A/N: I was tortured by a pounding headache, my mind under the influence of strong sedatives while writing this. But it rather helped to throw out all the hate, anger, despair and agony needed for this chapter. My mind is a dark cavern right now… the floor of a dark basement. Haha. Now, let's read and enjoy, shall we?

The Unseen Angel

I enjoy singing, unseen, how thrilling it is for me! Even when I was killing in the arena in Mazenderan or in some Persian labyrinth... I have never been this happy. My music runs through my veins, my voice lives and gives life to me, my soul trembles and unfurls itself; my body contorts out of pleasure, because everything I want to pass to her returns to me and ignites my body as I want to ignite hers.

A requiem unwraps itself in my mind. A requiem for this doomed love. Half-gloomy, I throw my head up in delight to let the music come out. What a joy it is to sing for her!

Oh, her eyes, glittering, filled with tears of joy and hope! She can't discern truth from lies, but who would say she should? She must never see the ugliness of truth. Oh, Christine, why are you not blind? You could see better if you were... Maybe then you would see me... Sight can tell anyone its revelations poisoned by lies.

When we plunge into darkness… In darkness sight is bereft of power… In darkness everyone is blind.

Except me.

The image of her face… I didn't dream about the mirrors anymore. I dreamt about her instead. She seemed to be saying "Come, Erik, come to me", her arms stretched out to me. In a dance of white silk and lace, flowers in her hair, she moved around me. Oh, what a mockering lie that dream was! It was far worse than my usual nightmares… beacuse it was a lie. One big, horrible castle in the air, chrashing on top of my head. Like a giant chandelier of crystal and light can bring blood, death and destruction to an audience when it chrashes down. I awoke panting, breathing hurt.

I keep telling myself I can stop whenever I want. Just don't return to the mirror. May this sweet dream keep going for both of us, I can make it stop it whenever I want…

Darkness is punishment for the lying sight; thank God there's no darkness for a voice. I always relied on my vocal powers. I am my voice; I'm the unseen Angel.

Angel of Music!

It was she who called me so. She had always been shy before, but some days ago she dared to ask, at last:

"You are the Angel of Music sent by my father, aren't you?"

For a moment I believed that sound was as mendacious as sight.

And then I understood there was no lie.

If I can never be a living man she can look upon when she awakes in the morning, if I have no face to be reflected by a mirror, if I have no body to feel the hot pleasures of life or the haunting pain, if I'm only a voice to her, who am I, if not an angel?

I was not lying when I told her "Yes".

"But I keep telling myself I can stop whenever I want. Just don't return to the mirror. May this sweet dream keep going for both of us, I can make it stop whenever I want"…and now I realize that is a lie too. I can't stop this, my desire for her would kill me.

Those who don't tell lies are always punished in the end!

That boy...

Certainly - how foolish I was! I saw her unrefleced by those dirty mirrors and forgot that human eyes were not mirrors. They see her and admire her. I'm only a voice; she has the body and the and the face of a goddess. Her body has its own needs, her face shows them; the poor incorporeal Angel can satisfy only her soul. Her innocence is a treasure.

Oh, how happy she was, when she was telling me about her childhood friend's arrival!

I think she believed I would share her delight…

I didn't. I scratched my nails along the back of the mirror in guilty misery.

Oh, no, I'm not an angel at all! Angels do not feel such misery, angels do not weep in the darkness of despair. Angels do not know of self-loathing.

Damn that vicomte! A gorgeous human shell, what else to say. Is there anything inside? Who knows. That handsome shell hides everything but itself.

Sight and light always lie.

But she looks at him with appreciation, he looks at her with adoration.

And I look at the mirror. Jealous! I am jealous! I grind my teeth in hate and anger.

She needs someone with a reflection. Someone whose adoring eyes she could see, whose hand would hold her, whose body would feel her divine form with pleasure. She has no need for an Angel... she needs a man.

Am I a man yet?

Erik, you know the answer to that perfectly well! And if not, if you happen to have forgotten it, take the mirror and look into it! And see once more the hideous truth... so hideous it couldn't be the truth.

I am not a monster! I don't want to be one!

And suddenly I begin to laugh, from the bottom of my lungs. Ha, that empty shell and I, together we would be the perfect lover for her! His appearance and youth, my mind and voice! What an irresistable man we would be, haha! But this laughter ends soon, leaving me in despair again.

Would she even care what's behind his appearance? Or what is in my mind?

Christine, don't look at my face... It shows you nothing... Christine, I have hands which crave holding you, a body that craves sharing its passion with you... I even have lips to whisper your name and caress your face in the night...

If only you were in darkness, Christine...

If only you wouldn't want to see.

If only I was an angel! I would take her up on my wings and bring her to heaven. But I'm only a man. A miserable, lonely man in dispair. That cursed mirror, it seperates her from me! I despise and yet bless it. Still I can't stop my heartbeat. I rip it out and offer it to her through music.

I placed the roses in her dressing room, together with a piece of music I wrote for her. Sweet, intoxicating, gentle music, written while her name was as music in my mind. It was just called 'Christine'… and that music caught in staves…and my name at the bottom. A gentle dream of lovely music between our names! She doesn't need to know it's from her angel, does she? Now she knows my name… but not the name of her angel. Now she knows, there's someone who loves her… even when she will never see the face belonging to that name, just like she will never see her angel.

But back at home, the anger rose again. Don't even ask why I kept a mirror in a locked cabinet. I can master mirrors anywhere, but not in my own house. Look at the mirror, look at the mirror well!

What do you see there, Erik?

Do you think you see yourself? This loathsome gargoyle of hell… balefull!

Look, Erik, look into the mirror. How do you like the monster there? What, do you think she'll kiss you and you'll be turned to a beautiful prince? I haven't even the guts to laugh at this idea.

My face is the greatest lie of all, even my mask is more honest. But what is a mask… but a mask? If I take it off, it's an empty shell, too. Just a piece of fabric. Everyone believes in facial truth. They even have a synonymous expression to 'frank' - 'with an open face'. With my open face no one will believe my frankness...

Oh, how beautiful is the rain of splinters in all that candle light!

Stop, …why candles? Why are there so many candles lit in my home?

I blow them out. All of them. I can see just as well in the dark, can't I?

And then I'm leaving my home to give one more lessons to Christine – as an incorporeal, impassionate, solely spiritual Angel...

Damn it! Damn all the Angels! The mirror crashlanded on the floor, broken like the foreboding of a certain chandelier… chandeliers are just a giant glittering legion of candles, aren't they?