Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: I don't know when or how, but somehow the text of another story (from an entirely different fandom) ended up here. Tried to fix it, though I'm not sure if everything's as it was originally. Anyway, sorry if there was any confusion and hope you enjoy!

Shattered Glass

Christine Daaé did return to him after their first meeting. She returned, and not simply because he'd locked her in the dressing room or through any musical enchantment on his part. The girl had been avoiding her chapel, but could not seem to escape the mirror. She was obviously nervous.

"Christine?" Of course he was nervous too. Of course he was. But speaking while unseen was far easier than face to face. Or mask to face. Her eyes shot to the glass, wide and wild.

"Ang—no." She exhaled sharply, gaze downcast. "Who are you?"

"…I am your angel." The demand had taken him aback, revealing an uneasiness that was not proper. As a teacher he had always been strict, demanding, and critical. His reply was weak. His lie was weak. Christine glared at the space just beyond his left shoulder.

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it." He stepped back. Could she be angry with him? Could she? "What is your name? Come here, where I can see you."

"Erik." There was a brief moment during which he was uncertain as whether or not to obey. But she was his angel too, and he'd deceived her. She had seen his face. The panel slid out of place. He appeared the master once again for his expression—dry, amused; not at all the trembling man she'd met on the floor some nights previous. "It is peculiar, to hear you making demands of me."

"Is it?" She became very quiet. Dear, dear Christine…suddenly so unsure of herself. The old habit of chewing her bottom lip manifested again, causing him to frown.

"Christine." The voice of a tutor, reprimanding as ever. She grinned despite herself.


"It's for your own good, you know."

"I just can't help it. Whenever I'm nervous—"

"—You destroy your mouth." A smile from him as well. The old roles were resuming quite comfortably. It was solid ground at the bottom of a lake.

"But we all have our own tics, don't we?" She said with a hasty laugh. "What about yours?"

"Mine?" Puzzlement drew his mouth into a thin line. He shifted his weight. "Well. When I become nervous… I simply cannot stop moving."

"No?" Asked Christine.

"No." Answered Erik. "I always find myself either pacing or leaning from side to side—near hopping with nerves!" She grinned.

"I would never have suspected it."

"It is true nonetheless." The phantom stepped right with a rattled chuckle. "As you can see, Mademoiselle, I am terrified." Her expression grew pensive.


"Of course!" Was his hurried response. "What man would be otherwise?"

"I might imagine, under these circumstances…"

"Will you take a walk with me?"

Christine blinked. "Pardon?"

"To Averne. Perhaps further, if the idea is not displeasing." Now he was rigid. Please, Christine…

"Well. I...I suppose it would be alright." She looked uneasy. The road ahead contained strange territory, unknown to both. "Only, I cannot stay long."

"That is perfect. We will go quickly. Not like last time." Pausing a moment, he held forth his hand. Hesitating for what seemed like eternity, Christine accepted.

It was a first step.