Before the Phantom

A Portrait

The next day, Erik sat at his organ studiously penning the next piece of his opera. He had no idea how long this would take, as he seemed to have lost his inspiration. As much as he envisioned his Christine, and as much as he sketched her image, and remembered her angelic voice, he could not seem to find the spark that he normally had when he composed for her.

What in heaven's name was wrong with him lately?

Christine had not changed, that was certain. True, she had had the unfortunate fate of seeing what he hid beneath his mask, but she still returned to be sure he was alright! She was still his Angel. His perfect student.

He had not changed. At least he didn't think he had. He still felt as though he were floating when he heard her voice, still felt the urge to caress her flowing curls when she was near. He supposed that the feeling was not as strong, since she had betrayed him with her engagement to the fop.

He sighed deeply and set his quill down, reaching over to grab his recently finished portrait of his muse. The longer he stared at it, the more confused he became.

Something was not quite right about this rendition of the soprano. His eyes followed the curve of her lips and the shape of her brow, and decided that they were nearly exactly the same as the true Christine's. Erik gazed at the portrait, feeling more and more puzzled, until he realized.

As he stared down at the sketch, his stomach turned into knots, and his pulse quickened. He reached quickly for a piece of charcoal to correct his mistake, but as he moved it toward the paper, he hesitated.

He had drawn such lovely eyes. He had shaded them beautifully, and given them such depth and shine. Indeed, they were done so well that even in the black and white of the charcoal it was obvious that her eyes were meant to be a crystal blue. This was, of course, the problem. They were beautiful eyes, but they did not belong to Christine.

He dropped the paper and coal, startled. He had forgotten Nadette's promise to visit, and she had somehow managed to sneak up on him.

"Hello, Erik." She called distractedly, "I brought lunch."

He did not turn around in an attempt to compose himself, but answered unwaveringly, "Ah, thank you Nadette. I will join you in a moment."

"I'll put everything on the table." She replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She glanced around, her eyes landing on his hunched form.  Erik certainly was thin, but he did not seem unhealthily so.  Still, she had brought food enough to last him until tomorrow. 

From the basket she carried, she gingerly took out a bottle of red wine and placed it on the table.  It was her day off today, and she would certainly enjoy it. 

Erik retrieved the flawed sketch of Christine from the stone floor and turned it face down on the organ.  If Nadette were to see, she would ask how he had made such a mistake.  That question was one that he was asking himself, and he had no clue as to the answer. 

At the sound of rustling from the kitchen, the man rose with a heavy sigh, pushing his confusion away for the sake of his company.  He did not eat much, but the smell coming from the tiny room was positively mouthwatering. 

However, even the smell of freshly baked bread was forgotten when he turned the corner. 

Nadette had turned immediately upon his approach, flashing him a quick smile before turning back to setting the table, but it had been enough to wipe any thought he had been entertaining out of his mind completely.

The woman looked stunning. 

Erik had only ever seen her with her hair tied back, or piled atop her head.  He had only ever seen her wearing her black dress, her only adornment had been a ring hanging from her neck. 

The woman before him was wearing a green silk gown which clung to her figure in the perfect manner, and she was adorned with the jewelry he had seen only the day before.  Her dark waves were tumbling freely down her back and shoulders, with only a few strands pinned away from her face. 

Was this indescribably beautiful woman truly his friend?  Was this the gawkish little girl he had met all those years ago? 

Yet, as she turned back to him, he knew.  Her eyes met his.  Crystal blue eyes with such mesmerizing depth and shine.  His mind went back to the sketch on the organ, and as he looked at her, he found himself incapable of speech.

What was happening to him?