I've always felt that it was unclear what was going through Christine's head during/after Stranger Than You Dreamt it. Every actress playing the role portrays it differently, gives back the mask differently. Well, this is what I imagine her to be thinking, and probably the choices I would make if ever I were fortunate enough to play the role. This starts right after Erik is done screaming at her, and they are both lying on the floor downstage right, the mask still in Christine's hand. Enjoy, and please review!

"Oh, Christine…"

I stared at the floor that I was sprawled out upon, not daring to turn and meet his gaze. My breath was shuddery and my body trembled fiercely. I wished to die, so that I may never have to turn my head, so that I could keep my eyes shut for all of eternity, so that I never have to look at him again.

My angel, my beautiful heavenly being…a beast! I'd been so viciously lied to that it made me crumble and weep all the more. He was no angel! He was a demon! I had truly been tempted by the Devil; and to think, I gave it my very soul!

And yet, he'd said himself that he was nothing but a man. Not Angel…just Erik. Just Erik. How could a demon lay such love at my feet, show me such beauty? It couldn't be possible that he was evil…

But there I was, cowering from him like a frightened child. The last few seconds in which I'd revealed him, screamed, been thrown to the ground, and been subject to his horrid temper seemed like hours. I felt as if I had been trapped in this world of darkness for years. I suddenly began to feel as if I couldn't breathe. The darkness was choking me, squeezing the life out of me. And then there was that horrid noise…the sound of the Devil's weeping…it was driving me mad…mad…I must get out!

I somehow kept myself from screaming with madness by fiercely biting down on my lip and allowing more silent tears to fall. It seemed a sin to accompany his pitiful, devastated cries with my own, selfish, cruel ones. Oh, how cruel I was! To shriek so terribly at something that must be such a horror to his own self! And yet I couldn't help it! I'd never seen anything like it in all my years! It was so horrible, so strange…and yet nothing was more horrible than what followed.

No one had ever laid a hand on me my whole life; my father certainly would have had someone's neck if they tried. I'd only been coddled and treated sweetly as long as I lived. And this man, a man that I quickly learned I truly knew nothing about, threw me about like a rag doll, screamed curses, profanities, threats, all sorts of horrors at me, bruised me, scarred my body, and my soul. I never knew a single person to be so terrible. I was frightened out of my mind. The only thing I feared more than that face was that temper. I wished to die so that I may never turn around, no longer so that I would not have to see his face, but so that I didn't have to see his rage. Perhaps if I turned around, he would snap again, and he would kill me. I would certainly rather die of my own accord than be murdered by a vicious demon, five stories below civilization, no one ever to know what had become of me, my grave accompanied by the rats and the cold, moist stones.

This thought almost sent me to screaming once again, and my stomach lurched at the thought of my own cold remains, tossed aside and unloved by anyone. No, not unloved…certainly if I were to die, by my own hand or his, this demon…this man would mourn me. He would hold my small body in his deathlike hands and weep into my hair, he would kiss my cold, dead head. Perhaps he would arrange me in a lovely coffin, perhaps the one that he sleeps in. He would dress me in the finest gown, perhaps even that wedding gown…Maybe he would arrange flowers in my hair and my dress, fold them in my dead hands. How is it that I found the image of my dead self in his wedding gown, his coffin, covered in his flowers more comforting than any other thought in the world?

Perhaps I was the demon. Wishing for death, condemning a man for none other than his ghastly face, not even daring to look back at him. Oh, I was the evil of the two of us. I had been so unspeakably cruel. I even wished to cause him still more pain, to have him hold me in death, to break his heart once again. He was only a man, only a man, I reminded myself over and over. And you must get out girl, or you shall die…

My eyes moved from the cold stone to that bit of porcelain I still held in my hand. This mask seemed to give him everything, courage, power…kindness. Perhaps if I just gave it back, if I just showed him a bit of my own kindness, maybe he would be sweet with me again. Perhaps he would take me back. Perhaps we could just erase this night from our minds, and we can go back to just being Angel and pupil, guardian and child.

I gathered up every ounce of will and courage I had, and I turned my trembling head to look behind me. He was shriveled on the floor like a wounded animal, twitching like one with his wretched sobbing. It was enough to make my stomach turn. It was all I could do not to turn back around. I knew he would see if I did, and he must not think I am afraid. I must convince him that I am still his sweet little Christine, not a lying Delilah and prying, sneaking rat. His eyes came up and looked at me, those golden, glowing orbs. Neither of us moved for a moment, it seemed that he was waiting for me to turn back around so that he may continue his episode and condemn me all over again. But I did not move, not even one inch. Besides my trembling, of course. I pushed myself out of the position I'd landed in when he threw me; now I was sitting facing him. He still did not move, he still kept the gnarled side of his face covered with his hand.

My eyes locked with his, I silently lifted my hand that held the mask and brought it close to my heart. My eyes showed compassion and apologies as I held that very essence of his being to my bosom. His eyes looked simply tormented, and his body twitched as I did it. God, every way he moved was more and more like an animal, like an insect, an unholy demon…horrible, horrible…

My eyes still locked with his, I extended my arm to him, presenting him the mask in my trembling hand. The second it was in his reach, he seized it in his hands, and I could not help the jump that followed. Hands that moved so quickly and suddenly could very well have killed me in the same instance. Thanks be to God, he didn't seem to notice. He turned away from me, still moving like an ungodly animal, and he replaced the mask on his face. I couldn't see, but I knew the very second that it was put in its proper place. He straightened up and went up on his knees, smoothing back his hair the way he had that night before, that night that seemed years ago now. The animal, the creature, the beast was gone, and the ghost, the Angel had returned.

"Come," he suddenly barked, standing abruptly on his two feet. "We must return." He bent down and seized me around the wrists, and he yanked me to my feet with a painful force. "Those two fools who run my theater will be missing their new Diva."

He said the words with such bitterness that it cut my very soul. Before I had a chance to catch my footing from being pulled to my feet, he was pulling me forward, and if it hadn't been for his bruising grip, I would have tumbled back to the ground. I had to sprint to keep up with his long, quick strides, and it was dark. I stumbled along blindly, trusting his strong grip and his sense of direction. Were we truly returning to the world that I once knew?

We said nothing the whole way, and it was silent, save the pitter patter of my own slippers on the stones, and my own cries of fright when I lost my footing. Not even his feet made any noise.

We were climbing uphill, I could tell that much. But where we were going, I knew not. By now we should have reached the boat that would take us across the lake and back to my mirror. I then lost hope that he was truly taking me back. Perhaps he was looking for a crueler, darker place to hide me away where I would go mad.

But before I knew what was happening, there was suddenly light that blinded me, and he threw me forward, releasing his viselike grip on my wrist. I landed on soft carpet, and something slid shut behind me. My eyes finally adjusted to the painful white light, and I could see that I was indeed in my dressing room. How we had come upon it without going the same way as we had the previous night, I knew not.

But I was back to the world of the living. If I had any sense I would have gotten up and taken the first carriage to the docks and sailed away to anywhere but this country. But my limbs felt dead, my eyes felt heavy. Everything in this room seemed artificial, strange, false. Everything felt different than it did…before.

The flowers that covered the room seemed gaudy and clownish; it seemed they were mocking me. I wished for them to shrivel away and die, to leave me alone. I envied their beauty and life. Why had I been the only thing cursed enough to join the world of the dead and return to the living? Why was everything around me untouched by a nightmarish experience? Why was everything so alive while I felt so…dead?

I did not know how long I had lain on the ground. Perhaps it was only a few seconds. It had felt like hours, like days. I'd lost track of time. Nothing felt true anymore. It felt as if I'd been the dark for years, as if I'd been in the middle of the floor of my dressing room for weeks. Keeping track of time seemed trivial anyway when I'd just come back from the dead…

There was eventually knocking on the door during perhaps the third week of my solitude on my dressing room floor. It was a familiar voice calling my name. Perhaps an old friend has come to mourn me in my grave…

The door opened. "Christine are you in there - ? Oh!"

The mousy girl with the blonde hair rushed to me…Meg. Yes, that was her name.

"Christine, where on Earth have you been? Are you alright?" she said fretfully, dropping to her knees beside me.

I stared at her for a moment, trying with all the strength within me to comprehend what she'd said, and to try to come up with an answer. "Why, I've been here this whole time."

The sound of my voice even frightened myself. I sounded dead.

"No you haven't!" Meg accused. "The Vicomte was in here last night speaking to you, and when he returned you had disappeared! We searched the entire Opera. Where were you?"

The Vicomte? There was a Vicomte here? Oh, the Vicomte! Raoul! He had come to visit me all those years ago, that night of my triumph as Elissa. He was the last beautiful face I had seen before I joined the dead.

"My, God, you look ill!" Meg cried. "You look on the verge of death! What has happened?"

On the verge? No Meg, it is death here that greets you.

"I am tired," I said airily. "I wish to go home."

"Christine, you are like a demon possessed! What has gotten into you?"

What has gotten into me? The Devil himself, Meg.

"I am tired, that is all," I said.

"Are…are you drunk?" Meg asked incredulously. "Is that where you were? Did you refuse the Vicomte because somebody else had already asked you to go out for drinks?"

"I wish to go home," I repeated firmly. Meg jumped. Perhaps to her it sounded like I was shouting. I wasn't sure of anything.

"Alright…I am sorry…" Meg said. "Let me help you up."

I let the girl pick me off the floor and lead me out of my dressing room. I followed her around, and my surroundings slowly became more and more familiar. This was the Opera I'd lived in for so long before death had whisked me away. We eventually stood before the girl's mother, my guardian and mother figure.

"Christine wants to go home, Mother."

"Oh, there you are!" She exclaimed. "Where were you, child?"

"In my dressing room, Madame," I said.

"This whole time?"

"Of course."

Madame and her daughter exchanged some type of look that I suppose they thought I wouldn't see. They both agreed to take me home, out of the Opera to the flat we shared. It was an enormous weight off my chest to be out of the Opera. I began to feel parts of my old self once again.

We reached the flat and the Giry's brought me to my room, and I froze in front of the mirror. I'd expected myself to look gaunt and dead. I looked fresh as a rose. It was then I realized that it had only been one night. I'd only been missing for a night. My triumph as Elissa was only last night, Raoul had given me a rose and kissed my hand and embraced me just last night.

Well, perhaps it wasn't solely my appearance that made me realize this, for I really didn't look all well. My eyes were swollen with recent tears and my lip was bloody. Perhaps if I went to sleep I could forget this nightmare…

One thing was certain: I was naive and stupid to believe I could ever go back to the girl I was yesterday, that we could ever go back to Angel and girl.

Nothing would ever be the same again.