It had been strange to see him broken like this, he who had been so strong. His voice was soft, defeated, as he gave them their freedom. He even walked with them part of the way, guiding them on the safe path out of his domain. Then, leaving the lantern with them, he turned back into the darkness. Christine could never forget the sight of his stooped, thin figure, fading into nothingness.

Christine and Raoul stumbled into the fresh night air. There were still some stragglers on the street from the Opera audience, and they listened to conversations, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. The lights had gone out, there had been confusion, eventually the opera had resumed with an understudy as Marguerite. A manager had apologised that Miss Daaé had been taken ill and was unable to complete the performance. So it seemed there was no scandal, no disaster. The world went on turning.

Raoul took Christine back to the apartment where she lived with her adoptive mother, Madame Valerius. He was dishevelled from his struggles, but she had the advantage of a cloak which she had retrieved from her room in Erik's house. Mama had waited up and remarked that they were late, but seemed oblivious to how they were dressed. She was getting old, and her mind tended to wander. After seeing Christine safely over the threshold, Raoul left, promising to return the next day.

True to his word, next afternoon he joined them in the flat, once more the polished gentleman, and sat opposite Christine. "Everything will be all right now, Christine. The nightmare is over."

"Yes, isn't it wonderful? And I've written to the Opera managers, and apologised for leaving them in the lurch like that. I told them that when everything went dark, I was frightened and ran away. I said I had been under a strain and needed a short rest, and then I wouldn't ever let them down again. They have such plans for me, for the new season!"

Raoul leapt to his feet. "But Christine, we are to be married!" He paced across the room and stood before her. "Surely you must see that you can never sing on stage again? It would be quite improper! And of course you no longer need the money. I will support you, give you everything you need."

And then the blazing row started, while Mama Valerius looked on silently from her chair by the fire. Standing up to face Raoul, Christine declared that her voice was a gift from God. Not to share it with others was to be like the servant in the parable who buried his talent and made no use of it, and was punished. Raoul was equally vehement that Christine was to be a Vicomtesse, and must live according to the rules of that position in society. She had imbibed wrong notions from the theatre people she associated with, and that must stop. Raoul was a serving officer in the navy, due to leave soon on a voyage of exploration. He had hoped that they could be married before he left. Now he saw that that was not possible. He would be gone several months, and in that time Christine was to live with his older sisters, and learn the duties and responsibilities of a noblewoman. Her voice rising to a banshee screech that would have astonished her Opera colleagues, Christine reminded Raoul that she had always said that she could never marry him, that they had just pretended to be engaged as a game until his ship was ready to leave.

"I am a free woman! You cannot make me a prisoner. If you don't like that, you can get out, and don't bother coming back!"

Affronted, he left, slamming the door behind him. Christine collapsed panting into a chair.

After a few minutes of silence, Mama Valerius levered herself out of her chair, went to Christine and tilted her face up. "No tears?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Christine's face, and she thought for a moment. "No. I see now, he is not worth my tears. He says he loves me, but you see how little he cares for my wishes. All he wants is to own me."

"Yes, men do that." The old lady settled back into her own chair. "They are brought up to think it is their right to own women, especially rich men of noble blood. If you do not want to be owned, do not marry such a man." Her eyes half-closed, her sudden burst of awareness draining away. "My own husband… well, you knew him, he was so kind. But still, I had to let him think he was right all the time…"

Christine stared at the fire. There was one other man who had tried to own her, and then… had stopped trying. She recalled how, after that first kiss, he had fallen weeping at her feet, and she had wept with him, their tears mingling. Poor, poor Erik. Surely he had been worth her tears…

She dragged herself to her feet. "I need to think, and I need to sleep. I know it's early, but I am going to bed."

As grey dawn crept over the city next morning, Christine resolutely went back to the Opera House and made her way down the passages Erik had taught her, the secret way to his house. The living room was empty, but the gaslights were lit. There was no point in looking for him if he did not want to be found. After a moment, she drew herself up and began singing Marguerite's aria from Faust, which had been so dramatically interrupted the other night. In a few moments, the strains of an organ sounded, accompanying her as softly as possible for the large instrument. When she finished the song, Erik came into the room and paused, looking at her.

"Did you come back to say goodbye?" he asked wearily. "I am surprised the Vicomte permitted it."

Christine tossed her head. "The Vicomte has no right to command my actions, nor ever will have." She told the story of the argument, her voice growing more heated as she repeated it. When she finally paused for breath, Erik waved her to a chair, and sat opposite her, watching her pensively. "I thought you wanted that boy," he said finally.

"I thought I wanted that boy," she agreed ruefully. "When I was a little girl, I dreamed of marrying him. I suppose all little girls want to be princesses. Now I understand that being his kind of princess means wearing chains. I shall not wear his chains, not even if they are golden. Do you recall Andersen's tale of The Little Mermaid? She sacrificed her voice in an effort to change worlds. Raoul can offer me nothing worth that sacrifice. Erik, it was you that I agreed to marry."

He waved a throwaway gesture. "I extorted that promise by threatening deaths if you refused – yours, my prisoners, my own, many others. I refute such a devil's bargain. Now, there are no threats. The gunpowder is ruined, the prisoners are free. I even sent a note of… apology? Well, explanation anyway, to the Persian. He should have known better than to sneak in here like that, but still, he saved my life in Persia, and helped me to escape from there. I owe him something for that. I do not owe anything to the Vicomte, but at any rate he is free now… and so are you. I shall not take advantage of you because you have been upset by a lovers' tiff."

"A lovers' tiff!" she retorted angrily. "After all that I told you, is that all you think has happened?!"

"I… dare not believe that it is any more. And, if you do not want chains… you would find chains of a different kind, if you tied yourself to a man who dare not show his face in public."

Her expression softened. "But you can at least show it to me. You know your face no longer troubles me. Erik, I am due to perform next week. Will you teach me again, prepare me to do my best?"

"I…" Behind the mask, she saw his eyes close, and his head bent for a long moment. Finally, he raised it and looked at her again. "If you want me to, I have not the strength to turn you away."

And so a new time started. She visited him, learned from him. Now knowing him for a man and no supernatural being, she was not afraid to argue with him at times, and watched with pleasure as his spirit gradually reasserted itself. At her suggestion, he blocked the way which Raoul and the Persian had used to come to his house. He dismantled the torture chamber to please her, and made sure that there was always a safe, easy way for her to come to him. When she asked him, he stopped wearing his mask in her presence, and grew to believe that she accepted his face. But sometimes their conversation approached the tragic events which had afflicted the Opera in the past. He would try to make light of her questions, or plead innocence. Christine once asked him about the deadly fall of the chandelier. "Oh, that was not I. The fittings were old and worn. It was simply an accident."

"And it killed a person whom you wanted removed… who had been manoeuvred into sitting directly beneath it."

"Accident… coincidence…" he muttered, but she simply stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes and his self-justification trailed off into silence. Another time, angrily, he retorted to her unspoken reproach. "You know the kind of man I am!"

"I know the kind of man you used to be. I believe… I hope you could become so much better. Instead of the Phantom of the Opera, you could become the Guardian of the Opera, a force for good instead of evil." He turned and walked out of the room, and she did not see him again that day, but when she came back next day for her lesson, he made no reference to his hasty exit.

Their next argument came when he airily mentioned a scheme he had for blackmailing the Opera management to change their programme for the forthcoming season, to feature works that would better showcase Christine's voice. She protested that she wanted to advance her career by her own merits, not as a result of coercion.

"You wanted me to be helpful to the Opera company," he snapped. "You may have noticed that there have been no disastrous accidents, no mysterious deaths since the day you said that. If I make use of the memory of such things, and the fear of their recurrence, that is only logical. The managers know nothing of opera, and need my guidance about what they ought to stage."

"Erik, I have to work with these people! After what happened before, I am already suspected of being the Phantom's creature. If you go through with this scheme of yours, do you realise what spite, what jealousy will be aroused against me? You will make my position impossible!"

"If anyone dares to act against you, I will –"

"No one will have cause to act against me. Because, Erik, if you start blackmailing and threatening again, I will leave. I will give up singing. Raoul could not make me do that, but you could, if you act this way."

This time she was the one who walked out rather than continue the argument, and she stayed away for a few days. When she next went to see him, she had some news. "The managers have announced a change to the scheduled programme," she began. "We are going to mount Otello at the end of the season. Everyone seems very happy about it. Apparently an opera patron, who wishes to remain anonymous, has offered a large donation to persuade them to do this."

"That's nice," Erik said mildly. "You will make a good Desdemona."

Christine's brow puckered. "They may not cast me," she replied thoughtfully. "There were, it seems, no strings to this donation, no conditions apart from the opera to be performed."

"But who else could do it? Since Carlotta moved to Madrid, there is no one else whom the public would accept in the role. Well, we have time enough to work on it. You will be excellent."

"Do you know what the gossips are saying? Many of them think that the anonymous donor is really the Vicomte de Chagny, trying to make up his quarrel with me."

"Perhaps they are right," Erik replied blandly.

Christine stifled a laugh. Erik was trying to play innocent, and he really was not very good at it. But the money had come from the Opera in the first place. There was some justice in giving it back, and if Erik had chosen to use persuasion instead of force to achieve his aims, that was a step she approved of.

"Oh, Erik! You know very well that getting me a starring role is the last thing Raoul would do! And if he chose to put money into the Opera again, he would make conditions!" Quickly crossing the room to him, she put her hands on his shoulders, reached up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." Then, smiling at his obvious astonishment, she moved to the piano. "Come then, Maestro! We have work to do."

More and more often, Christine recalled what the music critic had said of her first triumphant performance after Erik had begun teaching her: "I can only imagine that Miss Daaé has learned to love!" Whether it was true then, she was not sure, but as she understood her heart better, she knew that it was true now. Erik had spoken no more of his love for her, but he did not have to, when she could see it in his eyes, feel it when his hand touched hers. And when they sang together, both hearts soared.

O-O-O