As Raoul so bluntly put it, the trap had been set. I just couldn't shake the feeling that I, not Erik, was to be the prey.

And truthfully, no matter how the events of that evening had played out, I would have suffered. From the first night Erik brought me to his cavernous home I knew in the depths of my heart that this would have to come to a violent end. Erik was far too violent and possessive and Raoul was far too spoiled and doting for either of them to easily give something he loved.

If I had been honest with myself, I would not have wanted either of them to do so. I loved both men in their own way; Raoul was the embodiment of everything good and kind in the world, and Erik needed me in such a desperate way that I could never in good conscience have abandoned him. Each man filled a distinct part of my soul, and to lose one would cause irreparable damage to my heart.

I was a fool, a foolish young girl who dreamt of an angel while lying in the arms of her beloved. My world was a fairytale, and no amount of grime or conspiracy or turmoil could convince me otherwise. Even once my angel had lost his wings the dreams still endured, and I was naïve enough to believe that they would never need to end. But truth is not a kind master, and it has no sympathy for foolishness.

So tonight was to be my punishment, meted out by Fate to teach me that young lives do not always have happy endings, and that I should never expect such. It was a bitter medicine to swallow, but what choice did I have? Plots set in motion by other people forced me along a path I did not want to travel, towards a destination that I feared to reach. I was truly a prisoner in my own life, and the two men I loved most were fighting over who could free me.

I did not sleep much the night before, and I spent the long hours of conscious silence in prayer and reflection while lighting candles for my father. The quiet gave me time to accept the futility of fighting my destiny. Should Raoul's plan succeed- and I was not so certain it would- I would be free to live the remainder of my days with the love of my life without fear or darkness. Should Raoul's plan fail? I had no way of knowing what would happen.

I was not clever enough to discern any course of action other than the ones that had been laid out for me, and therefore all I could do was what I was instructed to do. I strongly suspected that Erik had plans in motion to thwart Raoul's scheme, but since all I had were suspicions, I kept them to myself. Nothing was certain anymore, least of all my future, and the less that I tried to interfere with my own life, the more I could blame everything on Fate.

It was with these thoughts that I stepped onto the stage of Don Juan Triumphant. I was to play Aminta, a girl who fell into a trap set by two more powerful men for their own interests. I could hardly suppress a smile as I thought of the irony of this. I was supposed to be flighty and unobservant, in order to make Don Juan's deception that much easier. In reality, I was panicked and could hardly stop shaking enough to sing properly.

I hadn't been told many details of Raoul's plan; all I knew was that I had to be alluring enough onstage to distract the Phantom while the police sealed off Box Five. But I could not shake the feeling that Erik would surprise us all, for he was far too clever to blindly walk into such a trap. The anticipation of some unforeseeable twist of fate that was to take place sometime in the near future made me feel as though I were blindfolded and tied to the stake, waiting for the firing squad to end my misery.

I could not bear to glance at Raoul's box or Box Five for fear that I would lose my composure completely. I pushed the morbid thoughts from my mind and sang about love and joy as though they were the only emotions I had ever felt. Music has always been the most relaxing art form to me, and as I sang my heart grew lighter and I began to relax.

To calm my mind, I focused on my surroundings, pretending as though this performance were no different than any other. The air onstage was warm and heavy, full of dust and the sweaty scent of the stagehands and dancers. Downstage, closer to the lights, it was warmer, and the perfumes and colognes of the audience permeated the air. This was familiar to me, this was the environment I had been raised it, and nowhere else could be more comforting.

I finished my aria and sat by the table, waiting for Monsieur Piangi to come and join me onstage for our duet.

Something was wrong. M. Piangi should have been onstage by now, there was no action, no singing from offstage, nothing but silence. I glanced up at Raoul's box, terrified, to see if he noticed what I had, but he betrayed no change of emotion, nothing to suggest that he noticed any difference in the way the performance was unfolding.

Please, Papa and all the angels in heaven, let Monsieur Piangi come soon. I cannot stall for much longer, his presence will go noticed. If all were well, he would surely be here already, and I can think of no good reason why he is delayed. This cannot be happening!

That was when the man who was to perform Don Juan's character stepped out from the darkness, and I saw that my fears were not unfounded. This man was not M. Piangi; this man was tall and muscular, but M. Piangi was short and rotund. And while M. Piangi had a face that was eternally ruddy, this man was pale as a cadaver, and Death seemed to ride on his very cape.

I knew this man.

"Passarino, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey".