"Five more minutes, Miss Daae."

I turned to find James, the stage boy, peeking through the crack of my dressing room door. His face was drained of color, his blue eyes wide and fearful, much like the expressions of my fellow performers and stage crew. Everyone seemed to be careful and on guard tonight.

"Thank you, James," I replied, a gentle smile masking the emotions swirling within me. The door closed with a light click and my eyes flickered back to the gilded full-length mirror, the one that would take me back to his lair.

Was he watching me now? I could imagine him on the other side, trying to decipher my scrutiny from this angle.

I'd heard nothing from him since the visit to my father's grave, though sometimes when I walked along the dark corridors at night I would suddenly see two golden orbs glimmering directly above me, only to disappear as quickly as they came. Were they figments of my imagination, or was he still watching me?

Closing my eyes, I shook my head as the floor began to sway back and forth. No, no, no. I could not think of him at a time like this. It was just too much, and all so confusing. Tonight was the night we were going to play his game, as Raoul said. A game in which I would be the bait, and he the prey.

A violent shudder rippled through me at the very memory of him, authoritative, frightening, and utterly inhuman. In fact, for the majority of our relationship I hadn't known he was human. He had been a beautiful angel to me then, my one connection to heaven and to father. Because of him I'd never felt afraid of walking through the corridors of the opera house late at night, and because of him I had ceased my nightly ritual of crying myself to sleep: father had sent me an angel, and at last I wasn't alone.

But now he was a man - a bizarre, enigmatic, one at that. I didn't know what to make of him, or what to think of him. I wanted to be angry, to scream at him and to tell him how much his lie had shattered me. I wanted him to leave, to never again masquerade as an angel of the light when he was anything but. And yet, how badly I wanted to hear his voice, for him to awaken me and to caress my soul with his unearthly aura, with his music.

Then there was Raoul. The corners of my lips began to curve at the very thought of his easy smile. Gentle, selfless, and generous Raoul. He was my knight in shining armor, a solace in the storm that had become my life. He would never do anything to hurt me, nor would he ever say anything to scar. Had our social positions in life been equal, we would have complemented each other in every possible way two people can.

Turning once again to the mirror, I checked for the last time to make sure that everything was in place. My peach colored dress was sewn with generous amounts of black lace, my makeup done to make me appear innocent and doe-eyed, yet coy at the same time. I raised my eyes to the ticking clock hanging directly beside the mirror. I was due onstage any minute now.

Wringing my hands together, I tried to recall what Raoul had told me. Guards were waiting at every door post throughout the opera house, ready to lock the doors at a moment's notice. If I thought I saw him, I would look to Raoul and hold his gaze as the signal. The stage crew were alerted as well, and they were instructed to pull me off stage if anything appeared suspicious. All while keeping up the act onstage, so as to not frighten the guests.

This was the only way Raoul and I could ever live in peace, I told myself, pacing the room back and forth. This was the only way, period. And yet, somewhere deep within me, a small voice whispered that perhaps I wasn't destined for this kind of peace. That there wasn't even such a thing as peace.

Oh, the agony! What could I do? What would I do? My heart began to pound with the full realization of what I was doing. To let Raoul win, and to live a happy and comfortable life with him was all the child in me ever wanted. To marry her childhood sweetheart, and to have beautiful children in an idyllic country house, somewhere far away from all this madness. To let the sun and laughter permeate all aspects of our life together, without a trace of darkness or fear of the unknown.

As for him...there was no future there. Ire began to flicker in me once more as I thought back to my childish belief that he was an angel. An angel! He had willingly deceived me, only to reveal himself - why did he reveal himself?

Then there were the rumors. The murders. Were they true? If they were, what we were doing was right, saintly even. To protect the rest of the opera house from the threat of death was surely the right thing to do. But what if he had a reason? I always wanted to give others the benefit of the doubt. Joseph Buquet was no saint, so perhaps there had been a reason. There had to be…

Perhaps he wasn't all so bad. For years he had been my teacher and companion, guiding me through every scale and exercise, allowing me rest when I had caught a cold, and singing me to sleep whenever the nightmares came back. Indeed, I had at that time wished that my angel was real, so that I might hold and embrace him as I would my father.

I couldn't get the memory of him at my father's grave out of my head. When he began to sing for me the void that was my father's death began to fade, and for a moment I could truly believe that he was an angel again, that the murders and the deathlike face were all part of a black nightmare. Had Raoul not pulled me away, I would once again have followed him to his lair, willingly. Willingly, because of his deception.

I shook my head, and despite my anger, I couldn't deny the fact that there was something of a magnetic pull that drew me to him. I wanted to learn more about him, to understand him. The more I thought about it, I really knew nothing about him. How had he built his solitary kingdom single-handedly? Where did he learn his ghost-like tactics? Who was his family, and where was he from?

Why did he invest so much time and effort in me? Who was I to him?

Why did my belly flutter with nervous anticipation whenever I was with him? Why did my breath quicken, my heart tremble, and my cheeks warm at a stolen glance?

There was no time to sort through these thoughts. James appeared once more, and without a word, I followed him out to the wings.

Inhaling deeply, I gripped the basket of flowers one of the stagehands handed over to me. Flowers that were meant to represent my carefree innocence and youth.

I took a cautious step onto the stage, the overwhelming presence of fire blinding my vision.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy."