Okay. Quiet2885 lied. There will be four chapters. I got into this story a little bit more than I originally planned. For those waiting for "When All is Lost," I'm working on that, too. As I'm going on a short vacation soon, I'm not going to make update promises for either story. There should hopefully be updates for both stories by the first week in January. Thanks for all of your feedback, guys. It keeps me writing.

Read and Review! Happy Holidays!

What was it about the mask that disturbed her so much? Was it knowing of the horror that it concealed? No. The black porcelain hid his death's head but did not upset her. Was it simply the artificiality? She wasn't sure. Still, she did not like that mask. Erik's actual face was dreadful, but at least it was real.

To her dismay, he had the realistic mask on from the moment that she opened her bedroom door. She kept her eyes away from his face as he served her breakfast, attempting to hide her frown. "I think that I will design a workable mouth," he stated, placing slices of ham and fruit upon the table. "I will be able to dine with you that way." He stepped back and admired the layout. "Is everything to your liking?"

"I…" She swallowed. "Yes, Erik. I am fine. Thank you." She began to eat while he silently watched. The two lips on the mask were pressed together and drawn inwards; the somber expression didn't really match the excited glow in his yellow eyes. A pair of calm brown or green eyes would have been more appropriate. After a few bites of ham, she grew full and set her fork down with a soft clink.

"Is something wrong?" he immediately enquired. "Is there too much salt? Erik has a habit of flavoring food very strongly for himself; otherwise, he is not able to taste it at all. Let me get you something else. Melon, perhaps?"

"No, Erik." She shook her head. "I am just not very hungry this morning. I am sorry."

"Oh." He collected her plate with a swoop of his skeletal hand. "You really should eat more, my dear, especially during the winter. We do not want you to become ill."

"I know. I will later." She tiredly placed a hand to her forehead.

After setting her plate down, she saw him discreetly run his fingers over his face, as though to ensure that the mask was still there. He was so terribly happy about his creation, so very excited. "If you are not hungry, we could begin with a song this morning. Perhaps an aria from Ascanio in Alba. Would you like that, Christine?"

She nodded and stood. "Yes. Very well." He continued to speak as he led her back to the organ, but her mind was elsewhere. She would go mad from this unless she either said something or figured out why she felt this way.

He pushed his own scribbles of music aside and turned to look up at her with his hands over the keys. That false face was staring at her; those two eyes were pleading with her. "I will begin when you are ready."

She could not stand it any longer. "Erik?" she began, gnawing at her lip.

"Yes, Christine?" he eagerly asked. "Do you need something?"

"I…" She quickly composed herself. "I do not wish you to wear that mask any longer."

"What?"

The dismay in the two yellow eyes stung her heart. Still, she continued forward. "I prefer the black one, if you are going to wear a mask. Or any other mask, really. That one…is just very unpleasant to me. I am sorry."

"I see." He turned his back to her and was very quiet for a long, horrible moment. She waited, nearly hating herself and wishing that she could fix this entire mess. He finally unpeeled the mask from his face and stared down at it. "Yes," he stated with resignation. "I suppose it is no good pretending once you are aware of what lies beneath. It is a pity that I could not have worn it for you before you ripped my other mask away. You might have believed this to be Erik's real face. And then you never would have known."

"No," she said with gentleness. "I think that I still would have known it was a mask. But I have told you many times that I do not care about your face."

"Yes. You shiver only at the splendor of my genius." She cringed as he repeated her own words back to her. "Your lies are very beautiful, Christine. And Erik loves you even more for them."

"Oh, Erik." Christine sighed. He was less ignorant than she had believed. He was still staring down upon the mask, his emaciated shoulders rising and falling with each slow breath. "I really did enjoy our walk," she continued after a moment. Erik turned his head slightly, careful to still keep his face from her view. "But not because no one looked at us. It was wonderful to go out. The city is lovely this time of year."

"You do not understand. Oh, but of course you would not! It is not so pleasant to go out with eyes constantly upon you, with whispers all around. And I would not subject you to that. But this mask, Christine, this mask shields you from that. In the evenings, no soul can tell that it is not real. It was for you."

"I…I suppose I do not understand," she murmured. I understand nothing these days.

He didn't seem to hear her, was almost speaking to himself. "It would be nice to have my own flat someday," Erik continued. "With neighbors that did not stare. An ordinary home for an ordinary man. And his ordin-No. You, of course, are not ordinary. Not at all."

She looked at the floor with shame. "No, Erik. I fear that I am very ordinary." I am worse than ordinary. I am deceitful.

"No. You are not ordinary. You come visit me in my little home. You come to see your Erik quite often. You are very good to do so. To come here, away from all else." He paused. "But with the mask that looks like everybody else, you would not have to come down here as often."

Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes. Christine didn't know what to say. Although she wished to console him, she was afraid that another lie would emerge from her lips. Frankly, she didn't even know what the truth was anymore. And so she kept silent, allowing him to wallow in his unreachable dreams.

Erik sighed and ran his fingers over the keys of the organ. "You are wanting to leave, I imagine. If I release you for the next few days, do you vow not to spend your holiday with him?"

"Yes," she replied in earnest. Raoul was probably still too angry to even want to see her. "I will spend it with my guardian. She has been ill."

He nodded. "Very well. I will take you to the surface."

"What will you do, Erik? For the holiday?"

"Remain here," he curtly replied. "Unless that Persian fool attempts to bother me again, and then I will spend my time ridding my home of him." Erik wryly chuckled.

She sadly smiled, still knowing very little of Erik's strange friend. "Perhaps it would be nice to have a guest, though."

"No," he clipped. "I prefer to be alone, especially when my sole choice of company is that irritating busybody." Erik abruptly stood up from the seat. Keeping his face turned from her, he walked toward a drawer and pulled out the familiar black piece of porcelain. After silently putting it on and tossing the realistic mask aside, he began to walk back toward the drawing room. "Come. We will return you before too many people are walking about upstairs. The last problem that we need are rumors of you appearing from nowhere." He gathered his hat and cloak.

She followed behind him without protest, all the while wishing that she could offer him words of solace. Still, wasn't it cruel to offer hope if there was none? Were beautiful lies better than the truth? She stared down at her reflection in the dark lake as Erik silently rowed them forward within the boat, not really liking what she saw. The lack of sunlight was making her pale. The lack of sleep was giving her rings around her eyes. Or maybe she had always looked that way.

Erik took her up the spiral stairs and to the mirror of her dressing room, his yellow eyes dim and devoid of the excitement of earlier. "I will see you in four days," he stated, opening the plate of glass for her entrance. "Rest soundly, for we will begin preparations for your upcoming performances." He turned to leave.

"Erik." She placed a shaking hand upon his shoulder. He froze and tilted his head back, a soft moan audible from behind the mask. "Have a Merry Christmas."

He nodded once, and she withdrew her hand. Once Erik had disappeared into the darkness, she entered her dressing room and immediately collapsed into a cushioned chair. A feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed her, of grief and confusion. After a moment, she arose and quickly began to gather the few possessions that she wished to take home with her. There were several combs and hair ribbons that she wanted to wear over the holidays. Perhaps Mamma Valerius would be well enough to go out for a few hours, at least to go to Mass.

With a swallow, Christine glanced at the mirror. She couldn't sense his presence or feel his eyes upon her. "Erik?" She said his name once. There was no answer. She proceeded to open one of the drawers of the dressing room table and remove a folded piece of paper. It was her note to Raoul, requesting that he meet her at the masked ball. Her absence from Erik would be the opportune time to get it delivered. With a sigh, she tucked it into the pocket of her skirts and then quickly left the dressing room.

She was grateful to see that few others were around that morning, for she didn't want to have to answer any questions or listen to any gossip from the ballet dancers. Her disappearances were starting to make her an object of curiosity, likely partly due to Raoul's constant questioning in his attempts to find out where she was. Once she had left the building and located a cab to take her to Mamma Valerius' flat, she was finally able to relax.

As the horses trotted forward with the carriage in tow, her thoughts drifted to Erik. If she hadn't asked him to remove that mask, would he have requested her to stay for the holidays? He was now likely down in the cellars by himself, engrossed in his eerie music. Christine suddenly realized that she'd never even questioned whether Erik wanted to live down there. After seeing his gruesome face, she'd simply accepted that belowground was the only place he could be. A bat must live in a cave, mustn't it? In her mind, she had exiled him to living in the cellars.

It had also been of comfort to condemn him to the sewers, particularly on the occasions when she was frightened out of her wits. If Erik had to stay below ground, then there was a way to escape him. She had even contemplated places to hide with Raoul. The rooftop of the opera house had come to mind, beneath the gaze of Apollo and the farthest possible point from Erik's world. Surely, he would not go where daylight could so easily reach.

But with this realistic mask, with this drive toward normalcy and a life aboveground, Erik could go anywhere that she could. This strange mask had given him some great hope to escape the cellars. And perhaps she knew that the mask alone would not suffice, would not fulfill his desires. He would also want her. She was central to his plan. That had frightened her, and so she had cruelly crushed his hopes.

But why shouldn't Erik be allowed out into the daylight? He had walked with her down the streets of Paris like an ordinary man. There had been nothing strange about their walk. In fact, she had enjoyed it, would have gladly gone again. That morning, though, she had ruined it all for him, and now she felt horrible. Why did she feel so completely wretched?

She then realized that, on some level, she had truly come to care for him. She lied not only because she feared him, but because she didn't want to hurt him.

Christine finally arrived at the flat and set her belongings down inside. The smells of pinewood and cinnamon potpourri greeted her, and she found herself grateful to be in a warm and familiar setting. From the spices and bottles that had been set out in the kitchen, it looked as though Mamma Valerius had been on her feet at least a little. She quickly went into the bedroom to see her guardian lying on the bed, a piece of unfinished knitting tossed to the side. With her arthritis, the craft was becoming nearly impossible.

"I thought I heard someone come in," said her guardian with a tired smile.

"Yes. I am here," replied Christine. "I am sorry that I have been gone so often. How are you feeling?"

"Fine for a woman of my age," she said with a cheerful tone. "But what of you, dear? You look tired. Are you working too hard?"

"No. I just did not sleep well last night." She quickly changed the subject. "Is there anything that I can get for you? Have you eaten?"

Even at her old age, Mamma Valerius was too sharp for that. "I am positively fine, Christine. Now please sit down and talk to me. You look so weary, child."

With a sigh, she obediently sat down in a chair next to the bed. "Oh, Mamma. I do not even know where to begin." She looked down at her hands. "Often, I just wish to go off and get married to an ordinary man. To forget singing and all of this. Is that so wrong? To not have to worry or think on difficult matters any longer?"

"No," her guardian gently replied, squeezing her hand. "It is not wrong. All young girls want such things. Heaven knows, I did. Is there someone in particular?"

"There is dear Raoul, although his status makes it difficult."

"Ah!" said her guardian with approval. "Yes. Ever since he was a boy, he has been good and kind. And he certainly seems to have an interest in you with his visits here, always asking where you have gone off to."

"But sometimes I do not want that," continued Christine. "Sometimes I feel differently. I want my music. I want to help and care for someone else. I want more…" She paused. "But I do not think that I am strong enough. Here I am, hiding away and crying to you."

Mamma Valerius laughed. "You are too hard on yourself, child. Who has taken care of me in my decrepit state for these last several years? Who made her way through the conservatory to become a grand singer at the opera house?"

"I would have become nothing if not for him," she murmured, casting her eyes downward. "He gave me too much."

Her guardian patted her hand. "What else troubles you, dear? You look as though you are in pain."

"I have hurt people," she stated with a sigh. "Often, I feel as though I have no choice but to lie. And people are always hurt by my words."

"I am sure that your heart was in the right place. And perhaps you truly did not have a choice. But you are right. It is best to make a decision and be honest with others. Even if it is difficult, it will be better for everyone in the end."

Christine nodded. As she shifted atop the chair, she felt the folded note in her pocket. "Oh." She pulled the piece of paper out. "I forgot to get this delivered to Raoul."

"If you need to go, then by all means go. I am fine here. Do not worry your young head about me."

Christine slowly stood and smoothed out her ruffled skirts. "I will return soon. At least, I think that I will." She looked toward the letter again. "I am not for certain."

Mamma Valerius nodded. "Do whatever you must do, Christine. I will be fine."