruptly, Erik stood up and strode into the kitchen; then he returned with a bottle of wine, which he opened, and poured himself a glass.

"How can I prove it to you?" I asked hopelessly. He must have thought I was insane.

Erik took a long drag of his wine then rested the glass on the small table. He sauntered toward me until he was standing right in front of my chair, and looked down at me contemptuously. "Tell me more things about my life that you would only know if this outlandish tale were true."

I met his eyes unflinchingly. "You were a brilliant architect, even from an early age, and you designed a palace for the Shah of Persia. While there, you served as an assassin, killing his political enemies with your catgut lasso."

Erik looked vaguely uneasy, but he waved these facts away. "All things you could have learned from others," he said.

I stood up. "When you were born your mother didn't name you; she told the priest to name you after himself. You like spiders because they spin beautiful webs but they're killed just because they're ugly. You love the innocence of children and animals, but you are afraid of having your own child and passing on your deformity. You—"