I slept endlessly and dreamlessly. I would sleep for what felt like days. I waited for the man who once was my angel to confront me, to at least play his music, anything. My whole life had been filled with constant, gnawing anxiety and fear. Sometimes the fear was nameless and faceless just a general fear of life itself. Other times I would lie awake fretting over my dancing, rehearsals, the other girls, anything I could fixate on. My obsessive mind overwhelmed me often. The only time I was able to feel at peace was when his music filled my head and pushed everything else out. From when I was young up until the heart wrenching realization that my angel was a man, but a ghastly version of one. His disfiguration, his intensity, his overwhelming anger all terrified me. They terrified me, but not as much as the silence. The silence made me ache, it made me nauseous.

The first night I paced and cried and prayed, mourning my immense loss and trying to imagine my future. Unable to sleep I tried distracting myself, first opening the massive mirrored armoire I was shocked to see it full of dresses, ranging from house frocks to ball gowns that appeared to be my size. I left the doors of the armoire open to open all the drawers only to blushingly find them all filled with undergarments and night clothes. Upon further inspection, the the drawers of all the furniture had been filled with anything the phantom had thought I could need or want. This gesture seemed kind enough, the man had known he was taking me so he at least wanted me to have things I needed, but I shivered at thought he knew he would have me the whole time. I spent the rest of the night looking through my new possessions. The bed with its gauzy canopy and goose down covering, the armoire and vanity, the candelabras mounted to the walls. It was a lovely room, but I could only imagine that this chamber would become a place of horror for me.

That first morning, I donned one of the plain frocks in the armoire and gathered my courage. I stepped out of the room he had prepared for me and walked into the cavernous living room. It was littered with stacks of music he, no doubt, had written and books. It was funny almost to imagine this creature reading some of the books he had acquired, many of them romantic novels and chaste fiction. I wandered over to the beautiful settee in the center of the space. It was a deep burgundy red velvet, I reached out to touch the soft material and let my gaze wander. We truly were in the depths of the earth. Stone rose all around me bordered by the expanse of lake, black as night as the water lapped the stone shore. I turned to my left and noticed l a large, cluttered desk with a miniature stage with miniature versions of all us. It was beautiful to look at, so ornate, so precisely accurate.

"Christine"

I jolted and turned to face the Phantom that had just called my name. He was perched half hidden, a bird of prey, in an ornate wooden chair in a corner of the cave half hidden by the organ. For a split second I almost asked what his plan was, but I couldn't find the words. I felt the cold sweat of panic coming on as the nausea set in. I turned and retreated to my room, closing the door behind me and crawling fully clothed into the bed. I slept most of the time after that. I had never slept so much in my life. I continued to be undisturbed by the masked man, occasionally I would glimpse him and retreat back to my room to grieve or sleep dreamlessly. I kept waiting and waiting to hear his voice, his music, anything from him, but nothing came. He had caught me reading his newspaper once and now on the tray holding my morning meal there was always the paper for the day. I would sneak out and steal his books to read in my little prison. Most were scientific or architecture books, but along with the fictions I was pleasantly surprised to find many travel books that told of beautiful places far from here. I was even more surprised by the content of the romance novels. The few I had grabbed were the chaste stories of courtship and marriage, unlike the scandalous books passed around the ballet dormitory at night. Is that what he expected from me? It had been four weeks as of today since I had abandoned the life I had planned. His silence was oppressive. Maddening even. I listened to hear any movement, but only heard the portcullis open and close when he left or returned. Yesterday I had been returning books when I heard the gears begin to turn, lifting the gate and allowing his entrance. I couldn't look at him, I wanted to know what his plans were, but I couldn't risk provoking him. I retreated back to the relative safety of my room.

The knock came at the worst possible moment. I was sitting on the bed with the newspaper spread in front of me open to the society section. I had just read of Raul's engagement. To an English Lady, no less. It had been less than a month, but then again he had proposed to me within a matter of weeks. It had taken less than a month to forget me in this tomb. How could he forget me? Or had his brother arranged and forced this? It probably didn't matter now. The shock of it competed with the searing pain of total abandonment. I wiped my eyes and listened for the man on the other side of my door.

"I won't enter without your permission" He said flatly. I was relieved to hear his voice. Immediately without thinking I replied. "You may enter", I had meant to sound indifferent but I just sounded scared with my voice shakey from lack of use. The door opened to reveal him. The tall, well built man dressed formally with his wig and mask covering any evidence of the truth. A stranger to me now. His face betrayed no emotion as he took in the scene before him. His eyes lighted on the stack of books and he raised his visible eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, I've been returning them to where I found them." I stammered.

"You're welcome to them, I'm glad you've not just been staring at the walls." His voice sounded strained.

"I should've asked, but..."

"I know" he cut in as I trailed off. "You need to go home. You need to leave this place, for your own sanity. For my own sanity. Go back to your fiancé. Forget this place and forget me."

As he spoke a hysterical giggle escaped my lips.

"Do you read the papers you bring me?"

"Some days, not usually." He was confused. "Why?"

I laughed once more, but it came out as a bitter sound his posture stiffened. "Here" I said sliding off the bed to take the open paper to him, he stepped back from me as if I was going to strike him. "Look."

It took him a moment to see what I was trying to show him. My fear of the Phantom had evaporated in my rage of betrayal from my prince.

"Christine-" his voice was quiet surprise.

I cut him off "It would appear that you are stuck with me." I had even surprised myself with the ice in my voice. "And I will need to discuss this further tomorrow, but tonight I am not able. I would like you to leave."

Wordlessly he turned and left, leaving the paper on the floor, closing the door behind him. Leaving me to rip the paper into tiny shreds and place them into my fireplace through silent tears. How did this become my life?

I had known since laying eyes on the young vicomte that he would be a poor match for Christine. He was flighty and arrogant. His only claim of success was a fortunate birth. Handsome features, riches, and charisma wouldn't be enough forever. Of course, who was I to sit here in the dark, and accuse someone of being inadequate for Christine. But it angered me that he could move on from her so quickly. She was repulsed by everything about me, yet she was my obsession, the thought of losing her had plunged me into madness. I had ruined both of our lives because of my love for her.

I stayed up through the night working on a commissioned blueprint for an opera house in Spain. I found it increasingly hard to focus on my work as the clock ticked on towards morning and Christine's talk. I knew nothing she said would be anything I wanted to hear. I did know that controlling my temper was a priority regardless of what she said or did. Finally, I heard the knob on her door turning.

She was light itself. Radiant, pure, hard to look at in her perfection. Chocolate curls loose around her delicate face and shoulders, falling towards her waist. She was dressed in a soft pink dress I had picked out for her. I approached her. She stood looking at me, she looked very small so close.

"Do you like the things I picked out for you? The dresses seem to suit you." I wasn't sure what to say to her beyond small talk. Silence continued crushing us for the next few moments, she had ignored my attempt. With a sigh I told her the words I had been dreading "You are free to go, I meant what I said last night. I cannot own you. No one can, and I see that now. I only forced you here to be near you... but I cannot watch you turn into a ghost before my eyes."

She looked shockingly calm. She turned from me and walked to the sofa.

"What, Christine, can you not bear to look at me even covered anymore? Is my disfiguration visible now through my mask to you?" I sneered. If I had been a handsome man, like her boy, she could have loved me.

She sat down on the sofa and said very softly "No, that isn't it. In fact, I wish you'd take it off."

Horror struck me making my legs feel weak. I felt my rage welling up uncontrollably as I found myself screaming at her "You want to humiliate me, but you'll only drive both of us mad! Do you want to see me only to remind yourself that your fickle viscount isn't so bad!? Is that what you want? How could y-"

I was cut off by her shrieking. "Stop! Please stop!" She threw an empty teacup with surprising force, shattering it against the wall. Shocked silent for a moment we both stared at the glass shards and she r

began to sob. I was stunned by her fury.

"You claim to love me." She spoke almost inaudibly through tears as she clutched her chest "You can't love me and scream at me in that way, surely by now you know I cannot handle it. I cannot, I cannot, I'm sorry." She withdrew back into quiet crying.

Ashamed, I turned my back to her, listening as she dissolved into silence. Eventually, I was sure she had stopped crying. Still not facing her, I began "I am sorry, do not ever apologize to me. I have ruined you just like everything else in my life. I did not mean to frighten you. I won't raise my voice to you again, but please don't punish me like that. I cannot bear to hate myself any more."

I turned to face her and jumped back startled. She had silently come to stand behind me as I was speaking to her. She stood inches from me staring down at her feet.

"I have seen you already." She whispered. She was still visibly shaken. I tried to lower my voice but my returning whisper sounded seething.

"I have seen your reaction to seeing me, I have seen the same expression on many faces. Would you not rather pretend?"

She didn't look up from her feet, which were bare on the cold stone. Still whispering she said "I didn't mean it when I told you I hated you, but I am so very frightened by you." She trailed off. I wished I could comfort her, but I was unable to touch her. I was for once unable to speak at all. She sighed and looked up at me "I know you have been alone in this world. Do you not see that I am abandoned as well?" Her eyes searched mine as she continued "I don't know how to live without the opera house. I have no family. I have no friends to go to, Meg and her mother have gone. Raul is gone. I need you, but I cannot live this way. I live in fear of your silence, in fear of your anger, in fear of your intentions..." she looked down again. "But I don't even know you. You have what you've coveted all along. I am only asking to know you."

"But you do know me, you've known me for a long time. We have shared such beautiful music. I have taught you to use your voice." My own voice sounded rushed, pleading.

"I only know who you wanted me to know. We both know that is not who you are. Your music is pure and beautiful without farce. Of the composer, I only know farce." she whispered to the ground.

Her pain was raw and recognizable. I had only recently felt true empathy and I was surprised by the force of it.

"I can't, Christine." Now it was my turn to stare at the floor. She was right, of course, but if she truly knew me she would prefer a life on the streets and I shuddered at the thought.

"Could I do it for you? I don't mind. I didn't know you had it glued on last time, I'm sorry, I know it hurt. I'll be very careful."

I was astonished by her gentleness and the shame was overwhelming.

"I am not worth this, Christine."

As she stepped closer I could hear her breathing. I straightened up to face her. She was the most beautiful creature, her skin was nearly iridescent in its paleness, like an ivory pearl. She raised her arms slowly, I felt the warmth from her skin before it made contact. I was looking down into her face as she slowly peeled my mask off, searching for her initial horror.

"Did that hurt?" She asked in a whisper, she held my gaze with no trace of disgust.

"No, I was born with it." I answered simply, but she looked confused. I realized too late she meant her removal of my mask.

"Oh... no. Not physically."

"Oh".

She let her left hand fall to her side holding my mask as her right hand very gently tugged the wig off of my head. I felt naked, exposed. I allowed her to stare at me as long as I could bear it. There was no visible disgust, she remained expressionless, but I had seen her acting on stage enough to know she could hide it. I broke her stare and walked to my organ. Unsure of what else to do I sat and began to play a slow and melancholy nocturne as shame crept up my spine. She moved so quietly, but this time I was able to hear her start to come towards me. I just continued playing waiting to see if she would divert her path and go to her room, but she continued until she was directly behind me like a shadow. I was aware of her innocence, I was aware of her lack of ability to lie, I knew of her gentle demeanor, but her quiet intensity took me off guard. This was so very different from our lessons, so different from the disastrous night I had brought her down here. A tenuous peace had filled the room. Even in my exposure I could feel the relief as the slow song chased away the oppressive silence. She was here, because she felt she had nowhere and no one else. Ashamed, I knew I had to make this right, but how? How had this become my life?