A/N: Too much fluff (aka "Diary") needs to be balanced out with a good bit of angst. Long live angst and the depressed characters that make it possible!

She was there. So close. Close enough to touch, and yet he refrained from reaching out because he knew it was only a dream. His Christine could not look at him like that, could she?

"Don't touch me."

Was that her voice? Yes, it was. Her voice coming from her lips coming from she herself. His beautiful, perfect Christine. She hated him.

"Don't come near me!"

But why? Oh Christine! Did she not see what she was doing to him? Could she not tell that she was ripping his very heart out with her words.

"I know what you've done."

Christine let out a small laugh, one so unlike her that it made Erik cringe. The mist that had been swirling around them both seemed to envelope her for a moment and the scenery shifted to that rooftop so long ago. Luciana stood before him.

"I want you to take off the mask. Please take off the mask."

Erik stared at her. Why this? Why again? Hadn't he suffered enough? "Why do you torment me so?" he whispered.

"You killed me."

"You told me to take it off!" he argued, shaking with sorrow. "I didn't-"

"You killed me," Luciana repeated. "Just as you will her." She laughed and sang in her childish way, her voice reminding him far too much of his Christine's. "Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?" She pulled it away with fingers too quick for him. As her scream echoed her face changed to Christine's and she stumbled back, falling over the edge of the roof.

"Christine!"

Erik woke to the sound of his own scream in the dark. He had screamed her name aloud. Slowly he brought a hand up to his throat, trying to silence his own anguished gasps in the otherwise silent night. Between the gasps he heard the sound of a very small, tentative knock.

"Erik?"

The Phantom grasped around in the darkness, searching for his mask. "Go back to bed, Christine," he ordered as calmly as he could.

"I heard you… I thought… Please, Erik, may I come in?"

She sounded so close to tears that he relented. The light of her single candle lit her pale face and she inched closer to him, avoiding the coffin which had caused her so much horror when she had first entered his home. It's a Persian cat's cradle, she told herself over and over.

Erik had moved to a chair next to the dying fire and slumped down in it. Christine sat at his feet, looking up. "I heard you call my name," she said at last.

The Phantom shuddered as he put a hand to his face. "A nightmare, child. Forgive me for waking you."

"When I was a little girl," she said slowly, "Papa would tell me that it was best to talk about nightmares. It made them seem less real." She paused, looking up at his face. "Erik, would you like to tell me yours?"

He gave her a slow, unsure smile. "Christine, certainly you do not-"

"Please," she begged. "You truly frightened me when you screamed. I thought someone had hurt you."

Erik froze. "It wouldn't have mattered if they had," he said slowly. Why would she care?

"It would matter!" Christine said with a sudden passion. "I couldn't bare the thought of someone hurting you!" Realizing what she had said, she looked down to her hand which rested in her lap, a blush creeping to her cheeks. "It might help, if you wanted…"

The Opera Ghost sighed. "I dreamt someone had harmed you, child," he said at last.

"Oh, well you needn't dream that," Christine responded with a cheerful smile. "As long as you are with me, I will be alright." She stood, offering her hand to him to take. "Perhaps we should make some tea, Erik? It might help us sleep."

He stared at her hand for a moment before taking it very, very cautiously. "Yes, my dear, that sounds like a very good idea."

For the remainder of that night, Luciana's ghost had been put to rest.