#poto advent calendar 2018

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

“Il Est Né” – “He Is Born” by @i-am-melancholys-child

a childhood AU Christmas fic

“Papa, I want to leave.”

Christine tugs on her father’s sleeve, but he ignores her, too focused on speaking with a man dressed in funny-looking clothes. She knows Papa is busy. She knows how his face lit up when he heard of a carnival in the city. They hurried here as quickly as she could pull on her cloak, still having to wound her scarf around her face as she ran to keep up with his long strides. He clutches his violin case in his arms, hoping he can play here to earn some coin.

In this large tent, it is warmer, and she tugs the scarf off her nose and mouth, peering around them. She does not like this strange place. It reeks of animals and something else, and the people are strange. While she has seen many different people in her travels with Papa, she sees the way they whisper behind their hands when they see her. Her hair is wild around her face, and the sole of one shoe is peeling off. She knows her blue eyes are set too wide in her thin face, and her body is scrawny from lack of consistent food.

“Papa,” she tries again.

“Does your pretty daughter want to explore?” the man asks, his accent one she does not recognize. “We have much to see here.” His dark eyes glitter, and Christine takes a step back.

Papa glances down at her. “Give me a moment, min ängel. I will come and find you.”

“There are animals further within the tent if you wish to see them,” the man adds.

Christine does not like the way he looks at her, but she nods and does as her father wishes. He will not leave her alone in the apartment – their neighbors are not to be trusted – and she does not want to be a bother when he is trying to find work.

She steps through the curtain to enter a large area lined on either side with cages. She sees no one else, but the hour is late. She takes her time, peering into each cage, seeing animals she has read about yet never seen herself: a young lion in one, birds with colorful plumes, two elephants with limp trunks.

She supposes she is supposed to be dazzled by the exotic animals. Instead, she feels sorry for them. How can they be happy in cages all day? Animals are supposed to roam free.

Reaching the end of the tent, she puffs a sigh. She almost turns back to see if Papa is done, but something makes her decide to continue onward. Her fingers part the exit, and she peers outside. More smaller tents dot the stretch of lawn, some of them lit up with lanterns. There are people stirring about here, and she draws back, not wanting to be seen.

And that’s when she notices the tarp separating a section of the animal tent. She nudges it with her arm, and the tarp pulls back, revealing a hidden room with another cage within. Dirty straw litters the floor.

A small brown shape crouches in the far corner.

“What are you?” she murmurs to herself.

The brown shape stirs, and she catches a glimpse of pale arms crossed over grubby knees. He wears short pants with no stockings and a shirt that is mostly tatters. A potato sack covers his entire head. Two holes are cut into the sack, and she sees yellow eyes lift and peer back at her.

A boy? It is a boy, taller than her, but skinnier if that is possible.

She takes a step closer. “You’re not an animal at all, are you?”

The boy does not respond, staring openly, arms wound around his drawn knees.

“What are you doing in there?” she asks, stepping closer enough to close her hands around the bars. “Do you need help to get out?” When the boy does not reply again, she searches around the front of the cage. A padlock holds the door locked, and she gives a futile shake of the gate.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises and dashes out of the room. She flies across the long length of the animal tent until she arrives back, panting, where her father still speaks with the strange man.

Papa looks down at her. “Why are you out of breath, ängel?”

“I saw a boy in a cage!”

The strange man folds his arms, staring intently at her. “Did you now, pretty girl? Snooping, were you?”

She levels a piercing blue glare upon him. “People shouldn’t be in cages unless they are bad, and children are never back enough to be locked up. Papa,” she says, taking his hand, “let me show you.”

“I think our business here is done,” the man says. He steps to the side to block their path back the way Christine came. “If you want to see any of the shows, you can come back when we open the day after Christmas as a paying customer.”

Papa hesitates, but then he says slowly, “I doubt you would enjoy having the gendarmerie check out your facility here before you open.”

It is a threat, but a vague enough one that the man merely shrugs off. “Your daughter is very pretty, violinist. I would hate to have something happen to her.”

Papa’s face colors above his beard. He swoops down and picks up Christine with one strong arm, clutches his violin with the other hand, and says, “Show me the boy, ängel.”

The man scoffs, but he does not do anything when Papa shoulders past him. They hurry down the animal tent, Christine’s hand pointing like a white beacon in the low light, until they come to the hidden cage.

Christine knows they cannot leave the boy the moment Papa sees him huddles within those bars. The boy will be theirs, no matter what Papa has to do.

“Clearly, he is a nuisance to you,” Papa says to the man, who has followed him. “I will take him off your hands. In exchange, I will not tell the police how you have treated him.”

“You can’t expect me to let him go for free. He would have fetched me quite a large ticket fee during this winter season, when Parisians are starved for entertainment!”

Christine watches her father’s face, which is close to her own, and she clutches his shoulder. They already have so little. She feels a ping of shame for bringing more hardship upon her father, as well as another mouth to feed in the future, but this is one of the many reasons she loves him so. He will not leave without the boy.

Papa’s hand goes white-knuckled around the handle of his violin case. Her eyes widen, her heart racing. He can’t possibly…

Wriggling, she slips from Papa’s arm. She digs beneath the collar of her dress and fishes out the chain there. The pendant, when she cups it in her palms, is warm from being against her skin. The boy’s eyes are trained upon her, two yellow pinpricks of light in the shadows of his cell.

“What about my necklace?” she asks the man. “It is gold.”

Papa scowls. “No, ängel-” he begins.

“It is all right, Papa.”

The man takes the pendant from her. He does not open the locket, but she knows what he will see inside: a tiny picture of her mother. Her heart aches, but she juts out her chin, waiting for the man’s decision.

He shoves it into his pocket. “Done.” Then he tosses Papa a key. “The thing in there is useless to me anyway. Just last week, he stabbed his handler in the neck with a piece of wood.” He laughs as though he has just made a joke.

Papa unlocks the cage. Before either of them can call to the boy, he flashes out of the cage upon skinny legs and launches himself at the man. Christine thinks he is attacking, but he only hugs the man tightly until a kick sends him skittering backward across the dirt floor.

Christine cries out at the viciousness. The boy disappears into the shadows behind the cage.

“That is enough!” Papa’s voice booms through the air. He bends down to a knee and speaks much softer to the figure huddling away from them. “I purchased your freedom, my boy. You are welcome to join us at our home, where you will be treated with kindness. We are leaving now, but I hope you will come with us. Come, Christine.”

He speaks not another word to the man, who watches them leave. Christine takes her father’s free hand and glances behind them once they are out of the clutches of the traveling fair. She does not see the boy.

“Papa, will he follow?” she asks as they begin the long walk back home.

“I hope so, ängel.” He is silent for a long while, then adds, “That was quite a beautiful thing you did, giving up your mother’s necklace for another.”

“I had to.”

Still, the loss does sting. Her neck feels empty for the first time in her entire life.

After a while, she looks back over her shoulder. She sees the boy making his way among the shadows of the buildings. He ducks into alleys and hides from the view of other people on the streets, but he is following, and Christine turns back around with a smile.

Their small apartment has chilled since they have been gone. Papa goes to stir up the furnace while Christine leaves the door cracked open just in case. It isn’t until they have settled in with bowls of stew that the door creaks upon its hinges. Neither of them glance that way, but she sees Papa hiding his own smile behind his bowl.

Now that he is out of the cage, the boy is taller than she realized, a whole head above her. She wonders if he is older than her seven years. The smell coming off him is almost intolerable, but Papa merely continues to spoon his stew, and so she does the same. Glittering yellow eyes stare them down from the doorway, almost daring them to say anything.

When the boy finally shuts the door behind him, Papa puts down his own bowl and spoons stew into another. Silently, he hands it toward the boy. Like a panther springing, the boy grabs the bowl and recoils into the recesses of one of the bedrooms.

Christine’s eyes meet those of her father, and she sees such pride and love shining there.

“It is Christmas tomorrow, Papa,” she says later, taking both of their bowls to the sink. “Perhaps we could go window shopping? See the trees lit up in the park?”

“Of course, ängel. I only wish I could provide more for you this Christmas. It will be another stark one, I am afraid.”

“It is all right, Papa. You know I don’t need much.”

“Even so.”

Papa gets up from his chair, and Christine sets to cleaning up after dinner. Soon, she hears her father’s baritone yelp and an animalistic wail start up from the bedroom. She rushes in to find her father standing over the boy, whose head is now uncovered; the sack is clutched in one of Papa’s fists.

“I was only trying to see if he was injured,” Papa says a bit breathlessly. “Ängel, go back into the kitchen now.”

But Christine has already seen what startled her father so. She can see the sparse hair growing from the boy’s nearly bald head, the sunken cheeks, the thin lips. The hole where a nose should be.

The boy is staring at them with wide, wild eyes. His chest heaves. Then he drops to the floor and slides his skinny body beneath the bed frame, hiding from them both.

Christine’s heart breaks, but she takes swift action. “I am so sorry,” she tells the boy. “Papa and I would never do anything to hurt you. Please come out when you are ready. You don’t have to hide from us.” Then she pushes her father from the room.

Papa mutters a quick prayer in Swedish. “We may have taken more than we can handle with this boy, ängel.”

“Don’t despair now, Papa,” she admonishes, hands on her hips. “It is Christmas! Tomorrow, we will celebrate everything we have, especially each other.”

He gives a soft, rueful laugh. But he does pull her in for a burly hug. “My kind, sweet girl. I would give you the world if I could!”

“Give me your violin playing tomorrow. That is all I want.”

“As long as you sing with me.”

“Of course, Papa!”

They sit up for a while, but the boy does not emerge again from the bedroom. Papa goes to his own room after tucking Christine snugly on the sofa. She does not mind the boy being in her room; it is warmer here in front of the fire anyway.

She wakes sometime in the night. The fire has burned lower now, but she sees the reedy figure bent over the embers. She watches, scarcely breathing, as he strokes the fire until warmth seeps to her cool limbs once more. He seems calmer now. His clothes look cleaner, and he no longer smells; he must have washed up while they were sleeping.

He gazes into the flames for a while, and she can no longer contain herself. She sits up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “Hello,” she calls softly.

His head jerks around. Eyes hot as the fire burn into her through the holes of his sack. And then he is off once more, fleeing back into her bedroom.

“No, wait!” she says as loudly as she dares without waking Papa. She frees her legs from her tangled nightgown and follows him. When there is no sign of him, she drops to her knees and looks under the bed. Yellow eyes blink back at her.

Sighing, she settles on the floor beside the bed, leaning against the mattress. “I’m sorry if I startled you again. I can’t imagine what you have been through. You have no parents? I lost my mother when I was a baby. I can’t remember her. All I want is to be your friend, okay? Maybe you will trust me eventually?”

She rests her head back and looks up at the dark ceiling. “I bet it is Christmas now, isn’t it? I’m sorry I don’t have a present to give you. Would it be all right if I sing? Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, singing helps me fall back asleep.”

The boy is silent, so she starts with the first French carol she ever learned: “Il Est Né.” She hopes her song might bring him a little comfort too, and she lets the slow melody seep into her limbs. Then she sings a few of her favorite Swedish carols, her voice ringing through the cooler night air of the small room.

Her eyelids are growing heavy again. She straightens, intending to head back to the sofa, when she sees the boy standing before her. She had not even heard him move.

“You have the voice of an angel,” he says, his voice low and cracking as though he has not used it in a long time.

She shakes her head. “I’m just a girl. My name is Christine. What’s yours?”

He does not answer. Instead, one of his hands goes to the pocket of his frayed pants. The chain glitters as it dangles from his fist, her mother’s golden locket catching the light from the living room’s fire.

Tears flood her eyes. She holds out her cupped hands, and the boy lowers the necklace into her palms with the utmost care. “Thank you so much,” she says in a choked whisper. She has an idea of how he came by it, but she does not ask.

“Erik.”

She blinks, looks back up at him. His eyes are sweeping over her face as though committing every detail to memory.

“Erik,” he says again. “My name is Erik.”

She smiles, and when she does, the tears break over her cheeks. They are happy tears, the first of many.

“Merry Christmas, Erik.”

[persephone-victorious]

Ahhh!! 😍

Little doodle inspired by @symphony-in-a’s beautiful fic for day 1 of the PotO Advent Calendar!

[wheel-of-fics]

2010s fic roundup (1/2)

I’m feeling reflective and also bedridden due to illness, so here’s a roundup of my non-E/C fics from the aughts! All are oneshots except By Starlight.

No pairing, or pairing is not the focus

Prompt: post-canon modern AU in which Erik starts a senior dog sanctuary

Kindred: a Yuletide alternative to Leroux’s epilogue (for PotO Advent Calendar 2018)

Prompt: Meg x Erik, platonic

Raoul x Christine

Tumblr kissing/fluff prompt: Shelter

Tumblr prompt: Raoul x Christine by the ocean

The Red Scarf (Explicit): It is isolating and wearying, this new life as a vicomtesse—but Christine’s efforts have not gone unnoticed.

Wedding-Night Reprise [FFN | AO3] (Explicit): Nightfall drives the newlyweds to bed a second time. This time, though, will be different.

Pharoga (Erik x the Persian)

Ghost Resurrected (Rated T): It finally hit him, days after he watched that dark and rail-thin figure step into a cab bound for the Opera: Erik fully expected to die.

Tumblr dialogue prompt: “This isn’t what it looks like”

Tumblr pairing prompt: Erik x the Persian

Erik x OC

By Starlight (Rated T): It’s her first masked ball at the Opera, and it may very well be her last when she accidentally acquires one of the Opera Ghost’s personal effects. Leroux-ish, post-canon.

The Phantom and the Fawn (rated M): The fates have conspired to separate Erik from his love at his time of greatest need—and by gods, he will finally have her if it kills him. A “bonus scene” from By Starlight. 

Charoga (Christine x the Persian)

Kindred Strangers (Rated K+): It was only fitting that the pair of gentle expatriates should gravitate toward each other. It was more a question of what their conviction could withstand.

Tumblr trope prompt: accidentally married + locked in a room

Meg x Christine

Pairing prompt: Meg x Christine

Meg x Erik

Dialogue prompt: “I know it hurts”

Sorelli x managers (OT3)

Pairing prompt: Sorelli x the managers, an OT3

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

Wintertime by @thattrashdude

The soft snow fell silently outside the little home in the forest of Sweden. A soft melody floated from the violin, moving around and falling like the soft snow outside. The sweet sound danced around until a sour note broke the beautiful tranquility.

Erik growled and put his violin down harshly. He had been in this music room for the past day, fiddling away trying to make the perfect present for the perfect woman. But nothing was ever near wonderful as she was. He crumpled up the paper that had notes scribbled on it, running his hands through his hair and picked up his mask, setting it back into place. His eyes wandered over to the door. It had been awhile since he had seen Christine, and he wanted to know what she had been up to, hopefully she had not burned or broken anything in his absence.

Erik opened the door and left the room, walking out into the dark hallway, his eyes followed the light coming from the drawing room. He started moving towards the light, for where ever the light was, so was Christine.

He was still thinking he was in a wonderful dream, or that he died and had gone to heaven… But some days he didn't believe that Christine had choose him. Erik! The monster! After everything he had done to her, she chose him, rather than a life of ease… a normal life. She was truly an angel, one he didn’t deserve, but was never not thankful for. And if this was truly a dream, he never ever wished to wake.

Christine was sitting on the couch by a burning fire, the soft glow seemed to wrap around her. She was focusing intensely on a dark object in her hands, it almost looked like a hat, a top hat. She was sewing the pieces together and was taking great care in every stitch she made.

Erik slipped into the drawing room as silent as the falling snow, he made his way closer to his beloved, who was still entirely focused on her small project.

He moved up behind her and looked down at her small figure. He wasn't sure to do, he found himself still being awkward, unfortunately, a few weeks won't help his many years away from all human contact.

Christine let out a satisfied sigh and moved to look at her creation, finally noticing the looming figure above her. She let out a small surprised peep, holding the object close and looking up at Erik with wide eyes.

“Oh! Erik, you scared me!” She let out a relieved breath.

“I tend to have that effect on people.” Erik replied, looking away from her and fiddling with his ring behind his back.

“Erik please.” she sighed “I was just so focused on making this” she gestured to the hat looking object, “and I wasn't expecting you out so soon…”

Erik looked down at her almost getting lost in her bright blue eyes, he felt like he was drowning. “Ah, yes, well I decided I would come check on you… I wouldn't be a very good.... husband… if I didn't.”

She smiled gently and stood, she moved gently and cupped his masked cheek tenderly, “You are a wonderful husband.”

Erik blushed deeply and moved his face away from her warm hand, even though every part of him was begging him to stay in the warmth a little longer. Christine blushed in embarrassment and moved her hand to her chest, looking away from Erik as well. That was much to bold of her.

“I see y-you made a fire” He pointed out, trying to get rid of the awkward silence. He would have gladly just gone back to his room and hide in embarrassment, but he had promised to be the best husband she could ask for.

Once Christine had said those holy words back then, Erik thought he had died, he had collapsed onto the floor and desperately kissed the hem of her dress, he clung like a child, weeping and babbling sweet promises.

He intended to keep those promises, even though he felt like he was always failing, he could never be good enough for a goddess. But he kept trying, for her and his own sake.

“Yes, I found myself cold so I made a fire…” Her silky voice broke his thoughts, and his eyes were brought up to her smooth face, a light blush dusting her cheeks, and the fire flicking on her, making her glow as if she was the fire itself.

“I apologize that I did not think of that sooner.”

Christine looked up at him, making eye contact that seemed like it lasted for years, “hm? Oh please, Erik, I can take care of myself, you don’t have to wait on my every beck and call.”

“Yes, but as a good husba-”

Christine cut him off with a finger, and she was surprised at how well he was listening today.

“Erik” She started softly making her way closer to him, who found himself glued the floor, “You are a fine husband. Now, come with me, I made something for you.” She finished with a small grin, slipping her hand into his.

Her fingers wrapped around his gloved ones, and she led him over to the door. She put her boots on and opened the door with a childlike glee.

“Come outside, but dress warmly, it's snowing.” And with that, she disappeared into the white abyss, letting Erik’s hand feel colder than it usually did.

Erik put his top hat on, and his coat that Christine had gotten him; he had never really needed a jacket before this, he never went outside, and if he did, he just had his cloak- but that wasn't very practical for any normal occasions.

He closed the door behind him and stepped foot into the deep snow, a soft crunching beneath his shoes. He thought back to his mother and his old childhood home, he would always just watch, never touch, that's how it was for everything.

As he walked around the house, the crunching reminded him of his childhood dog, Sasha. She always loved the snow… when she hadn't been left outside for the entire night. Mother always had a reason to yell at poor Sasha, she always had a reason to yell no matter what.

Times were different now, Sasha and his mother were long gone, and he was now with Christine in their own house, how long would the happiness last before it all came crumbling down?

He followed Christine's small footsteps to a clearing beside the house. There, Christine was standing beside a few lumps of snow on top of each other. She reached up and placed the object that she had been holding earlier, on top of the lumps, and then she smiled to herself. Her eyes moved over to Erik, and then her beautiful lips curled up brighter.

“Erik! Come and see!”

Erik made his way over and studied the three lumps of snow that was covered in sticks, grass, rocks, and some fabric. He stood close to Christine, trying to figure out what it was. A snowman… The lack of sleep for the past few days and then the bright snow was probably not the best on his aging eyes.

Christine looked up at him with bright and expecting look.

“Well? What do you think?”  

“It is… good…” he looked at it some more and frowned, “Is it me?” He asked.

“Yes! When I was younger, my father and I used to make snow people of each other. That was until… Well… I just thought it would be nice to start that tradition again.” She had a sweet smile on her face and Erik couldn't remember when last she looked this peaceful. Moving to Sweden was a good choice then.

“It looks nothing like me.” He remarked.

“What?! Yes it does!” Christine protested.

Erik looked down at the snowman and a small smile formed on his lips. To have Christine share this personal tradition, with him, he felt his heart hurt. Maybe he was having a heart attack, if so, then he would gladly accept it, as this was the happiest he has ever been.

“I did try my best… “Christine pouted, crossing her arms, “I think it looks like you... “

“Why I’m I frowning?” He asked.

“Because you’re always frowning!”

“I am not always frowning” He replied frowning.

Christine sighed, and grabbed his hand, leading him away from the snowman.

“Now it's your turn to make one of me” She remarked an excited grin forming back on to her face.

Erik sighed, this was very much… Christine’s thing, not something Erik found wanting to do. He just wanted to make sure she hadn't run away, and then get back to work, he didn’t plan on getting roped up in something so trivial.

“Lovely Christine, this is… nice, but I am very busy.” He made an excuse, moving his hand out of Christine's grip. He looked back down at Christine and it looked as if he had just killed her best friend. Which, he actually almost did. He frowned and looked around for another excuse that she might accept. “And, I… I don’t know how to build a snowman.” Yes! That will deter her!

“I can help you!” She replied helpfully.

No!

Erik sighed and looked back to the house, and then back to her face, full of excitement. He sighed and gave up, a few minutes wouldn't hurt if it meant it would make Christine happy. He looked down at her and nodded his head.

“Alright, show me how to build a… snowman.”

Christine's face lit up, she grabbed his face and kissed his cheek lightly on her tippy toes. Erik blushed deeply and looked away shyly, Christine beamed brightly, and light blush dusting her face.

“Thank you Erik… you better make it look like me!” She remarked with a grin, holding on to Erik’s hand.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

By @rjdaae

Artist’s note: It's set in one of my modern AU ideas, in which Erik and Christine live in America; they can't afford very much, but Christine wants Erik to experience a real Christmas for the first time, and manages to put together a surprise for him. :)

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

By @bububalloon

Artist’s note: So the pic is r/c Nutcracker Ballet, because Christine’s got a wonderful imagination and Raoul’s a pretty soldier even though the Nutcracker’s ugly it works because it’s actually a prince in there :D

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

Lazy Christmas Morning by @timebird84

(Let them wear matching pajamas!!!)

[timebird84]

By @phantomofthetrashcan

--> CLICK ON THE DOOR <--

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

Klaus Scrimshaw’s ( @klausscrimshaw ) artwork for December 2nd!

I’ll never be over the red scarf’s symbolism

Now you can be sad with me, also, I let you imagine the context

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

Evergreen - by @a-partofthenarrative

Christine had always dreamed of seeing New York at Christmas.

Now that she resided only miles from the City, instead of oceans as she had before, nearly all of her wiles for the month of November had been exhausted in attempts to convince the very stubborn object of her affections to indulge her whims for a day.

“As if I fail to do so already?” had been his dry reply before he issued another fervent denial. “I am sorry, my love,” he supplied mere moments later, tone softening slightly around the edges. “I fear this is as far as I dare to venture into the world around me.”

She knew very well his reasons for declining (and acknowledged the validity of such), but that did not stop a petulant frown from creeping across her full lips at his explanation. Seeing her displeasure, Erik had sunken into the armchair across from her and offered his solution. “Why don’t you and Gustave go on your own, hmm? Take Gangle and perhaps Ms. Fleck? Something tells me they would have no objection to shirking their duties for a day. I shall send for them at once!”

And with that, the matter had been settled, leaving Christine with myriad conflicting emotions. Still, she hoped to make her presence here a bit more...permanent and it was with that hope that she dutifully repressed her objections and agreed to her Angel’s alternate plans as they were quickly set in stone.

Still, stone can be cracked. And, sure enough, the one that delivered the final chaotic blow happened to be none other than a certain precocious ten-year-old.

Was it only just this morning that the house was in such uproar? She had been sitting at the vanity in her rooms, attempting to tame her mass of brown curls when the discordant shout began to echo through the house.

“Maman!”

“Christine!”

Two of the voices she loved most in this world, so similar in their honeyed clarity and tone. Yet today, they sounded like nothing of the sort. One was high-pitched and joyful, the other dark and disapproving. Both held a slightly whiny quality that both parties would emphatically deny. Allowing herself a slight chuckle at that thought, she set her brush aside as the door to her room flew open and a fleeting ball of energy was launched nearly into her lap.

“Maman, make him listen!” Large brown eyes identical to her own stared up at her, imploring her to his cause.

Christine set him back on his feet as she asked, “Make whom listen to what, Gustave?”

Her question was answered only second later when the third party strode into the room, dressed only in trousers and shirtsleeves the visible side of his face flushed in barely-leashed panic. “Christine,” His dulcet voice was deceptively calm as he came to a stop behind Gustave, hands folded together at the small of his back. “Are you aware of the madness that your son is proposing?”

Christine stared up at him before returning her attention to the boy’s expectant gaze. “Would one of you be so kind as to tell me what on earth is going on?”

Gustave needed no further prompting, but his father was faster. “Allow me, my dear.” Ignoring the boy’s accusing stare, Erik moved to the end of Christine’s bed, taking a seat on the edge. “It seems our young friend here wishes us to partake in the tradition of the Christmas holiday.”

She blinked. “And?”

“And,” he continued, hunching forward and bringing bony elbows to rest on his knees. “Are you aware that such tradition involve bringing coniferous vegetation from out of doors inside, filling it’s branches with ostentatiously shiny objects and displaying it for the better part of the lunar cycle? The mere thought of it is insanity!”

“We���ve always had a Christmas tree,” Gustave noted, his chin lifting in challenge. “Why should this year be any different?”

“He’s right,”, Christine smiled, placing a comforting hand on her son’s arm. “It’s tradition. Besides, is it really that terrible of an idea? It might make this feel a little more like home.”

Erik bristled slightly at her words. “Be that as it may, it is wholly impractical.”

Christine’s smile was both indulgent and apologetic. “Christmas is hardly meant to be practical, Erik.”

Gustave’s huffed, a triumphant smirk pulling at this lips. The expression was such a smaller version of her beloved that Christine tried quite unsuccessfully to hide her smile. If only they could see how alike they were at times.

Thankfully, neither seemed to take notice at this particular moment. Instead, Erik sighed as he worked long fingers over his brow. “Let us suppose that for a moment I agree to this outrageous display --which I have not yet!-- there remains another matter to be settled.”

She exhaled. “And that is?”

This time it was Gustave who won the race to answer. “I told Mr. Y that we need to find the perfect tree and chop it down ourselves.”

“To which I replied I have a bevy of staff that could take care of such matters, should they be necessary.” Erik retorted, “Which it is not.”

“Yet,” Gustave supplied, earning him an exasperated sigh from his father.

With a slight shake of her head, Christine turned to the boy. “Gustave, even if Mr. Y agrees to the tree, why do you feel the need to chop it down? You’ve never done that before. The servants always saw to that.” Across the room, she could almost see Erik tense at the mention of her life before arriving in Coney Island.

Gustave dropped his eyes to the floor at her words, acknowledging their truth  with a tilt of his head. “I know. It’s just…”

“What, sweetheart?” Christine asked. “What is it?.”

“Go on, Gustave,” Erik prompted, his voice soft and soothing as it used to be in Christine’s lessons.

“Didn’t you used to go with your father, Maman?”

“Yes, Gustave. When I was very young. Before we came to Paris.”

“Well…” The boy glanced at Erik, then flitted his gaze to his mother. “I just...remember the stories you used to tell me. How you and mofar used to go deep into the woods each year to find the perfect tree and how happy and excited you used to be for that to come. I just thought that maybe now that I had my father, we could do it too,” He glanced back at Erik with a shrug of his small shoulders. “But if you don’t want to…”

Erik leapt to his feet as he met Christine’s wide eyes. “Gustave, that is not at all why I don’t…”

“Gustave,” She forced a tight smile.” “Would you do something for me, cherie? Please go and find Ms. Fleck. Tell her that I’m nearly ready to leave. Can you do that?” When he hesitated, she added. “I just need to speak to Mr. Y alone for a few moments. We will resume this discussion very soon, I promise.”

Her son’s face was doubtful, but he nodded obediently and scampered from the room. The moment the door shut behind him, Christine was on her feet and inches from the former Opera Ghost. “Erik, he’s your son, for God’s sakes. Are you truly going to deny him of this?”

“Do you think I want to refuse him? Of course not. There is nothing I want more!” He shuddered before her and she felt her heart break a little for his sake. “Christine, if I were any other man…”

“If you were any other man, you would not be who you are.” she replied. Taking his hand, she led him back to the foot of her bed and indicated that he sit. Joining him, she attempted a wobbly smile. “Erik, he’s your son. He just wants to be with you.”

“I’ve already missed so much…” he mused. “But...my face….all of the people…”

“You do realize where you will be if you do go, don’t you?” Christine asked, a touch of humor coloring her voice. “There won’t be another soul for miles unless you are worried about whatever opinion the wildlife might have of you. Christmas trees do not grow in the middle of a city, my love. I understand why you will not accompany me there. I do not like it,” This with a pointed, playful glare in his direction, “but I do understand it.”

“So I am to be at the mercy of Mother Nature and her cruelties once more?”

“Only if you fear hers more than mine,” With an encouraging smile and squeeze of his hand, she pressed on. “I know all of this is new to you. But if you truly desire to be a ‘normal man’ as you put it, taking Gustave for a Christmas tree is a good way to start.”

Erik glanced down at he. “Did your father truly take you every year?”

“Every year,” she confirmed with a nod, meeting his eyes with a melancholy grin “When Mother died, we were all each other had. Even after the Professor and Mama Valerius took us in, I always looked forward to spending that time alone with Papa.”

She chuckled as the moments sprang forward, one by one to the forefront of her memory. “I always managed to choose the tallest, biggest evergreen I could seem to find.  And oh, were there choices.” His responding half-smile urged her on. “I remember one Christmas, I don’t know- perhaps I was around eight at the time? Regardless, I was set on finding the grandest tree anyone would ever have the privilege of seeing.”

The visible brow climbed higher. ‘And were you successful in your quest, my dear?”

She laughed outright this time. “Quite so. The tree I selected must have stood at least five times my height. Being who he was, Papa indulged me and the Professor followed his lead. If I remember correctly, word was sent for assistance from the servants. When all was send and done, i think it took about seven men to bring that tree down.”

Erik gave and indignant snort. “Let us hope your son is now prone to the same flights of fancy as his mother.”

“Don’t be such grouch,” she admonished with a slightly reproachful glare in his direction.

He met her glare. “Do not treat me as if I am a child, Christine.”

“Then do not act like one,” she retorted, chin lifting.

Coloring slightly under her censure, Erik gave an indignant “hmpf” and adjusted his posture, attempting to work the tightness out of his neck as he motioned for her to continue. Christine rolled her eyes, but complied, moving behind him on her knees and began to work out the kinks in his shoulders with surprising strength. “In any event, somehow we managed to eventually haul the thing back to estate. Mama Valerius nearly had a stroke when she saw us coming up the drive with it in tow, but like Papa and the Professor, could not find it in her heart to turn it away.”

“Yes, you seems to have that effect, don’t you,” Erik muttered, even as his eyes fell closed under her ministrations.

Her fingers stilled. “If you keep on with your comments, you can do this yourself.”

“Unheard of. My deepest thanks for you, ange,” he groaned, rolling his shoulders, prompting her to resume her work. “And my sincerest apologies.”

Christine huffed, but began again moving her hands to his back and suppressing a chuckle at his moan of approval. His back arched sharply a moment later when her fingers found a particularly large and difficult knob between his shoulder blades, and she ducked in order to avoid knocking heads. “How long as it been since you’ve tended to these knots in you back?”

He shrugged artlessly. “Would it truly surprise you to learn that you are the first person I’ve allowed to touch me so intimately?”

Point taken. She increased her pressure as he added. “Please, continue with your story.”

It was her turn to shrug. “There is not that much more to tell, if I am being honest. Papa, the Professor were able to muscle the tree into the grand foyer, albeit with some help from the staff. I was promptly sent to bed as it was already dark by the time we arrived back and the festivities continued the next morning with decorations as they did every year.”

“The house must have been massive to fit such a thing.”

Feeling the knot loosening under her head, Christine smiled her approval. “Eventually, she conceded, then added with a laugh. “Although I did hear some of the kitchen servants whispering about how the stable hands had to chop off a good two feet before morning in order for it to stand upright in the parlor.”

Erik chuckled slightly at that. “How disappointed you must have been.”

She answered with a shake of her head. “Quite the contrary.” Her fingers moved in small, soothing circles over this shoulders and back as she spoke. “I felt nothing but wide-eyed wonder when I pranced into the parlor the next day to see that majestic tree in all of its glory and knowing that I had been the one to pick it out of thousands of others. My father trusted me, of all people to make that very important decision.”

Erik relaxed under her hands when she stilled them on his shoulders. “That is what I want for Gustave,” she confessed, wrapping an arm around his neck from behind and resting her forehead against his hair as his hand came up to cover hers.. “For him to know that joy and to cherish the time and memories you shall make with him.”

With a deep sigh, Erik tilted his head back, his gemstone eyes catching her brown ones, following her as she eased off of the bed and tucked herself back into his side. “Do you really think I am ready to be his father, Christine?”

“Ready or not, darling, you already are,” she reminded him, placing one hand on his thigh and gently lifting herself over his lap to press her lips to his exposed cheek. “I know you care for him.”

“He is a part of you and I,” Erik’s eyes now shone with unshed tears as she placed a hand alongside his face. “How could I not?”

“The very best parts,” Christine agreed, drawing his head down to her lips and allowing herself the quiet moment and a stolen kiss.  “Now,” she commanded, pulling away and smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirtsleeves. “Go tell your son that his father has had a change of heart.”

“He has!?” Christine followed Erik as he rose from the bed, taking advantage of his height to hide her smile in his shoulder. In the doorway, Gustave practically beamed up at the taller man. “Is it true, Mr. Y?”

Erik glanced back at Christine, but forced a slight smile to his face at her warning stare. “So it would seem,” he muttered, more to himself than the boy. Christine’s elbow connecting with his ribcage forced some of the brightness back into his voice. “Right. Shall we be off then, Gustave?”

With an undignified whoop, Gustave leapt in the air, nearly bowling over Ms. Fleck, who had stood silently behind him watching the exchange with undisguised interest. Christine met the smaller woman’s gaze and the two shared a secret smile at the thought of the mysterious master of the house traipsing through the deep woods with a small boy for hours on end.

Still, said master squared his newly-loosened shoulders and declared the boy to follow him. “We shall need our warmest coats, of course. After you retrieve yours, Gustave, please find Gangle and Mr. Squelch. I imagine we will be in need of their assistance on this endeavor as well. Meanwhile, I will speak to the stable master about readying the sleigh.” Glancing down at his son, Erik attempted a true smile that nearly made Christine’s heart burst. “I promise you, my boy, this shall be a day you will not soon forget.”

In all of the excitement, Christine realized Erik must have forgotten Dr. Gangle’s prior commitment to accompany her to the City. But one look at father and son quickly extinguished any prick of disappointment she may have felt. In that moment, Gustave gazed up at the former Phantom as if he held the sun, moon, and stars in his hands.

Her smile grew. Perhaps he did.

Erik’s smile had tightened slightly, unused to such open adoration, but one glance back to see the encouraging slight of her head was all the prompting he needed to place a gentle hand on Gustave’s back as they ascended the stairs.

Next to her, Ms. Fleck knit her brows together and let out a chuff of surprise. “I would pay big money to see the Master chop down a tree.”

Christine chuckled despite herself. “In all honesty, I would too.” The confession was a conspiratorial stage-whisper and brought a full laugh from her unlikely friend. “But we have other things we must be about today.”

Ms. Fleck glanced up at her. “Such as.”

Christine was already halfway to the closet as she answered. “I certainly have no plans to sit home while the men have all of the fun, do you?”  A determined smile bloomed on her lips as she indicated for the other woman to follow her. “After all, a tree does need decorations and I hear that Manhattan has some of the best.”

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

By @ramblingsofachristiannerd

"Then they opened their treasures and presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh…”

             Gold, for worship and adoration…

             “Erik, what is this?” Christine murmured, turning the small gold band over in her fingers in a kind of detached dread and fascination.

             His misshapen mouth curved into a tentative smile, a feeble, caged hope finally released from decades of doubt. Christine withered slightly with the certainty that it would soon be dashed.

             “It’s a ring, dear child,” he replied softly. She marveled, not for the first time, at how the same mouth could utter such gentle affection and the bitterest of curses.

             “May I perhaps ask instead…what is it for?”

             They were very near the surface now, but the gloom was still thick enough to reveal Erik’s shining eyes; the same shade as the ring, Christine noted. His bony fingers brushed the delicate object in her grasp, but their skin did not touch.

             “It’s a present. A promise, if you may.” Now his skeletal grip closed, raising her hand slightly as if he intended to bring it to his cold, dead lips, but at the last moment he hesitated and released her, folding his hands behind his back once more. He seemed to stiffen, to harden, straightening to his full, rigid height. “I give you back your liberty, Christine, on condition that this ring is always on your finger. As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger and Erik will remain your friend. But – woe to you if you ever part with it, for Erik will have his revenge!”

             Christine flinched as his melodic voice climbed in volume, culminating in a roar that was both terribly afraid and desperately angry. As he turned from her, seeming to crumple in on himself as if all his spirit had fled, she ran – up the flight of stairs, further into the light. In that moment, she cared not a whit for her former intent to return; he was too horrible, and she could no longer stand to lie to him.

             At the top of the staircase, her dressing room in clear view, a sound drifted to her from below over her gasps for air – a choked, tremulous sob, full of inward-pointing knives she was certain she was not supposed to hear. She hesitated, and silently slipped the gold ring onto her finger.

             Frankincense, for blessing and anointment…

             His lips were cold, but softer than she expected, brushing the fresh bruise on her forehead with the utmost care.

             In her numb thoughts, Christine could not help but wonder how often this gentle, considerate man would surface, and how often he would be swallowed up by the monster. Still, she could not regret her decision; Raoul and the Persian man and everyone above were safe, and despite everything, she believed Erik’s word. She was the only remaining one who could possibly suffer his wrath.

             Or so she thought.

             All at once, it was though someone had mortally wounded him. Collapsing at her feet, clutching at her dress, his skeletal frame shook with the force of his sobs. His tears, filled with equal parts joy and remorse, shattered whatever thin shell somehow still remained between herself and utter exhaustion, and she felt her own tears prickling.

             My husband, she realized, the full force of her desperate declaration crashing down. My husband.  

             She knelt and wrapped his thin body in her arms, unable to keep her tears from trickling onto his mask. She wept for beloved Raoul, whom she would never see again, and for poor unhappy Erik, who had finally received what he wanted and was still utterly miserable.

             She realized she had been whispering her thoughts to him, and hoped she had not offended him, but he choked and whipped off his mask, bony hands trembling as they instinctively moved towards his horrible face. Fearing he was about to harm himself again, she reached out and took his hands in hers. He shuddered, seemingly shocked.

             “Christine-“

             “It’s alright,” she soothed. “I’m not afraid.”

             His fingers twitched in hers, and she released him; he fumbled in his waistcoat, producing, to her astonishment, the gold ring.

             “What-“

             “Take it,” he sobbed, pressing it into her hands. “Take it, for you and for him…it shall be your wedding present, from your poor Erik…I know you love the boy; don’t cry anymore!”

             She froze, not even wiping her eyes. “What…what do you mean?”

             “Go,” he said hoarsely. “Marry your vicomte. A living bride should have a living husband.”

             “You’re…letting me go?”

             “Dear child,” he whispered. “Sweet, kind woman. You were never mine to chain…or free.”

             She pocketed the ring and held him a little closer, a strange, disbelieving reluctance rising within her – everything was happening too fast. “Erik,” she said thickly, “will you be alright?”

             He rose on unsteady legs and helped her up. “Oh, Christine. Do not worry for your Erik. I have tasted heaven’s tears.” His touch was not quite as icy as before, his hands delicately folding over hers. “I will release your vicomte. If an angel can receive a blessing from an old devil…receive mine.”

             Myrrh, for burial and preservation…

             He was still alive.

             She hadn’t expected him to be, hadn’t planned for it, but hurried to him before she even had time to think.

             He was exactly where he said he would be, in his coffin by the well, slow, shallow breaths the only indicator he was still living. “Erik?” she whispered, fearing he was too far gone to hear her. His bony hand was freezing between hers. “Erik darling, it’s me.”

             “Christine…” he murmured, his once-beautiful voice rough with disuse. “Sweet Christine, you are early…or I am dreaming…”

             “It’s me,” she said again, kissing his icy fingers. “I’m here.”

             The slitted golden eyes still shone with adoration. He tried to speak, and coughed, spattering his thin lips with red, and she squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I’m sorry,” she choked through the lump in her throat. “I never wanted this…”

             “You…are not to blame…” he rasped. His gaze flicked to the delicate, diamond-studded ring on her finger, curiosity overshadowing the flash of disappointment. “You’re married,” he said softly.

             The lingering joy bled through her voice as she smiled faintly. “Yes. For two weeks now.”

             “Tell me more…”

             “Most of Raoul’s associates frowned upon it, but he didn’t care. It was a small ceremony, but very beautiful.”

             “And you are…happy?”

             She rubbed her thumb over his cold knuckles, trying to warm them. “I am very happy.”

             He nodded slightly, eyes closing briefly. “That is good. But you are happy…you are free…why did you come back?”

             “Because I promised,” she said tenderly. “Because I love you.”

             It did not matter so much anymore, which kind of love.

             She gently disentangled her hand from his, reaching behind her to unclasp the fine chain hidden by her hair. The plain gold ring dangled from it. “I kept my promise. I never took it off.”

             “Christine-“ he coughed. “I’m sorry-“

             “I forgive you,” she soothed. “I have long since forgiven you.” She hesitated, then reached for his mask.

             Even now, barely able to move, he weakly caught her hand. “You shouldn’t – you shouldn’t have to watch me die, Christine,” he said brokenly. “Not after your father.”

             “That’s my choice,” she said quietly. “And I choose to stay.”

             His resistance fell.

             Christine wordlessly slipped off the mask, taking in the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. She recalled the blessed Christ, healing the lepers with His touch, and prayed for that same power to take away Erik’s pain. Then, with no hesitation, she leaned down and kissed him, softly, chastely, on the pale forehead. She lingered for just a moment, and pulled back to see the remains of his last smile.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

Gifts of the Magi by @filthybonnet

Mlle Daae unlocked the door to her dressing room and entered before closing it behind her. She sat her bags on the chaise lounge and looked around. I know I only left one lamp on. The room felt different, comfortable for such a brisk December day. Christine walked over to her stove heater and opened the door. Sure enough inside was more wood causing a bright fire. She closed the door and smiled. He was here.

Christine walked over to her bags and from a simple brown shopping bag she removed a small sprig of mistletoe. A mischievous grin spread wide over her rosy cheeks as she pushed the ottoman in front of the full-length mirror. Still in her coat, gloves and red scarf she stepped up on and hung the greenery on the nail she nicely asked one of the stagehands to hang. She stepped down and observed her work as she took off her gloves and stuffed them into her coat pockets. She removed her coat and hung it on a coat peg just as there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

“Christine!” Raoul exclaimed. “Tis the season for celebration!” He walked up to her and lifted the red scarf up off of her and smiled, “Still keeping you warm all these years later, Little Lotte. I am here now though.” He pulled her into an embrace.

After a few seconds Christine pushed him away, “Raoul, please. I still have so much to do before rehearsal this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, Per la festività del Santo Natale. I cannot wait to see you as Devine Love. But before, I have a Christmas gift,” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little box. He handed it to her.

Christine opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a white gold necklace with a beautiful white gold pendant with an oval sapphire surrounded by small diamonds. She gasped, “Raoul, I cannot accept this!”

“Yes, you can. I want you to wear to when you come with me to my brother’s Christmas ball. Do you want to try it on now?”

“No, no, it’ll ruin the surprise,” Mlle Daae closed the box, walked over to her vanity and sat it down. She unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and sat it on the vanity as well.

“Christine, you have hung your mistletoe incorrectly,” Raoul placed his hands on his sides and looked up above the mirror. “You will never be kissed with it hanging so. It goes in your doorway so I may kiss you upon every entrance!”

She turned around, her skirts rustling, “Oh no, Raoul!” She paused and collected herself, “If I put it there, then everyone will have to kiss me. You would not want to share me with the world, would you?”

Raoul cheeks turned red as he walked up to Christine and held onto her upper arms, “No, no not at all! It is horrible enough I have to deal with talk of your Angel of Music!”

Christine pulled herself away from him, “You said you wouldn’t talk of him like that!”

“Oh, Christine I am sorry, forgive me! I just despise the idea of having to share you, especially now at Christmas time! I want you all to myself, my personal Christmas gift.”

Christine sighed, “Raoul, you are being ridiculous! I am no one’s gift. If this is how you are going to think of me you can take your necklace and leave.” She picked the little jewelry box back up and pushed it back into his hands. “Good day, sir!” She sat down on the vanity chair facing away from him.

Tears formed the Count’s eyes as he turned around. He dropped the box on the chaise lounge, “I hope you change your mind.”

As soon as the door closed Christine put her head in her hands and let out a sob.

“Do not cry, My Angel,” A voice whispered from behind the mirror. “He is not worth the trouble.”

“Erik, have you been there the whole time?” She sat up straight.

“I came in half way through the conversation,” The mirror opened and The Phantom of the Opera stepped into the dressing room. “You do not intend to go to this Christmas Ball do you?” He placed his lanky fingers on her shoulders.

“Of course not,” Christine looked into her vanity mirror and at Erik’s reflection. “I have other plans. I have planned a Christmas dinner with Mother and all I have left is to extend the invitations.”

“Who are you planning to invite?”

Christine took a deep breath and stood. She took his hands into hers, “You, Erik.”

The soprano watched his golden eyes grow wide behind his mask, his knees began to shake, “Christine…I…I can’t.”

She tightened her grip on his cold hands, “Why not? She wants to meet my Angel of Music. She believes Christmas the perfect time.”

“You know exactly why I cannot!” He pulled away from her touch and sat down on the chaise lounge. “I do not belong in your world! She wants to see an angel not a monstrous man!”

Christine walked over to Erik and took his head to her chest. She ran her fingers through his thin hair and gently caressed his scalp, “She will not care. She wants to meet the man who gave me my voice, the man who won my love, the man who gave me this.” She removed her left hand from his head and held it in front of his eyes so he could see the ring he had placed on her finger. She then tilted his up to look at her, “If I am to be your wife, Erik she wants to know I am safe, that I will be taken care of.”

“Oh, but Erik will take care of his Angel,” The Opera Ghost wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her between his legs and closer to his body. “Erik is going to give Christine the world!”

“But Mother does not know that. Erik, please.”

There was a sudden knock at the dressing room door, “Christine we’re going to start warm ups early!”

“Having you at dinner would be the greatest Christmas gift ever,” she leaned over and kissed Erik gently. “Please consider it.” And with this Mlle Daae disappeared from her dressing room.

Dinner with Christine’s family? Dinner out in the world where I do not belong?  Erik turned and saw the little jewelry box sitting on the other side of the chaise lounge. He picked it up and his lanky fingers opened it. He tilted the box back and forth, the sapphire sparkling in the light. Sapphire: the stone of the pledge of love, the stone of new love. Foolish boy! He snapped the box shut.

***

Mme Valerius and Mlle Daae lost track of how many times they bumped into each other as they moved around their small kitchen.

“You are sure he is going to come?” Mme Valerius stirred the broth in the pot roast.

“Yes. I turned down the Christmas Ball just for this. This Christmas dinner is what I wanted, Mother,” Christine opened the oven door with her apron and looked at the baking bread.

“Are you sure? The Vicomte always comes by to visit. Your Angel lives in caverns and refuses to visit anyone.”

Christine slammed the heavy oven door shut, “Mother, he has lived his life in the shadows because he is a deformed man! He has never known kindness and love. It was easier for him to hide away than face ridicule. Even I who love him am not complexly comfortable with him without his mask yet. It is taking all his courage to do this for me.” She stirred the cooking carrots. “Please do not stare tonight and please accept that I will keep the lights low.”

***

The small table had an immaculate setting: Mme Valerius pulled down her fine china and Mlle Daae made a lovely center piece of holly, mistletoe and Spruce inside a vase. Both women sat silent in their best dresses anxiously awaiting a knock on the front door. Christine released a breath she did not realize she was holding when that knock came. Mme Valerius smiled as she watched the young woman practically jump from her chair and skip to the front door.

There Erik stood tall, in a crisp fresh suit, wrapped in cape with some snowflakes on the shoulders, his mask looked freshly polished and upon taking his top hat off there was a well combed black wig.

“Oh Erik,” Christine sighed as she smiled. “Merry Christmas.” She took his top hat from him and closed the door behind him. “You look so very handsome tonight…please do not take that the wrong way.”

“My Christine, who has shown me her soul, who has come to love the man behind the monster behind the mask. I shall forgive you the trespass of enjoying what Erik would look like with hair, especially when she is as beautiful as she is tonight.” He took her chin into his gloved hand and tilted it up towards his face.

She jumped up on tip toe so her lips could meet his. He was so cold but after a few seconds she could feel her warmth transferring to him as their kiss became more passionate. Erik heard the rustle of skirts and pulled away, knowing Mme Valerius had caught them. What an awful first impression!

Despite the blush on her face, Christine smiled and pointed above the doorway, “Mistletoe. I had to, Mother.” She then took Erik’s gloved hand into her and walked him over, “Mother, I would like you to meet my Angel of Music, Erik.”

Erik bowed, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mme Valerius. Thank you for having me this Christmas evening.” Once he stood back up, his other arm appeared out from under the cape holding a bottle of wine, “I hope it pairs with dinner.”

Mme Valerius focused her attention on the bottle of wine, “Christine, take that into the dining room. We will be in shortly.”

“Yes, Mother.” Christine took the bottle from Erik and gave him back his hat before disappearing into the other room.

Erik shifted his gloved fingers around the brim of his hat, “Christine gave you a warning about my deformities?”

“She did. God gave Christine the gift to see the beauty in all his creatures,” Mme Valerius finally looked up at Erik’s mask. “There must be a reason you were sent as her Angel of Music. Let me take your outerwear.”

Erik hesitated for a second before removing his gloves and putting them into his hat. He watched Mme’s eyes as she watched the graceful movements of the hand’s pale, almost transparent taught skin over its bony fingers. Even in the low light he saw the discomfort wash over her face. “Let me have my gloves back…”

“No, no. If Christine has seen your face, I can see your hands. Now let me have your cape.”

Erik handed her his cape and she hung everything up on the coat rack by the door. He watched her movements his heart pounding anxiously. The Opera Ghost knew getting this woman’s blessing was just as important as getting a father’s approval.

“My intentions with your daughter are pure,” the words fell out of his mouth. “I have lived a difficult and lonely life, Mme Valerius. All I have ever wanted was what was denied me: normalcy; a woman who loves me for me who I am and I can call her my wife. Then we can have a family, a home.”

“What about what Christine wants, M. Erik?” She replied. The elder lady crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Miss Daae dedicated her life to music and now that she finally has her moment in the sun do you expect her to give it up?”

Erik chuckled, “Are you really asking Christine’s Angel of Music if you think he’s going to request her to give up her career? A career he helped her build. Heavens no! My Christine must continue to sing for all of Paris!”

She smiled as she uncrossed her arms and walked passed him, “Come, we do not want dinner getting cold.”

The thin, tall man followed her into the dining room where Mlle Daae was anxiously rubbing her hands together. She had already opened the wine and poured it into glasses on top of filling each plate with food. She smiled, “Who wants to say Grace?”

***

Erik soon found himself more comfortable than he expected in the little house. The herbs in the stew danced on his tongue, the wine soothed his nerves, Christine held his hand under the table as Mme Valerius relayed a story of Mlle Daae’s youth. Erik laughed and she squeezed his hand in return.

“So you have never celebrated Christmas, M. Erick?” The old lady asked him.

Erik looked down at the table, “I have watched the seasonal operas from my box. I have watched others celebrate from afar, but having been abandoned by my family when I was young…” There were tears on the edges of his eyes.

“Perhaps we should move to the parlor and exchange gifts,” Christine stated. “We are your family now, Erik and you will celebrate the joy.”

Before they could stand, there was a knock at the door.

The elder lady removed her napkin from her lap and stood, “Top our glasses off, Christine, I will go see what that is about. Maybe we have carolers.”

Erik picked up the bottle of wine instead and poured into Christine’s glass, Valerius’ and then his. “Perhaps I should have brought more than one bottle?”

“It is okay, Erik. We have a couple bottles, though not as fine as this,” She arched her eyebrows as she lifted her cup and took a sip.

“Thank you for this, my Christine,” The Phantom lifted his hand up and brushed her cheek. His voice choked up, “This…this is all I have ever wanted…and…”

The moment was interrupted by the voices from the parlor.

“Vicomte! What could bring you out here on Christmas! Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

“I am here for Christine. Is she ready?”

“Ready for what, M. de Chagny?” The older lady closed the door to keep the cold out.

“The Christmas Ball, she informed you didn’t she?”

Mme Valerius sighed then she thought quick, “I am so sorry, sir did you not get the message? Christine is ill! She cannot make it tonight.”

“Oh Christine!” Raoul exclaimed. “Is she okay? Forget the ball! Let me see her at once!” He started heading towards the stairs.

“No!” Mme Valerius screamed.

Raoul turned around his eyes wide.

“No! The Doctor is with her and he said no visitors.”

The young man looked over her shoulder and saw the cape and top hat on the coat rack. There really was a doctor. He walked back to the door, “Please give Christine my love for a swift recovery. May I return later to visit?”

Mme Valerius nodded as she opened the door and saw Raoul out. She watched out the window until his carriage was out of her vision. She returned to the dining room where Christine and Erik both stood. Christine had both her hand wrapped around one of Erik’s thin arms as if to hold him back.

“Jesus forgive me lying on your birthday,” The old lady made the sign of the cross. “Christine, you cannot keep giving M. de Chagny hope if you love M. Erik and are to marry him.”

“Mother I do not!” Christine exclaimed. “You know how impossible he is!”

“Christine, I cannot handle much more of this…”

Erik saw his first Christmas celebration unraveling before his eyes. All over that damned boy!

“We can solve this now. Marry me tonight, Christine.” He heard the shake in his voice but said it anyway.

Christine looked at the ring on her finger as she held Erik’s arm. She then looked up at him. Could she really object?

“Tonight?” Mme Valerius gasped. “M. Erik not on the day of the Savior’s Birth!”

Erik nodded, “Tomorrow?”

“If that is so, come,” Christine took Erik’s hand and led him to the parlor. She guided him to an old chair that was next to a small Christmas tree that was next to banister. The only light in the room was the fireplace. He followed Christine’s wishes and sat in the chair. Branches and ornaments rustled as Christine bent under the tree and removed a small box. She stayed knelt in front of the tree and looked up at The Phantom; her eye’s sparkling, “Merry Christmas, My Angel.”

“Christine…” His shaking fingers wrapped around the box.

“Open it. If we are to wed tomorrow, I want you wearing them.”

He lifted the lid and inside was a pair of gold cufflinks with an onyx stone, “Christine, no.” He closed the box. “I do not want you spending what little money you have on me. I need nothing but you.”

She stood, smoothed her dress and reopened the box, “They were my father’s. One of the few fine things he owned outside of his violin. I never sold them, no matter how desperate I was for the money. My father promised me an Angel of Music when he died; well he turned out to only be a man. A man who can wear these.”

Tears ran down past where the mask covered his face. He closed the box and stuffed it into one of his coat pockets. He removed another little box from the other side of his coat, “And you will wear these tomorrow, My Christine.”

The soprano took the box and opened it. Inside were two beautiful gold combs adorned with pearls.

“I saw the necklace the Vicomte gave you and wanted you to wear tonight at his ball. Ostentatious and not you. These are you, my Christine.” He got out of the chair and walked over to Mme Valerius who stood in the threshold between the parlor and dining room, “I have a friend who I can get to bear witness tomorrow, but it would mean everything to Christine and I if would also be there to witness, Mme Valerius. Will you join us?”

Christine walked up and took the took the old lady’s hands into her, “Please, mother?”

The old lady nodded and smiled, “Yes. If it will make you happy and put an end to M. de Chagny’s nonsense.”

Mlle Daae squealed in excitement as she pulled her mother into a hug. “Thank you, thank you.” When she pulled away, she turned and pulled Erik into a tight embrace, “So tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, yes. Tomorrow night you will be my wife!” He bent down letting his lips passionately meet hers. Christine opened her mouth, making the kiss deeper, nipping at his bottom lip. Erik leaned into it, his soon to be Mother-in-law would just have to look away. Christmas was finally wonderful.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

Snow Angels by @eine-fledermaus

It was the last Sunday of 1881 and the former Opera Ghost and his new wife were taking their weekly walk in the park. The weather was quite cold but neither seemed to mind as Erik was used to extreme temperatures and Christine was bundled up in only the finest warm winter clothing Erik could buy, for he could never forgive himself if she got sick from the cold.

They continued merrily along their usual path until Christine suddenly jumped from his side landing in a fresh patch of snow and laid upon her back, arms and legs outstretched from her sides in the snow. Erik panicked.

The skeletal man did not know what to think of the situation. Was she hurt? Dying? Another desperate, failed attempt to escape his vile, dastardly clutches. Although she had not attempted that last one since they had wed and she had claimed to love him he would not be surprised if she wanted to leave him.

He was angry, and so very scared. His bony fists shook by his side and tears began to well up within his deep eye sockets, until he truly actually looked at her. She was smiling and moved in a way that the snow beneath her looked very much like the silhouette of an angel, her lush, golden curls surrounding her delicate features like a halo. It truly was a divine sight. Erik was taken aback in awe as his heart swelled with such love for his beautiful, living, wife.

Erik was suddenly brought back to reality by Christine grabbing his ankle and pulling him into the snow next to her. He gave a yelp and quickly stood back up touching his hand to his face scared his false nose had fallen off and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt it was still in place.

“Erik…” Christine trailed off and sat up in the snow, continuing to stare up at the tall man with her big, blue, puppy dog eyes.

“What is it wife?” Erik said slightly annoyed still dusting snow off of his black cloak.

“Never mind” she glanced away “it’s silly and childish i should have thought better”

Erik felt his fists tighten at his sides trying his hardest to quell his building temper. As much as he loathed to admit it but the meddling Daroga’s advice of trying to ask questions and understand Christine rather than letting his temper fly free had actually greatly improved his marriage. He took a deep breath and spoke in the most angelic voice he could muster

“Christine know that your Erik loves you, it frightened him terribly when you fell. You are in no danger from me. I can’t know what it is you want if you don’t tell me. I want nothing more than your happiness.” It hurt to see her glance away, it brought up bad memories. He was so very afraid she’d reject him again. “Please look at me and tell me what you want” he pleaded.

“When i was a child papa used to always make snow angels with me each winter. It was so much fun i love feeling the sun on my face and snow on my back and i just wanted to share that feeling with you” She stood up and pressed a gloved hand to his cold cheek.

Oh, that’s what she wanted. Her soft warm glove was still pressed to his cheek. She was so sincere and kind with her simple request. It made Erik feel alive. He could never refuse her.

Erik kissed her hand and then walked over to patch of snow where Christine’s snow angel laid, and he sat down then to laid down his long gangly limbs outstretched till his fingers brushed the tips of the other angel’s. He tried to mimic the movements he had seen Christine make earlier with moderate success. When he looked up and saw her sufficiently satisfied. He quickly stood up again chastely kissing her cheek with his clod lips. Then offered his arm to her to continue their walk which she accepted. Much to Erik’s delight he walked with her at his side proudly smiling.

The walk was going much better and Erik had thought nothing more could ever sour his mood as long as his wife was at his side. That is until they passed a group of rambunctious wildly out of tune group of carolers strolling about.

His mood grew quickly sour as his smile turned to a wince, then a grimace, until his thin lips settled into a sneer. Christine noticed this.

“Erik, what’s wrong?” She asked

“What’s wrong is those wretches come out every year ‘singing’ that awful excuse for ‘music’” he said while flourishing extortionary exaggerated air quotes. “It hurts my ears and i don’t know why or what compels them to continue this disaster year after year”

“Erik they’re carolers they do it because it’s fun to spread Christmas cheer.”

“Christmas cheer? All it spreads is my headache.”

“Erik where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“My Christine your Erik has none for he doesn’t know what this Christmas is and he’s sure he would not like it. He has had more than enough time being a spirit at the Opera house you know this” his frown depend.

“Erik Christmas is holiday about spending time with the people you love and cherish and being kind to everyone”

“Well Erik’s poor unhappy mother certainly never shared that with him now did she?” He crossed his arms against his bony chest and gave a huff.

Her poor Erik, Christine nearly felt tears begin to trickle i her eyes. Every time Erik had mentioned his mother the more distaste Christine felt for the woman. Despite not having a spiteful bone in her small body she still disliked this woman she never met for causing an innocent child such harm. Christine loved her papa as well maman Valerious both so dearly and she was loved in return by them. She could hardly imagine what a childhood would have been like without them. She felt such sadness for her husband having been denied such love for so long

Then feeling a sudden burst of compassion for the second time that night she placed a warm gloved hand to his frosty cheek and for the first time that day she pressed a kiss to his thin icy lips. She felt him blush as well as the tears began to fall down his face, she let her tears fall freely down her face as well mingling with his as they kissed.

He pulled away first and tried desperately to compose himself hoping not to cause a scene lest he being sobbing loudly at his loves feet or his tears ruin the adhesive on his false nose. Christine smiled knowing that she at least brought him tears of joy rather than sadness.

“Erik your mother may not have loved you enough to spend the holidays with you but you have a wife who does. You are not alone- I am here and it brings me happiness to spend Christmas with you.”

“Oh Christine, Erik has never understood such a holiday when he wants nothing more than to spend every moment in your arms, and he would pluck the stars from the heavens and give you any gift you asked at anytime regardless of the season, but if it is Christmas you want then next year i shall make it the most grand and festive occasions if that is what you wish.”

“Thank you, Erik” she hugged him “although i would prefer just a quiet night by a warm fire with you singing to me.”

“Yes of course my dearest Christine.” He pulled her into a closer hug and stroked her long golden curls. “That sounds most wonderful. It shall be done and i look forward to it greatly. Spending the holidays with my wife was never something that I never could imagine happening to me in even my wildest dreams. You are truly an Angel Christine I am not worthy but I love you” he paused his sockets stared deeply into her big blue eyes “Merry Christmas.” The words felt so foreign and strange upon his tounge and yet they weren’t unpleasant. Yes, he could get used to this.

“Merry Christmas Erik!” She stood on the tips of her dainty toes and kissed him again followed by a wide smile on her pink lips.

The tall man stepped back once again and gave a playful bow before kissing her hand. A huge grin upon his skeletal visage and a sparkle behind his deep sockets. For once in his life he began to feel truly hopeful and happy looking forward to the new year. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

By @magiic-alex

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

By @your-obedient-phantom

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘18🎄

                       Treats from St. Nicholas by @wolfgangamaderik

Erik, yet again, started to get suspicious about his Christine.  

That girl was acting so strangely for a time as days of late November and early December were showing up in the calendar. Erik did not exactly understand why though. He knew already that Christine loved Christmas, it was her favorite holiday from among the holidays during the year, but it was relatively far away for such feverish preparations Christine was into already. Erik did not even know why a one day- long holiday required four weeks of preparations, but it wasn’t until the first Sunday of December when Christmas season would have needed to start that year. Erik never liked Christmas in the first place, but this coming year it was his first normal one to spend with his newly wed wife, and so he was less grumpy about sickening preparations, and Christine’s cheerfulness compared to the gloomy weather which meant the necessary arriving of another case of nasal infection for Erik - and Erik with a cold is a G-R-U-M-P-Y Erik. With all the capital letters.  

 She sure noticed his mood swings, and was desperately trying to make him feel better about the inevitable illnesses he had to go through without a proper nose like everyone else, and she, for an unknown reason, kept asking Erik if she was a good girl throughout the year, and though Erik always answered yes, it did not easily occur to him why is she being so insecure about her manners. She was always a well- behaved lady, with a strong will, and a compassionate heart, which made her marry him, the monster in the end.  

The stranger thing was she kept implying Erik was also a good boy. How come? True, he did not actively or passively murdered anyone since the wedding, and he did not throw as much jealousy tantrums towards Christine since he finally owned her, but him being a “good boy” was more than a laughable statement to make, after he nearly drowned the Handsome Sailor and the Daroga in the Torture Chamber, and so on. He did not know what Christine wanted to achieve by praising him so blatantly and carelessly, and he did not even feel entirely good because of that. Sometimes it felt like Christine was trying to mock him, to be honest - knowing what a creature he was, he could not wholeheartedly believe praise did belong to him and he deserves to be called nice things. But Christine would never mock anyone…  

 The bothering issue seemed to be cleared up on the Fifth day of December, in the evening, he saw with even bigger surprise that Christine was cleaning her boots with such an accuracy and so quick movements it was to be expected to catch a fire in the near future.  

- Christine my dear, what in the name of Bach’s hardest Fugue are you doing?  

- Cleaning my boots, of course. - She smiled warmly and a hint of nostalgic happiness could be caught in her glance. - You’d better start doing it as well. - She winked.  

- They are clean. - Erik shrugged. - But I am not leaving the house tonight anyway, it does not matter. Why, where are you going?- He snorted, his eyes narrowing with sudden suspicion. - Without me…?  

- I am not going anywhere. - Christine shook her head with surprise. Surprise, though was mistaken by Erik as fright, which angered him a bit. He still was trying his best not to explode yet.