A/N: Well, here's the second chapter – I hope you like it! It's a bit rushed and a bit short, but they should hopefully be getting longer/better soon; I'm just trying to set everything up for now. A very big thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far! I love hearing what you think, so good or bad, please let me know:)

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As soon as her eyes had closed in the alley, Christine had begun to dream. Vivid dreams, ones more realistic than she had ever had before. It was as if she was truly awake and experiencing the events with sounds and colors that were lifelike.

In actuality, Christine was remembering more than she was dreaming. The flashes that came to her in the darkness were memories of events that had happened to her in the past – brief glimpses of things from her childhood, her time at the opera house and the time after…

Christine watched, eyes focused solely on her father. The slow tune that was escaping from his violin, all at once both melancholy and sweet, captivated her. As the song ended, its last note hovering in the air, Christine managed to find her words.

"That was beautiful!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight. "One day you will be famous and play for grand audiences!"

"Now, Christine," her father said with a smile, "I disagree. You will be the one to amaze audiences with your song. Your voice is that of an angel's own."

Christine had delighted in the praise and when the violin struck up its song once again, she joined in, her voice blending easily with the music.

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"Christine, just imagine!" Raoul said, his handsome face alight with unrestrained excitement. "Tomorrow we shall be married and you'll become Christine de Changy."

Christine returned his smile, hoping he wasn't observant enough to notice it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's all so exciting," was her soft reply.

Raoul reached out and gently held one of Christine's hands. Leaning in, he kissed her softly. When they pulled apart, he smiled once again and said, "How happy we'll be, Little Lotte."

Christine nodded, the same stilted smile appearing on her lips once more. She wished she had his confidence. Of course she loved Raoul, but his kiss made her think of one that was more passionate, more damning. And mostly, one that she couldn't forget.

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The doctor's face was grim and Christine felt tears spring to her eyes immediately. She knew that look – she had seen it so many years before when her father had died. Still, the slight moment she had to realize what was coming did nothing to soften the blow.

"I'm sorry, Madame de Chagny, but the Viscomte…. We did everything we could, but there was nothing else to be done."

Tears flew down her cheeks silently. This couldn't be happening; it had to be a horrible dream. Raoul wasn't, he couldn't… Her breaths came in short gasps and the room began to spin.

She faintly heard the doctor ask if she was all right before she fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

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When Christine felt herself hit the floor in her dream, it was as though the fall had given her the jolt to wake up to real life. As her eyes fluttered open, she tried to remember where she was and how she had gotten here. She was lying in a soft bed of some sort, but the dim light made it impossible to tell much else at the moment.

Her thoughts, however, did not progress any more than that before she was assaulted by a wave of pain. Memories came rushing back – visions of being beaten and strangled coupled with glimpses of someone coming to her rescue when she had thought all hope was lost…

"I see you've finally awoken." Erik's voice filled the room suddenly, and Christine turned her head to see where he was. She found him quickly, sitting in a chair next to her bed. The sight of him was nearly enough to make her breath catch; it had been so long since she had seen his familiar mask. Adjusting his position in the chair slightly, he asked, "Are you feeling all right?"

Christine almost laughed. What an absurd question. How on earth could she be feeling all right when she had been attacked, and then saved by a man she had been trying to forget? "No," she said, her voice hoarse, "but I suppose the pain is preferable to lying somewhere in an alley."

A muscle in Erik's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing. Christine sat in the silence for a moment before she felt as if it would suffocate her. "I- I," she began. She stopped momentarily, unsure of what to ask. "Why am I here?"

It had not been quite what she meant to say, but she supposed it was a reasonable enough question. After all, why had he not taken her back to her home so she could get help there, or at the very least, to the doctor?

"You, my dear Madame," Erik said coolly, "had the remarkable foresight to lose consciousness before I could return you to the de Chagny estate and allow you to explain what had happened. Without your word, I rather doubted that a masked man appearing with an injured Viscomtess in my arms would garner any warm affection. This was closer than the doctor, and I have enough medical knowledge to know none of your injuries are life-threatening."

Christine tried to avoid the edge in his voice and collect her thoughts. Erik had taken her from the streets and brought her somewhere so she could recover. She was hurt, but not badly, and she would be better in time. Time! That brought another question. "How long have I been here?" Christine asked.

"No more than two hours," was the brisk reply.

"It must be so late – they'll worry," Christine murmured, realizing belatedly that no one would know where she was. What would they do when they saw that she hadn't returned home?

Before Christine could say anything else, Erik stood up abruptly. Stepping away from the chair, he said, "As soon as it's light, I will see you safely home, so you don't need to worry about bearing my presence much longer. You can tell your dear husband you went to the chapel last night, and on your way home you were attacked. Say someone was able to help you and brought you to a doctor." Erik paused and reached to the table behind him. Showing her a bottle, he continued, "You are to drink one swallow of this a day until the pain is gone. The doctor set your wrist in a brace of sorts, your scrapes will heal nicely, and the bruising around your neck will fade soon. I'm sure everyone will be so delighted to see you've returned, they won't question you too closely at first. You should have time to plan something believable."

The same silence from before settled in the room once more as he stopped. There was so much Christine needed to tell him, but she couldn't find her courage to speak and she hated herself for it. She thought briefly of thanking him, believing it to be simple enough, but found even that would require strength she currently couldn't muster.

It was Erik who finally broke the silence. "You should sleep for now," he told her in a voice that left no room for question.

As if taking orders from his words, a wave of exhaustion washed over her, and her eyelids fluttered shut. As she heard his footsteps begin to retreat from the room, she opened her eyes once more. She would sleep in a moment, but first, she had a question to ask. "Erik?" Christine called, hating her voice for sounding so utterly pathetic.

He turned around slowly, his eyes finding hers, challenging her to speak.

"Where I am?" she asked. She had tried to make out her surroundings, but through the pain and utter shock at seeing Erik again, she had been unable to focus on anything that could give away her location.

Erik laughed then, cold and mirthless, the sound echoing the small room. "Surely it hasn't been so long, Christine? Have the memories faded so quickly that you have forgotten your beloved opera house?"

Another terrible laugh escaped, and with that, he spun from the room.

Christine now found herself completely alone, trying to wrap her mind around how she had come to be underneath the opera house with Erik once more.

A/N2: Next chapter might be partly from Erik's point of view. Would that be distracting to read? I'd like to know what anyone reading this thinks: Christine's viewpoint only, or a mix of both:)