Christine Da e lay across the chaise longues in her dressing room, facing the full length mirror adjacent to where she now sat. It was years ago when she was still young, that she had gazed into her reflection and that mysterious man/monster Erik had appeared. Long ago when she had been in her room and heard the adorable voice coming from inside the walls. She became friends with it, like a dream come true it told her it was the angel of music her father had promised her when she was but a child. This precious dream quickly tumbled into a monstrous nightmare where her beautiful, kind angel of music was a cold-blooded murderer who would stop at nothing until he trapped her with him forever. Still, she felt for him, her maniacally passionate, but strangely sad, angel of music.

She trembled at the thought that her omnipresent stalker would find her once again and try to ensnare her with his heavenly voice and innocent but malevolent charms. Was it a tremble of fear? Is that what she felt for him now? It seemed such a simple emotion for such a complex situation. She had not loved him at that time, but she had felt compassion for him, even if it was only slightly. She had not buried him like he had asked and this caused her great remorse. She missed those simple days where he would simply sing to her and she would only have to believe that he was her own personal angel, someone to protect her and guide her. Isn t that all he had tried to do? He only wanted her so he could protect her and guide her to greatness she would never have been able to achieve on her own. She suddenly did not feel as wary of the Phantom after her epiphany, she suddenly felt some of the hatred she had previously known, dissipate and reform as a feeling of sadness that she had not previously known. Was she sad her Angel of Music had died? No, no she was merely guilty that she had not returned, but she had feared that he was not dead. That he would take her away from her precious Raoul and she would have to live with that horrible creature underground for the rest of her life.

He was dead now though. She had seen it in the papers. A part of her wanted to believe that it was accidental, or he died of natural causes, but she knew it was because she had broken his already fragile heart. She knew that her leaving so abruptly, her love for the Vicomte had broken poor, sad, lonely Erik s heart. She felt for the strange man, the haunting shadow that would follow her every move whether she knew it or not. She felt sorry for him that he had allowed himself to be ensnared in her own trap, nothing like his which were all ropes and pulleys. Her trap was simple, so simple any man would have fallen into it, but it had to be that man, that shadow, that monster, who would have captured her and held her until her dying day, suffocating any dreams she d ever had with Raoul. Her trap was her endless beauty and innocence, something she had always held from the day and hour she was born. These qualities were something a lot of men marvelled at but Erik especially. He was always in awe of her, she overwhelmed him, consumed him and all of his time, it was almost as though she owned him.

A shy knock at her door awoke her from her daydream. Christine, my love? Are you there? It was a man s voice, but not the man s voice which she had wished to hear. It was her husband s, Raoul s. She did love Raoul, but not as much as she used to. Time had put a strain on their relationship and it was not the na ve, young love that she had cherished all those years ago. Christine had often thought of the life she could have had with Erik, her grotesque, haunting angel of music. Coming, love. She responded, not with the same fervour she would have replied with when their romance first bloomed and they had escaped from the seemingly evil clutches of Erik s far reaching grasp. Still, his clutches only seemed evil, and as far as Erik liked to think his grasp reached, he could not reach them. They had disappeared and that is what broke his heart.

Are you ready for the Bal Masque, Christine? Raoul's voice echoed through the empty stone halls and it seemed as though she were surrounded by men. She only wanted to hear one voice though, that soothing, calming, angelic voice that filled her ears with melodious sound and her heart with heavenly joy. She chose a simple reply: Yes Raoul. Christine left her luxurious dressing room and placed a fake smile on her porcelain expression to comfort her husband. He must never know that she felt guilt for leaving Erik behind. He felt strongly about Christine never seeing him again. After all, this was the man that threatened to blow up the Opera Populaire if Christine did not choose him. He was a madman and a murderer and Raoul was adamant that Christine should leave him be for the rest of her life, lest she rouse his spirit, if it was not already in Hell.

They both travelled down through the stone-walled corridors into the grand hall, where the festivities were underway. There were hundreds of people covered in brightly coloured masks and costumes with the smell of fresh alcohol on their breath. Raoul was enjoying the party immensely, but Christine found it all too suffocating and found it made her feel claustrophobic. She would stay with Raoul, though she was looking for someone else. She was looking for a flash of that golden hue the Phantom s eyes emitted. She secretly wished that he would descend down the brilliant marble staircase like last time and curse them for dancing above the graves of dead men just so she could catch a glimpse of him and know that he was okay. So she could rid herself of the guilt that plagued her ever since she read the letter from the Parisian letting her know that Erik was gone.

She danced lazily though that night with Raoul, exchanging fake smiles and happy greetings to those who crossed their path and pretending like she did not have other things on her mind. She had to pretend that Raoul was all that mattered to her now and that her past stayed in its namesake and did not seep into the future. Everyone seemed to have a good time that night and Christine left reluctantly at the end of the night back to her husband s house without seeing a glimpse of anyone that even resembled the Angel. She had rather hoped that she would even see someone that had the same build as him to put her mind at rest, but this did not happen and now she was all the more worried. The phantom did not show up at the Bal Masque whatsoever. He hated festivities and surface-dwellers enjoying themselves whilst there were people below who had suffered and died and were now resting beneath their very feet. It did not seem right or just to whatever morals he had left in him. She hated to admit it, but she missed him in all his wicked glory and twisted genius.