The Kay version of the unmasking incident, from Christine's pov.
Disclaimer; Really? Would anyone believe that a seventeen-year-old girl could come up with something like 'Phantom of the Opera'? Well, I couldn't. Therefore, is not mine. *sniffle.
It was music that drew me from my room. Beautiful, enchanting, enthralling music, that had me in a trance before I could blink.
I wasn't sure what was happening. All I knew was that one moment, I was standing at the door to his bedroom, and the next thing I was aware of, I was standing behind him, reaching for the ties of his mask.
My mind screamed that what I was a bout to do was wrong. So horribly wrong, but I could do nothing about it. The music, and the need to know his true face prevented me from drawing back my hand, no matter how I wanted to.
As the mask slid away from his face, he turned.
I felt a scream rise in my throat, but my vocal cords knotted, and no sound would come out.
I did not even notice the mask fall from my hands under the terror of his betrayed fury. His eyes blazed as never before as he raged at me, and when he reached out toward my neck, I truly believe he meant to kill me.
I thought of everything and nothing in the instant his hands were around my throat, just beginning to tighten.
I thought of Papa, and Raoul, and how gentle Erik had tried to be earlier this evening. I had woken, if only slightly, when he lay me softly on the bed in the other room, and felt the tenderness with which he treated me. And now, I had likely ruined that forever.
And suddenly, his hands were no longer on my throat. I could breathe again. But any relief faded in the same instant it arrived, for as he let go, Erik's face twisted terribly in intense pain, and he gasped, clutching at his chest as he staggered back away from me.
He hit the floor with a frail-sounding, drawn-out moan, entire body shaking. There were tears rolling down his face, even as his eyes were clenched shut in agony.
Horrified and greatly concerned (I did not know exactly what was wrong with him, only that it seemed he was very ill – perhaps it was his heart? – and I was frightened at the thought of losing him), I knelt beside him, grasping at his sleeve, with hands that shook nearly as badly as his.
I could feel the tears on my own cheeks as he struggled to breathe, and I felt horrible, like a wretched demon. I had hurt the man who, though he had taken me from my world – kidnaped me – had been so gentle with me until now, hurt him unforgivably. I had to make this right.
"Erik," I called softly, praying he still had strength enough to look at me. If he did, it meant I hadn't done as much damage as it appeared. If he could raise his head and look at me, it meant he might not be on the verge of death after all.
"Tell me what to do," I begged, clinging to his sleeve. "Please, tell me what to do!"
His hand trembled like a leaf in autumn as he reached feebly for his mask. His labored breathing only became worse when he found it too far for his wounded body to reach.
Feeling the bile rise in me at the horror of what I'd done, I reached silently, in shame, for the mask, pressing it softly into his hand.
His cat leapt from the organ, and began to circle around him, spitting and hissing at me in defense of her master. She growled low in the back of her throat, preparing for the attack.
Erik scooped her into his arms and stumbled to the black leather couch with what must have been a tremendous effort, considering his current state.
"Don't come any closer," he rasped, voice filled with pain. Then his eyes slid closed, and my heart clenched.
What have I ...done?!