Part 2

What are you doing, Christine?! Go back, return to Raoul!

He is of my least of concern right now, I want to end this once and for all!

She steadily made her way down the dark passageways, careful not to miss a single step. He had assured her that this passageway would always be free of worry for her, for it lead right to his lair. She had no reason to worry. Dark as it was, but she knew the entire path by heart.

Hands still groping aimlessly in the musty air, she was forced to remember the time when he made her claw at his face. What had he said then?

"Feast your eyes, Christine! Feast your eyes and hands on Erik! Where are your hands, your hands?! Do you see now, Christine, what your foolishness has done to you? Oh Christine…" She could still hear his sobs. "Why must you be so cruel to me…?"

His name is Erik, she finally realized. She stopped walking and let the strange name flow from her mouth. "Erik…"

Why, it was a name from Scandinavia, just like her and her papa! She couldn't help but smile at this revelation and resumed walking with almost renewed purpose. He finally has a name to me. Erik. I'm liking how that sounds.

So why is it that only now that you recall his name?

Oh, I don't know. He'll know for sure, all I must do is ask him.

What makes you think that he knows? He is only a mortal like you. A mortal who hid behind a mask.

Because he's not human! He's a monster who has been raising me, something beyond human level!

You are such a fool. You classify him as a monster based on his face alone?

It's not just his face! His very actions scream out monster!

What actions? The only odd thing he has done is kidnap you, and plenty of people have been kidnapped, not just by disfigured geniuses.

And the chandelier, mind you! He killed the new box-keeper with a chandelier!

He was merely protecting Madame Giry's job. You know the two are quite close. Couldn't you see? The sad look she had in her eyes every time she saw you as of late?

That was not for him, I'm pretty sure, but for my trauma. It must be it, why would she show sympathy for him?

You forget that it is she who delivers his notes. You don't know. You don't know what was going on between them.

She began to descend down the winding steps, which wrapped tightly around a pillar of concrete. One hand still in front of her, she found the other tracing the smooth concrete, so unlike the rest of the walls leading up to his lair.

Oh god, I'm closing in on his lair. What do I say? What will I do? Is he even still around here?

She reached the very shores of the underground lake, and was disappointed to not see a boat docked nearby.

How am I going to get across? Think, Christine, think. Her eyes scanned through the accustomed darkness, searching for signs of the boat. She finally found the boat, some 10 meters from her.

Eagerly, she rushed to the little wooden boat and bent down against it.

But it wasn't as it seemed. Not only rotten, the boat had clearly been destroyed by someone else. Chunks from the sides and bottom were missing, and she had a vague idea who did this.

Raoul. He did this during our escape.

Cursing angrily at her fiance, Christine got back up and unconsciously stepped into the water. She froze as the cold lake made contact with her skin.

Why do I insist on visiting him anyway? On the day of my wedding out of all days? She bemused. Taking no concern to her costume, she trudged onward through the cold, shallow lake, which was quickly rising up to her chest.

He must be bewitching me, that's why. Yes, I must go there and tell him to let me go.

No, you are not going there just to do that! You love him, don't you? In your own, twisted way.

Christine stopped at the center of the lake. Love? She shook her head at that absurd thought. That cannot be, I'm in love with Raoul.

Yet you currently flee from him and run into the arms of Erik. You, Christine, are a walking contradiction.

Back to walking ever so slowly, her mind still raced with her confusing thoughts.

Do I love him? Do I really?

Yes, you must love him. Otherwise, why exactly are you going to his house.

Raoul! What about Raoul! I should go back! I really should!

You've past the point of no return already. There's no going back. You've already gone so far on your journey.

Shivering as she finally reached the other side of the lake, she searched for the secret unguarded entrance that he… Erik, you should get this in your head now! That Erik had showed her so long ago. It had been so long ago that, when she finally found the secret entrance, she was surprised that she actually still remembered its location.

What if he doesn't want to see me? She hesitated, fingers lingering over the tiny bronze grasshopper, amidst the other bumps meant to imitate wood on the bronze frame, that contained the secret latch. What if he does not want to see me, what if he kills me for my actions?

There's only one way to find out. You open the door and confront him. Then let's see if he actually is a monster.

Pushing gently with resolve on the grasshopper, the door clicked. As she removed her finger, she was surprised to find that the grasshopper had disintegrated under her finger. Tiny chunks of brass rained down onto the floor. She couldn't help but feel saddened at the sight.

No, you must carry on. The grasshopper is not the reason why you are here.

With a final glance at the lake behind her, she passed through the entrance, entering his lair.

Already she could tell something was off.

Once so vibrant and filled with light, the lair was dark, gloomy, and smelled strongly of liquor. The organ that she so fondly recalled was silent, and she could hear the sounds of water dripping from an unknown source. There was no sign of life.

"Angel?" she called out hesitantly.

"Angel?... Angel?... Angel?..." The walls of his lair echoed right back at her, as if taunting her for using such a name to describe him.

It cannot be… he can't have left, could he? He achieved so much here in the opera house…

You made him leave, don't you remember? You're the one who broke his broken heart into smithereens.

Brr… I'm cold. She finally felt the coldness in the lake begin to take effect. Shivering, she made her way to the room he… Erik had designated for her use. She knew that it would be stocked full of clothes specifically for her.

Unzipping the frilly dress and placing on a clean pair of robes, she returned back out the lair's common area.

So what do I do now? What is there to do, seeing that no one is here?

You should just wait. Perhaps look around his vast library. There were many books that had sparked your interest, don't you remember? Like that copy of "Little Lotte" that he too possessed…

With her mind made up, she walked to the library.

The library was just as dark and abandoned as the rest of his lair. There was not a single movement. Christine couldn't believe it. Not only was there no music coming from the lair, but there was no Erik…

Why am I hurt so much by the fact that Erik is no longer here? I should be happy and dancing for joy, not long for him.

She lit a candle that rested on a table in the center of the library, wishing to read while she awaited Erik's return. Immediately, she noticed a small, weathered journal of sorts right next to the candle. Curiously, she picked it up and flipped through the pages. It was chocked full of sloppy, childish handwriting which she would have recognized from anywhere. The phantom.

What reason would he have to keep a journal? I don't recall him ever taking it out whenever I stayed here.

You are a fool, aren't you. You were never here for longer than one night. And you spent all of your time sleeping. You wouldn't know.

Returning back to the front page, she recognized the start date as the day of the masquerade.

1 January 1882.