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"With more feeling, Christine!" I raised my hand in one of those tragic, grandiose gestures so commonly seen on the operatic stage, in order to emphasize my point. She blushed a tad in response, and sucked on her bottom lip, enrapt in my instruction. "You see, my dear, a woman may possess the most phenomenal voice ever heard, and flawless technique, but if she can not express the emotions the music and libretto call for, then she is as good as a mute, dying lark. Do you understand?" I didn't wait for her to answer, but pushed the lecture with one closing statement. "Music is not meant simply to be heard, the soprano not meant to be admired by the purity of her high notes, and the composer not worshipped for the difficulty of his works. The music is meant to be felt, and the soprano and the composer are meant to make the listener feel. That is the heart of music-emotion at its truest and rawest form. And when you realize this fact; truly know what it means, then I will have no more to teach you." My words softened, as did my face, and I attempted a comforting smile to show her I was satisfied with the lesson. For, the girl was looking a bit dismayed that she'd received yet another lecture. I wanted to run the back of my hand along her smooth cheek, but thought better of it, and refrained. In lessons, I could ask for nothing more from her-a more dedicated pupil never to be found. As I had said earlier, in music, Christine and I were one.

She picked up the stray sheets of music, I'd let fall to the floor in my haste of accompanying her singing, and stacked them neatly in a pile to put in the Louis XIV bureau I'd purchased to hold my endless selection of scores. I breathed a 'thank you', and dipped my head in her direction. Rising from the piano bench, I checked the clock in the corner of the room, realizing that it was time to have a much thought-over conversation with the girl.

I motioned her to join me in the study, taking a seat in the dark recliner I often favored. Christine assumed her usual place on the ground where the ottoman would have been positioned, peering up at me with wondering eyes.

"What is it, Erik?" Her voice was a bit wavery-she might be expecting bad news. Little did she know that the tidings I was to bear her would bring the color back to her fair cheeks; the warmth back to her frightened heart. And leave me with an emptiness and uncertainty that I wasn't sure would ever be filled again.

"Christine," Best to begin with her name-the only thing to say tonight that would come easily. Immediately, she was attentive, her large eyes focused on the whiteness of my mask, or higher still, on my own set of eyes. "I think . . .I think . . ."How could I say this? I felt as if nails had pierced my heart, and I could not breathe.

"Yes?" My hesitancy made her all the more nervous. It was evident in her question.

"Do you miss the sunlight, my dear?" Great, Erik! Just go ahead and avoid the conversation! She gave me an expression that showed that she didn't quite realize what I was alluding to, so I continued. "Well, you have been my guest for two weeks. I dare say, the people up above, such as your friend, Mademoiselle Giry, are wondering what has happened to you!" I gave her a little smile, and chuckled-although it was a forced effort.

"Two weeks? Has it really been that long?" Her face came alive with surprise, and, I must give credit that it was indeed 'surprise' and not shock.

"Haven't you been marking the days off on the calendar I placed in your room? I left it there, along with that grandfather clock, so you wouldn't lose time..."

"Well, it is easy to become distracted down here, there's so much to think about, to do...I'm sorry, I just didn't notice the days passing by."

"It's all right, my dear. You've been concentrating on your musical studies. For that, I am grateful and proud of you. I could not have asked for a better pupil."

She blushed, not accustomed to such unabashed praise from her strict teacher, then modestly dug her face in her hands when she felt the warmth of the rising pink on her otherwise pale cheeks.

"Christine, what I mean to ask you, is, are you ready for me to take you back up to the world above?" There, I'd spat out the horrible end-all question.

It could have been worse.

She could have shot up from the ground right then, and demanded I take her back immediately. Or she could have shouted, "Please, I miss Raoul!"

But, she didn't.

Instead, she was silent. Which meant, that I was to make the decision for her. I inhaled many breaths, listening for the distant, soothing clicks of the second hand on that expensive clock, waiting for the right moment. Time had no meaning and so much. It seemed not to exist below in my subterranean home, at least when Christine was present, and then, in perfect irony, it passed so quickly. If I had not possessed the damned grandfather clock or the calendar, I would have believed the girl had just arrived. But, no, it had been two weeks, two wonderful, and equally agonizing weeks. Would I ever experience anything like the near happiness I'd felt, again? "I don't want you to leave, Christine. I'm sure that you realize that, but I don't have much of a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"If I make you stay down here, and prevent you from singing up above, then what good will all your training serve?" Yes, Erik, use that excuse. Any will work. Don't tell her that you're testing her, testing yourself. Seeing if she will return, attempting to find out if you can survive without her for a time.

She nodded at my logical statement, but with a pouty lip and sunken eyes. "We leave in an hour, mon chere." I left her without a choice-which was much easier for both of us. "You should pack whatever belongings you wish to take back to your own flat, whatever scores you'd like to practice...Meet me in front of my bedroom when you are ready." With that, and a final look at her confounded visage, I stood and exited the room.
* * * * * * * * * *

"Erik?" I swirled around to find Christine standing in front of my doorway, tapestried valise rocking between her tiny fingers. I set aside my score, deposited my pen back into the ornate inkwell, and cleared my throat. "Yes?"

"I'm ready . . .I'm ready to go, now." She hit the reasonably soft bag against her covered knees, nibbling on her bottom lip, as she had often done when she was uneasy.

"Of course, well, that was rather quick of you, Christine. I must say, I had no idea you could organize all those jewels and gowns so fast!" I chuckled and approached her, gesturing for her to step into the hall. We moved to the piano, where she absentmindedly plucked out a melody constructed of a random handful of notes. "Here," I shook my finger in the direction of her valise, "Let me get that for you." Without offering her a chance to reply, I gingerly took it from her hand and hefted its surprisingly light weight in my palm.

She must have noticed my reaction to its near emptiness, for she cleared her throat and spoke, "I didn't pack very much, only one or two of the dresses in the closet, along with my hairbrushes and the silver hand mirror . . ."

"Why not more, Christine? All those lovely silks and jewels, the slippers and the petticoats, they are all there to be used at your disposal. Do with them any way you wish." I was confused; wouldn't any young woman like to adorn herself in elegant robes, and satin slippers if she had the option?

"The clothes are very beautiful, Erik, and I thank you for them, but..." She hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Well, I do want to leave many of them here, so I will have something to wear when I come back."

My heart shook with her innocent assumption, my voice nearly leaving me. "When you come back?" I stuttered like the idiot I surely must be, and let the valise alight silently to the cold floor.

"Yes, when I come back. I am to return to you, am I not?"

Was it hope I read in her captivating eyes? Did I dare allow myself to think...

"If you like, my dear." Was all I could muster, before retrieving the bag and advancing toward the hollow nook in the right wall to fetch my lantern.

"Come, we must be on our way."
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