In slumber her small form sinks into the down feather sheets of her bed, allowing her silk curls of pure chestnut hair to rest upon her cream chest in chaste abandon....

 Pure torture.

So surprised was I when she had first called me her Angel of Music . She is the angel, by all definition - yet I do not protest as she persists by calling me that name.  I simply indulge myself in a fantasy creation - a world I cannot leave... almost as if to suspend time, to bend it to my will as I have nearly Christine.

'Angel.' I mused.

Surely not a description fit for one such as myself ... Though flattering, it is incredibly inaccurate. I am anything but an Angel.

  My lips curl upwards ever so slightly as my beloved stretches lazily against her pillows, softly mumbling those incoherent, dream filled thoughts into the silken fabrics - terribly vulnerable in her incoherent state.

 In sleep there are no restrictions, you see. No cruel boundaries in which we are bound to in cold reality. I smile lightly as I look on Christine with a fondness beyond which could be described as modest - and I know I should make the proper move to leave. However, my normally composed nature is becoming a farce far too easily transparent. A thinly veiled, yet strong force that is preventing me from ever touching her... that delicate skin.  It is a tangled web, you see. One cut of the silken threads, and my defences fall.
And though in reality an inner battle of lust against logic always seem to rage within my mind, the latter will always consume me with such a force that it becomes a passion in itself. The passion of restraint. And if restraint is the beast of all complexity, I am by all definition its master!  

  I sigh in rapture as my hand, rather accidentally, brushes against the soft and delicate features of her face.

Oh, how heavenly such a small and innocent gesture can prove to be! For all in my life, I have never felt such hope and such love towards another human being. 'Love' seemed to be all but a luxury of life which I often yearned for. For acceptance! 

I had only meet my dear Christine once, and yet in that one fleeting moment I had known of true beauty. The true beauty which the world around me had seemingly lacked for so long, and the beauty which I had had never been gifted with since birth!

  I should leave now - yet there I remain, watching over the object of my undying affections, leisurely spread upon the soft cushioning of her bed ... My own hand lingers only inches above her face, and yet I can do nothing!

 I quickly retreat from her slumbering form, only to make my desire deepen with a passion stronger than I could only hope to control. I shiver at the thought of her lips caressing me with their sweet and soft suckling ... silently cursing my ever approaching arousal. For what play do I act upon?
Surely I was not to be any hero in Christine's eyes. No, no hero at all. Perhaps I am the love stricken sap whom rushes to his love in desperate stride?  I nearly laugh at the thought. I dare say that position has been easily filled, as I think in annoyance of the obstacle which I have been constantly trying to rid.

'Raoul ....' I think distastefully.

  My dear Christine's mind is too pure and innocent to realize the ever approaching feelings this young Vicomte holds for her... And with him in the way, who is to say that he will not end up the victor? He has the upper hand ... riches, wealth, high respect in society, honour ... and he is handsome. All a woman could ever want in a man. It is easily figured why Christine would choose this mundane, yet charming hero over the caged monster which I am. Caged, in a world which I cannot escape from... my own mind. How cruel a fate is that? So much prejudice and cruelty over the years since my birth has been directed my way, and not once have I ever felt or been taught the compassion and love which I so often see being exchanged amongst other humans!
Ha!
Not Erik. No, just because he has the face of a monster it must surely mean he has the heart of one as well!

Well, I dare not disappoint my crowd ... I smirk slightly, turning on heel as I make my way out of the room, a new purpose in my stride.  

   In music I shall make her mine... even though I already hold her captive in that sense. 
It is perhaps cruel to think of your love as a prisoner of their own emotions, shackled because of the beauty in their souls - but it is all I have to grasp. And if that small assurance is my only way of being with Christine, then I shall not promise good health towards anyone who wishes to interfere. Especially that Vicomte .... 
So I must devise a way for me to rid of the bothersome boy. And when I do, Christine and I shall not be troubled ...
Perhaps now I am truly talking like a mad man. Love does such things to the mind - things that one would never suspect themselves of doing in any normal occurrence. And I would know. I would know because it is all I can feel within myself,
in that void within my heart where it had once felt so hollow - it now bleeds with the love I feel!  My heart is drunk on the soul before me, and I am it's addict. I shall not stop until she is mine! Yet...  I do not wish to frighten the poor child.
Though, try as I might, fate has an interesting way with dealing with matters such as these, and I ironically find myself in the monster's position where all I can do is frighten... 

 Oh, Christine.

 I look back on my angel one last time as I close the door behind me, truly ready to compose. The music is flowing within me now, begging for a release. I comply willingly.  My friend, my dear friend ... my Don Juan, my self mockery!  It is truly the creation of my life, and this magnificent masterpiece can only be dubbed as the finest of music. It is exquisite, and I find myself battling the raging emotions within me. Fear, confidence, love, desire! I am soaring with those angels that Christine so frivolously adores - but only in music. Angels live in music, you know. They are just as alive as you or I ... and I tell you, I am alive!
I find this day difficult to express in mere words, in such small syllables where it would only take a fool mere moments to understand ...  but not with music! That fleeting spell of clumsiness is cleansed away in my music. Music allows me to bring fourth all the passion and emotions which rage inside of me. Not only because it requires the melody to become beautiful, but because it allows the soul to become beautiful!  It's almost a separate feeling of desire. A separate rush, a thrill! Those separate tremors of lust - indifferent to the world around me. And then- oh, yes, and then ... 

    My palms crash against the keys.

I nearly jump before hearing a mangled cry escape my own lips; the sudden, cruel air of the opera's basement hitting the expanse of my now bare face. 

Tearing at marvellous discord, my once nimble fingers, now feeling the weight of a thousand ages, suddenly slam against the ivory keys in my anger; a blinding shock overpowering me in its merciless hold.

 
    My mask is gone.

   
Perhaps that was my flaw, that one prick of indifference - because I dare say that even in his own home a man may be thrown off guard by the simplest of actions, the most unsuspecting of visitors.... 

The dream is shattered, and my wings have been clipped; unused to such exposure. That is how the story ends.  And now I am filled with indescribable anger ... 

    My head snaps towards the owner of those greedy little fingers ... Those damned fingers which had torn away the last bit of outward dignity I possessed!
Ha! Just as expected ...
I cannot make out a face in my rage, yet there stands my beloved culprit, poised and eager. At least it appears that way ... right into the lions mouth! They are feeding themselves to me, my fury!  It is no longer my mind, in fact. It is a deep river bed of vivid anger, dousing all in its wake. I don't even bother recognizing who it is. Whomever they are will pay the price for their crime ... Because they have come to taunt me!
 Of course!  Come to laugh at the monster - curious to see the monster..!
  If only the horror in those eyes would go away ... just as in music ... because I now suddenly see the difference between reality and untainted melody.  Music is controlled within yourself, forever breathing, yet may choose when to be released.  Reality is that crude awakening, only further disrupting the soul within you. It is a challenge. I see now that fate challenges you every minute. Yes - and only you can decide how to take it's harsh provocation's!  Make decisions - choose your fate!

     I move menacingly towards the culprit, fully intending on decapitating the fool who dare disrupt me. Oh, yes... I'll make it one unpleasant afterlife for them indeed. I am already throwing furniture, raving like there will be no sunrise tomorrow! And they are worried now ... .Wait until I -

      I halted abruptly; the penetrating cry of a woman suddenly filling the dense emptiness of the room.

     No!

 
 Now knocked from my raving perch, I am left to stare horrified at the jumbled mess of curled locks writhing beneath me.
My breath stops short. 
I feel a light convulsion in the back of my throat, signalling the want of furious tears to emerge, but that is already being done by my beloved Christine, laying face down on the rugged carpets beneath me.

 Christine!

  Frozen in shock, I stood there, staring dumbly at my beloved as there is nothing more I can do. I eventually sink down to my knees along with her, too buried in my own disbelief to note the degrading whimpers spilling fourth through my lips.

  I have already undone the spell, that magical band of ignorance which had placed its own veil around us in our wake... and neither one of us were ready for the implications!

 
   Christine...

   The dream is shattered.  

  It is rather amusing, you know... To see your own plan ruined before it had even begun; yet doesn't it always end this way?
I'm rather afraid it does, and I can do nothing now; truly nothing...

In my own loss I have begun to cry, sharing similar, yet vastly different tears with my dear Christine, hiding my face away behind my hands. 

I will never have her now. 

My mask usually tends to wordlessly remind me of that significant fact, yet only now will I heed to it's unspoken wisdom. My greatest enemy, and yet my only friend ... yes .... my only friend, that mask...

I look sorrowfully through the small gaps between my fingers towards the broken figure that lay before me ... Oh, Christine!

 Apologies of the widest spectrum could not alter what has been done... and for once I find myself speechless. This discomforts me more than I will care to admit in my pathetic state, and I suddenly want that mask back. I want that small cover of protection from the cruel world .. that mask . And it does not take long before I soon realize that I cannot make proper amends without it. So I claw out blindly for that small reassurance which I wish to posses, that small sign of dignity which had been taken away. 
I shudder a breath.
I must have looked terribly desperate, and I was. I would do anything for that mask!

   I can only thank whatever deities existed for Christine's uncanny ability to read my frantic gestures as clearly as she did. 
She handed me my mask, an immense relief spreading throughout my body at the contact of the familiar cloth and plaster against my fingertips.

 Sighing shakily, I had begun to collect myself as best as I could - and after my mask had been properly applied, I slowly turned to face Christine.
 
When I saw nothing but fear in those eyes, it had nearly broken the little resolve I had.

The light in her eyes was gone. She was no longer seeing her "Angel", but a monster. A monster who had deceived her, kidnapped her, raved at her, and most importantly frightened her to the very core of her soul. Yes, I am now responsible for these crimes. Every one, and I do not have the slightest clue as to how I will go about amending them ... but I will.
For now there is only tense silence and the occasional whimper from Christine's distressed figure, as she appeared to be shivering from the bitter cold.   

  Suddenly feeling very old and very tired,  I slowly extended my left arm, handkerchief in hand - staring into those glistening orbs with about as much apology I could muster without having tears escape my now reddened eyes.
She took the handkerchief hesitantly, weakly holding my gaze for those few, precious moments ... and for the first time in many nights, a silent understanding passed between us.

 It was nothing much. Nothing extravagant that could rival the intense distrust that emanated from her being at that very moment... however, that small, assured gesture had proved to be something . And I was determined to forge and re-build that trust as a man.
No longer an Angel ... but a feeling, breathing man.

I would show her all that I am, and I shall begin at whatever tempo she desires.  Because now she is the maestro, and I her anxious student - ready to be moulded into the beauty which she could so flawlessly create.

I stood determinedly as I realized that   that - if anything - was the very least I could do for her.  

 Anything ... for my Christine.