Disclaimer: If you recognize it then I don't own it. All that credit is to Lloyd Webber, Leroux, and all other official publications of Phantom of the Opera or Love Never Dies. I just let my mind carry me away with the rest.

Author's Note: This is my first FanFiction since my third year in college, nearly 8 years ago. The idea came to me in the middle of the night and I just had to put it down to share with people. I hope you all enjoy it, and please give me your thoughts on it when you're finished. If all goes well I very well may get back into this, because now I feel like I can't stop here.

Unmasked Beauty

As the sun set slowly behind the trees, Christine watched from her balcony as she had every night since fleeing the Opera Populair those many months ago. Immediately she had been whisked away from the city, Paris, which she had called home for so many years. With the abrupt departure from the Opera so much had been left behind, left unsaid. Raoul swore it was for their own good, her own good. In his haste to leave she hadn't had the chance to bid farewell to her dearest friend, Meg.

It had been nearly a month before Raoul would let her do anything of her own accord, all for her safety he would say. When he finally acquiesced to let her see Meg it had been a rushed event; either Raoul or one of his around to supervise.

While Christine loved being able to catch up with her friend, feeling reassured that she and her other friends from the Opera were all doing well, was unable to ask about the singular person on her mind since that fateful day. Meg, having known her friend so well, came prepared to help put her ease at mind.

"Chrissy, mama asked that I give this to you. She said it had been your mother's. Your father asked her to give it to you when you found love." Meg passed her a simple locket, which Christine immediately clutched with a knowing glance.

It didn't slip Christine's notice when Meg had addressed her as Chrissy, a nickname from their childhood, when they were still training for the ballet. The name had fallen by the wayside as they got older, only used for the most personal of interactions, or when trying to conceal a secret they didn't want others to catch onto.

Glancing at her hand she remembered the locket, small, plain and gold. There had been nothing remarkable about it, still wasn't, but the memories it held to her now far surpassed what she remembered when she was a child.

That night after dinner was the first night Christine went to her balcony alone. She sat on the chair staring at the locket Meg brought her, turning it over in her hands before finally opening it. No longer did it hold a picture of her mother, like it had when her father wore it. Instead a small piece of paper was folded and held in place by the edge. Her hands shook as she gently removed the paper, careful not to tear it. She wasn't sure what was written on it, but knew whatever it was would change her forever.

36 Rue de Rivoli

An address. The sheer simplicity of it, as if it were really that easy.

Every night since then Christine would sit on the balcony with her father's locket, absently tracing the edges as she pondered her final move. She had long since known what she planned on doing, but found it hard none the less. In the end she truly cared for Raoul, she had since they were children. Now she understood that love better, the difference between what she felt for her Angel and what she felt for Raoul.

Tonight would be her final chance. It was the night before their wedding, and Raoul was staying at another location with the other men of his family. Christine finally had a night to herself, or as close as she would get. Two of the women in Raoul's family were home, as well as the house staff, but they had all retired to their personal quarters for the evening.

Now that the sun was gone she rose, finally able to act on what she had chosen. With her hair secured from her face, and cloak wrapped around her she stole one last glance around the room. Her eyes lingered on the closet where her wedding dress was held, never to be worn. She checked to make sure she had the locket, and then quietly slipped from the room and off into the night.

Christine stood outside the vacant looking building and checked the address again. There was really no need. She had memorized it the first time she read it. The street was empty by now, most people having retired to their homes. The only light to see by was a flickering street lamp.

Slowly, Christine made her way up the few steps that lead to the door before entering the building. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust enough that she felt safe to move about.

By the flickering of the lamp she could just make out the outline of a disheveled bed and sheets of paper strewn across the floor. Kneeling by the bed she took a moment to touch the blankets. She could still smell her Angel on them, he was still here. In the months since Meg had given her the locket she wasn't certain that he would still be here when she came. Now she knew he was, and her heart soared at the thought.

Rising up she carefully made her way further into the building. As she neared a staircase she could hear the faint sounds of a piano echoing up towards her. She paused for a moment, letting the notes move around her as if calling her to their source. Christine felt as if she floated down the stairs, her Angel's music caressing her with each movement downward. When she reached the bottom her breath stopped at the sight of him. He looked beautiful, lost in the moment of his song.

Christine didn't know how long she watched him; time seemed to stand still when she was around him. She let herself go, lost in the aching melody that seemed to come from his very soul.

"Why have you come here?" he asked sternly, never turning to face her. She had been so lost in the melody she didn't notice he'd stopped playing. The stern tone of his voice broke her from her reverie. It was obvious he was upset with her, with the decision she had made. But she made that decision before truly understanding what was in her heart. All she could hope was that he could forgive her and let her prove to him what she now knew without a doubt.

"Mon Ange, I've come here for you. For us," she said as she made her to where he was seated at the piano. When she reached him she placed a hand on each shoulder, causing him to tense at her touch. She ignored this and bent her head to his ear, "I'll help you make the Music of the Night. Don't stop Mon Ange, play for us both."

He knew there was only one thing he could do, so he played. Her Angel played from a spot within himself he'd never been able to play before. He could barely contain himself when she started to sing a melody over top his orchestrations. They blended together perfectly with one another, giving and taking where the moment seemed appropriate. It was an effortless thing for them both, as if they were reading from the same piece of music.

All too soon they reached the end.

"It was beautiful, Mon Ange," she said, letting her hand wander across his shoulders.

"Erik," he said. "I'm no angel, just Erik. Never an angel."

It had never occurred to Christine to ask for his name. To her he was an angel, her angel. It longer held to her father's stories from childhood of an angel of music. In the end it didn't matter what she called him. He was still the one she yearned for, and no name would ever change that.

"Erik," she said, just above a whisper. At hearing his name he could no longer avoid her. In one fluid movement he stood from the bench, turned and wrapped her in his embrace. She was there! Her small frame fit perfect in his arms. He knew he could hold her forever if she would only let him.

Finally she pulled back, ever so slightly. She moved her hand up to the edge of his mask; she wanted to see him in all of his beauty. When Erik realized her intention he moved away, turning his back to her. He feared what would happen when her eyes once again saw the disfigurement that had plagued him since birth.

Christine knew he was ashamed of it, but she needed him to understand that it didn't matter to her. She no longer saw what haunted him, but instead saw the man who had changed her. She made her way around him, where she could look him in the eyes. This time she never gave him the chance to move. Her hand grabbed both sides of his face and drew his lips down to hers. She longed to show him what she'd kept caught up inside for so long.

"My Erik, always my angel," she whispered, gently removing his mask. He made no move to stop her this time. Instead he dropped to his knees in front of her burying his face into her torso, as him arms wove themselves around her waist. She could feel his hot tears soaking through her dress and they tore her heart apart.

She moved her arms from him only long enough to removed her father's locket from her neck and place it around Erik's. When he felt the weight of it around his neck he looked up at her in loss. He already knew what it was, he'd seen it Madam Giry's possession. Before he could question Christine's motives for placing such a piece on him she knelt before him a start to place gentle kisses along his disfigured face.

His breath hitched. He'd never felt such tenderness aimed at himself. Each kiss felt like small butterflies making their way across his face. Her breath warmed him to the core and he knew that at this moment he could die and not care. His life would be complete having felt the caress of this woman on his skin.

When her lips finally met his again their tenderness slowly melted away into passion. A yearning neither had ever felt before, yet knew that they could never deny. Erik stood, picking Christine up as well, moving them both from the piano and back upstairs to where the rarely slept in bed as located. He wanted her, needed her, but still when he set her down he took pause to take her in. She looked heavenly sitting there waiting for him.

"Christine…I…" he stammered. For all his boldness with her back at the Opera, he couldn't bring himself to admit this was much more than he ever hoped for. That he had never known such happiness in all his years.

She could see the trepidation in his eyes. And remembered what he'd said back when they were in his lair; that fate, which condemns me to wallow in blood, has also denied me the joys of the flesh… Reaching for his hand she pulled him down to her ready to give in to him and all she'd been longing for since that night.

"I have come here, that our passions may fuse and merge-In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. And now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided…" and with one final breath she pulled him down to her letting their lips meet in a fiery need for one another that only had one way of being quenched.

When Christine woke the next morning the sun was just starting to peak above the horizon and warm her face. She smiled at the memory of the night she had with Erik, everything she was had been laid out just for him. Unable to wait any longer she rolled over to embrace him, ready to start the new day and life with him.

"Erik?" she said, when she realized he wasn't there. "Erik? Mon Ange, where are you?" She listened closely, hoping he'd only gone back down to the piano, but all she heard was silence. She rose quickly, and wrapped the blanket around her and she made her way through the building, hoping for any sing of him.

Christine scoured the building in search of him, but all signs that he'd ever been there were gone. In desperation she threw herself onto the bed, hot tears streaming down her face. She called out for the man she needed, but never received an answer. And in her heart, she knew she wouldn't. He left her, whatever his reason; he'd left her all alone.

Eventually she managed to pull herself together and redress. She wasn't alone; she had her memories of her beautiful angel. She also had a fiancé that would take care of her, see to her needs and love her. After dressing she went to downstairs to retrieve her cloak from where she left it by the piano. Underneath was a single sheet of paper left from what he'd been working on last night, before she interrupted. Gently picking it up she recognized it as also being the same piece they'd sung together.

With tears threatening to spill over again she quickly folded the paper and secured it inside her dressing where no one would find it. It was all she had left of her Angel of Music now, and she wasn't going to give it up for anyone.

Her hands brushed across the top of the ivories one last time, as she remembered his hands move over them so passionately. Then it was time. She quickly made her way from the building and back towards the house with a balcony, and a closet that hid the wedding dress she'd planned on never wearing.