Name: Wishes

Rating: T, perhaps higher for later chapters

Summary: Christine has been forced into a world of chaos. Torn in so many directions, she must now decide how she wants her story to end, as she prepares to perform her angel's opera.

Disclaimer: By the age of PotO, you can probably guess I don't own it… never have, never will… I can dream though! All characters belong to Leroux, Webber, and anyone else who took up the task of creating the wonderful characters of Phantom.

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Time flew by as Christine took her lesson with Erik. When finally he stopped playing his music, her body was fatigued from the effort she'd been putting in to her singing. She pressed her hand to her diaphragm, taking in a deep breath to relax, wiggling her toes in her shoes. Erik watched her, the hint of a smile teasing his lips, and he lowered his hands into his lap to show that he wasn't going to be playing any more music.

"There was progress there, from beginning to end. By opening night you'll be ready." It was as much of a praise as any, and Christine beamed, nodding her head in agreement. Yes, she would get better, especially now that she had her angel to help her. A moment's silence passed by, and Erik looked to the door, almost awkwardly, as though he had something to say that he couldn't quite bear to divulge. Finally he sighed and lifted himself up, "I should take you back now."

Christine felt the immediate pain in her chest at the thought of leaving. She lost all concept of time while in his home, but was certain that her lesson had been well over two hours long. Still, she couldn't leave yet – not just yet! "Oh, please Erik… can't I stay just for a little while? It can't be too late yet… and I've…"

I've missed you. That's what she wanted to say, though she knew she couldn't. What would that do to her, if she said those very words? Erik would probably act out, take it as some sort of reassurance that she was his… and he would latch on to the idea and use it against her. No, she couldn't say that… not yet. With a sigh, she lowered her head, "But… if you would prefer to be out of my company… you did say that you had other duties to attend to-" She cut herself off before she babbled any further.

Without looking, she heard him sit back down in his seat in front of the organ, and felt his eyes on her, studying her as always. Christine bit her lower lip, fiddling idly with the skirts of her dress, again wondering what Erik thought of it. Did he like her in pink? Perhaps she should wear the dress more, if he did… Raoul liked it… But then, perhaps that would mean that Erik didn't. Ah! She shook her head, forcing her mind to stop wandering as she stood there. The silence deceased as she caught a coo of laughter from Erik, his form still but his lips curled into a smile. She had to look up at him then, to marvel at that smile she so rarely bore witness to. That little action, the tiny change of his visible features, made him seem a different man – a softer man, whose anger was far away and far less threatening. Christine smiled back.

"You really wish to stay?" He questioned, raising his eyebrow quizzically. The way he said it suggested there was much skepticism in his thoughts, and although he tried to hide it, Christine easily caught the hope that was glowing in his eyes. It warmed her heart to see it there once again.

"If I'm not going to be a bother-"

"No, no," he silenced her quickly, his smile disappearing, swiftly replaced with a determined frown, "Never a bother. Never a bother, Christine…" his voice was quiet as he turned to study the keys of his organ. Christine only smiled wider, daring to take a seat beside him.

She felt him go rigid where he sat, unsure of this new situation that he found himself in. For a moment, he reached his hands up towards the organ's keys, then thought twice, and replaced them into his lap, his frown deepening. Christine let her smile fade only a little, warm and welcoming as he finally looked down at her. "I've… it's been a long time since we've… spoken."

They had spoken last night, but Christine knew that's not what he meant. Before all of this, before she had discovered what he really was, he had been an Angel of Music. Christine would sit at her mirror and relay all sorts of stories from her day with him, tell him jokes that she'd learnt from the other girls and sometimes get scolded for thinking that such jokes were appropriate. Christine recalled relishing in the moments when a joke she told actually made him laugh – a beautiful sound that filled her thoughts and daydreams for days on end. But Christine could not speak with Erik as she had once done with her angel. Erik was merely a man – earthbound like any other mortal. There was much that she had to know of him before she could talk so freely with him once more. True, she had shared much with him, but now she couldn't. Especially now that she was engaged to Raoul.

A horrible feeling enveloped her as she recalled Raoul's plan to catch her poor Erik on opening night. She frowned, turning her own attention to the organ, and Erik cocked his head curiously. "What are you thinking?" There was no accusation in his question, merely an inquisitive tone that was almost like a child seeking permission for something it knew would be a long shot from its parents.

"Why does it matter what I'm thinking?"

Erik dared to raise his hand to her, his finger sliding to her chin, turning her ever so gently to face him before once again retreating, "Because it always matters."

A little sliver of nerves chased through her belly, and Christine pressed her lips into a thin line. She wanted so badly to tell him of the plot to ensnare him. But how could she? She had promised Raoul… and Raoul was her fiancé! She did not trust this man. She could not trust him. She trusted Raoul. For all she knew, Erik would only be angry upon hearing such news, and God help her, Christine couldn't incite his anger once more – not yet.

"Christine?" Erik brought her back from her wandering mind, and she sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging.

"When will this nightmare end?…" she breathed.

Erik was silent for a moment, processing her words. She hadn't intended them to have any meaning, but released upon speaking them that they were far from the right words to choose from. Erik stood, fury in his eyes, "Nightmare… yes, I can see how this would be a nightmare… you were so close, weren't you? So close to being free of the monster that lurks beneath your feet! Imagine if I hadn't of come to the masquerade that night, told you that you were to be in my opera… you would have gone off and married that boy, wouldn't you? All thoughts of me gone from your mind!"

"No, Erik!" Christine yelped, standing as well, determination ripe in her features, "I wouldn't of… Erik how could all thought of you leave my mind when you are all I think about! Six months you left me alone, fearful of what you would do, yes, but miserable too to know that I couldn't go to you – I couldn't have my angel to take comfort in, to frighten away my worries… I was a lost child, and of course I took comfort in Raoul! Raoul is my oldest and dearest friend! Who else was I to turn to?"

Erik shook his head and stepped around the organ's seat, turning his back on Christine as though to look at her would only further heighten his rage, "Giry! You could have gone to Madame Giry, or that silly ballet girl you seem to care for so greatly – Giry's daughter, isn't she? You could have gone to your managers… Monsieur Reyer, even! God, Christine, you have any number of people you could have gone to! But instead you go to a man who only seeks your affections to know that he has the love of a goddess not worthy of him! Do you hear me?" He didn't turn around, but turned his head, his masked side the only part of his features visible to her, "He is not worthy of you, or the brilliance of your soul. And yet you give it to him – you give him mind, body and soul so willingly! It pains me, Christine! It pains me to know that…" He panted heavily, lowering his head into his hands, and Christine watched as his shoulders moved slowly up and down before her. After many seconds of Christine standing in awe of his rant, unsure of how to answer, he stood up straight again and said slowly, "Does it shock you to hear that? To think that I care that much… that much for all that is you? No, it doesn't make sense… not when I so easily hurt you that night…"

Christine knew that he spoke of the chandelier, and hid her arms behind her back so that he wouldn't turn his attention back to them if he turned around. It was only evidence of the fact that she shouldn't trust him, and she didn't want evidence of that! God, she wanted only at that moment for him to turn around and show her that he was good! Not the devil that everyone told her he was. The thought caught her off guard – was that really all she needed? Evidence of what he really was, behind the mask and the façade that was the Opera Ghost? Christine was sure that there was more than that to him – oh, so much more.

"I shouldn't of left you for so long," she heard him mumble miserably, finally turning, slowly, to face her once more, "It gave them all ample time to poison your thoughts against me… the damage against me must already be too deep for me to-"

"No one poisoned my mind, Erik!" Christine had to defend herself, resenting the idea that she was so easily manipulated.

Erik only laughed, "Of course they did – the Vicomte especially. He loathes me, Christine, and he has made you feel the same way. God help the man who must watch his woman follow a Ghost – no, he would never have that… I would never have that if I were in his position."

Christine couldn't speak. Her head felt dizzy, heavy, and her arms hung limp at her sides. Erik was the embodiment of misery at that moment, and it filled her heart with such woe. She had left him for six months – not the other way around. She had left him to dwell on the idea that she hated him, had left him to think about the words she had spoken so rashly, so wrongly, to Raoul on the roof the night of the chandelier crash. He had been left to this place alone; to concoct all sorts of thoughts over what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Had she come looking for him, she wondered, would he of changed his opinion? Would he believe then that she hated him? Because she did not hate him! She could not hate this man that stood before her, no matter what wicked sin he committed, for whatever reason he saw fit.

Still, there was one more thing that needed to be said, and Christine shook as she breathed, "You killed Joseph Buquet, Erik…"

He flinched, but no further anger flared in his features. Instead he studied the seat by the organ that now stood between them, his visible features as expressionless as the mask he wore. Clenching his jaw tightly, he eventually nodded in confirmation, and Christine couldn't help but breath in a cry of despair, clasping her hands to her mouth as he finally acknowledged the murder, as she finally witnessed him confirm the deed. Before then, she could make up any story she wanted to excuse Erik of such a sin – she could pretend that Buquet had slipped and fell, or that he had blatantly committed suicide… now, though, there was no hiding from the truth. As she composed herself, Christine felt hot tears in her eyes, "Why?"

Erik blinked, his frown deep over his eye, "I have no reason that will comfort you, Christine. He was a threat to me, and over the years I have learnt that threats are best dealt with quickly and without remorse."

"And so you feel no remorse for what you did?"

"I feel remorse for what it has done to you!"

Christine shook her head defiantly, grinding her teeth, "It does not matter what it has done to me! It matters that you took another man's life, Erik!"

"Everything matters when it concerns you, Christine! What it has done to you is alter your opinion of me – you now know that I am not the angel you so hoped me to be. Well, it's true – I could never be that creature, a creature of the Lord. I am of darkness. I will never be a creature of the Lord."

"Please don't, Erik," Christine could hear no more, raising a hand for him to be silent.

Instead he strode forward; took her hand in his and pressed her palm to his chest. He let her feel his erratic heartbeat beneath his shirt, "I am not, Christine. But that does not mean that I don't feel. That does not mean that I cannot worship you, need you like any other man. God, I've pined for you, Christine! I've wallowed in loathsome self-pity down here for months without you near, without your voice to guide me and help me through my days! You know I almost didn't reveal myself the night of the masquerade? I watched you for hours in his arms, smiling and doting on him like a loyal pet – I even considered the idea of leaving everything there, my opera, my desires, you… I couldn't though! I had to see you; I had to be once again in your presence… I need you in my life and I can't stand the thought of living without you, Christine! Oh, God help me…"

His grip on her wrist was strong as he spoke, and Christine wanted to cry out in fear as he relayed feelings that she herself had been feeling for months. With as much strength as she could muster, Christine pulled her hand free of his grasp, shaking her head and stepping back, "I can't do this, Erik! You can't speak such things… I am engaged to Raoul. I am marrying Raoul!"

"Yes… yes, because you love Raoul." It was said like he didn't really believe it, and with a huff, he fell back into his seat, stare fixed to the floor at his feet. Again their time together has been used up fighting, with him yelling at her for things Christine was sure she didn't deserve to hear. She did, though. Guilt had overcome her in the minutes he'd used to speak, the words she had used to describe him and her feelings towards him that night with Raoul taking over her mind. How had she said those things? She had meant none of them, and was spurned on only by fear. She had needed Raoul's comfort then, because she could not have her angel's. Was that what Raoul had become? A substitute for the loss of an angel… it hardly seemed right.

The ring around her neck suddenly felt very heavy, and Christine had to work hard to quell the desire to rip it from its chain and throw it across the room.

"Are you ready to leave now?"

"No."

"Hmm."

Christine stood still for a moment, expecting Erik to tell her that she had to leave, or that she should leave even if she didn't want to. He did nothing though, instead continued to keep his gaze on the floor, her presence seemingly forgotten to him. With an audible sigh that she intended for him to hear, Christine moved away from the organ and over to where he had set up a small, green couch by the fire. She sat down in it, curling into a small ball, legs hitched up beneath her and skirts ruffled all around her. Christine pressed her head to the armrest, staring into the flames that were so warm against her skin. Behind her, she could hear Erik stir, and a moment later a slow, melancholic tune filled her ears as he played his music. The song was riveting, and Christine listened intently to each perfect note, letting her eyes softly close as the music filled the room. She felt tears on her cheeks, ignoring the knowledge that his music should not affect her so greatly. With every note, Erik poured his whole heart and soul into the piece, his fingers effortlessly gliding over the keys, his head low and eyes closed as he played what he felt.

Christine didn't dare look back at him, knew that if she did she would be enticed to join him at the organ. Instead, she burrowed deeper into the couch, letting the music take her to another world. She drifted off to sleep just as the piece finished, only to be joined with another at its end.

X0X0X0X

Erik played for hours. He had lost track of time, as he always did when he poured his emotions into the pieces he concocted at his organ. When at last the music silenced, and he sat there, breathless and deep in thought, he realized that Christine hadn't bothered him once. Out of fear that she had run off, trying to find her way to the surface without his help, he turned quickly, already on his feet. A wave of relief swept over him when he saw her form still on the couch, head in the same position on the armrest as when he'd last – only – checked on her. Her skin was rosy in the light of the fire, the light of the flames dancing across her features, bathing her in a glow that only a goddess could possess.

Slowly, so slowly so as not to wake her, Erik crept over to where she lay, her breathes even and steady, deep in sleep. Her hands were clasped tightly together around the ring at her neck, and Erik couldn't help but reach out and part her fingers, let them curl around his own hand instead of a mere trinket bestowed upon by a Vicomte. He wanted to curse himself for thinking it – knew that he should not. How could he not, though? Her delicate fingers were so very light against his cool skin, warming his own fingers where hers held tightly. In the midst of sleep, Christine sighed, and he wondered where her mind was – what dreamland her thoughts had taken her to.

He noticed her shiver.

Without a moments more hesitation, Erik stood and very gently roped his arms beneath Christine's sleeping form. He was as delicate as he could be – fearing so greatly the thought of her waking as he lifted her into his arms. Her hair tickled his skin, soft and warm as the rest of her. She mumbled something incoherent, pressing her cheek against the warmth of his chest, curling fingers against the lapel of his jacket. Erik had to force his mind stay focused to his task of moving her, fearing what course of action he'd take if he continued to stare down at the girl in his arms as he took her out of the music room and down the hall.

He pushed open the door to her awaiting bedroom. How long had he dreamed of taking her in there? Of showing her what pleasures he'd created for her – look Christine, he thought, I've even given you a mirror! He lowered her onto the bed, the dark sheets complimenting her perfect, porcelain skin. Tucking the blanket up around her, making sure that she would be warm enough, Erik turned back to tend to the fire and then settle in to the lounge chair he'd thoughtfully placed in the corner. Until she woke, it couldn't hurt to simply watch her, could it? She was so perfect…

Erik swore then that he would not be forced to part with her again, not for months on end. Not even if she commanded it of him. Because, Erik knew, he could not give Christine up. No, no matter what he did, he could not leave her to the hands of the Vicomte.

X0X0X0X

When Christine woke, she was lying in a large, silken bed, warm and comfortable. The covers were pulled up around her, and her shoes had been removed. It was like that first night down in Erik's home all over again; only she had never been in this room before. When she had awoken that first time, it had been on the couch in the living room, covered in a thick blanket of wool. She sat up, observing her surroundings.

The silk sheets were a rich purple, with elegant stitching embroidered into the fabric. Plush cushions lay strewn about on the huge bed, too tall for Christine's feet to reach the floor even if she dangled them out of it. Beside her was a mahogany table, empty but for a full glass of water. Little beads of wetness encircled it, showing that once it had been a cold glass of water before the warmth of the room had caused it to perspire. A fire roared to her left, with a fresh log in place, already half-eaten away by the flames, and a large, purple lounge chair rested against the wall to her right, facing towards the bed. It was empty, but Christine couldn't help but imagine Erik sitting there, watching her in her sleeping state. It brought a blush to her cheeks. Beside it was a large chest of draws, and in the corner, opposite the fireplace, was a large dressing table, strewn with perfumes, combs and other such fine objects for her use. One large mirror stood on it, the first she had seen in the house, and she mentally thanked Erik for that. Directly opposite the bed on the other side of the room was the door that no doubt led out to the main hall, and the wall to Christine's left housed a door, which she could only guess led to a bathroom.

She marveled at the room as she took it in, dark as it was, bathed only in a few candles and the fire's lights. It must have taken Erik forever to assemble it, hours of consideration at what to add and what not to add. She could imagine him fussing over colours, finally deciding on purple – Christine vaguely recalled that that was a colour of royalty, was it not? She bit her bottom lip at the thought. She thought about how he must have argued with himself when it came to adding the mirror.

Christine wondered what the chest of draws held within them. She pushed her blankets aside, hopping down, her feet cold against the plush carpet she landed on. Her shoes had been placed at the foot of the bed, and she slipped them on. She didn't look in the draws, didn't really want to know what effort Erik had put into adding things to it. Instead she headed to the door, checking her appearance in the mirror before opening it.

She immediately heard a clatter from the kitchen down the hall to her left. Shutting her door quietly, she crept down the hall, not wishing to disturb Erik of whatever it was he was doing. Light streamed against the opposite wall of the door that led into the kitchen, and every so often his shadow bounced into view, busy as ever. Christine caught the smell of cooking, breathing deeply as she relished in the scent. When was the last time she'd eaten? For a worrying moment, she realized that she didn't even know what time it was. Had she slept through the afternoon, into the night?

She'd have to ask Erik.

When she reached the door, she poked her head around to investigate. Erik had his back to her, his attention on whatever it was he was cooking on the stove. Behind him stood a small, wooden table, just big enough for two. He'd only laid out one plate and mug, already filled with some steaming hot beverage.

"You were expecting me to rise soon, I take it?" Christine hummed as she looked at the scene, and she almost laughed when he jumped, clattering the frying pain in his hand against the stove.

"Christine!" Erik exclaimed, a worried glance turned back to her. Christine smiled, taking a seat at the table and pointing at the mug, "Is this for me, by any chance?"

After a moment of shock, Erik nodded, "Hot chocolate. I hope it's to your liking."

Her stomach grumbling, Christine raised the drink to her lips, letting the hot liquid warm her throat as she greedily gulped it down, "It's delicious, Erik! I never realized you could cook."

"There was never a time to show you that I could," he shrugged off, turning back to his cooking. After a minute, he brought the frying pan over to her and scooped a fresh omelet onto her plate, sizzling with heat. Christine could smell an array of exotic herbs that he had used in its making, wondering vaguely where he had acquired such tastes. He placed the pan in the sink and extinguished the stove before taking a seat opposite her, producing a knife and fork for her to eat with. Christine waited a moment for it to cool before taking a bite.

"It's wonderful, Erik," she praised, nodding encouragement. Erik nodded, but said nothing, watching instead as she took another bite, following the movements of her hands. "Will you not have any?"

He waved a dismissive hand, "I've already eaten."

Halfway through her meal, Christine frowned, remembering the need to ask, "What time is it?"

"It's late. You've been asleep for a few hours… I couldn't bear to wake you. You've not been sleeping well lately?" It was a simple summary that he probably didn't need an answer to. Was it that obvious, though? Her cheeks reddened under his constant gaze. Of course she hadn't. Christine had far too much on her mind to sleep well at the present time, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a decent night's sleep.

Clearing her throat, and taking another sip of the hot chocolate beside her plate, Christine answered simply, "Not very well."

"Hmm. I suppose it's understandable."

She didn't want to discuss why it was understandable though, and instead waved her hand at her food, "Where did you find these herbs that you've used, Erik? They truly are great."

Erik noticed something on his shirtsleeve that Christine was fairly sure was an imaginary piece of lint, and brushed it off, taking in a deep breath, "From Persia. I spent some time there." That was the end of the explanation, and Christine wondered when he'd ever found the time to venture to Persia. There was so much that she didn't know of this man… so much that she wanted to know. With a sigh, she finished off her meal in silence, ignoring Erik's eyes on her.

When she was done, he took her plate and placed it in the sink, "I really should take you back now. They'll begin to worry."

Everyone from the world above was no doubt in bed. Christine wasn't tired, but knew that Erik was right – she did have to leave now, if only to avoid rumors of her whereabouts. Most would probably just assume that she was with Raoul… rumors in the Opera House, though, often escalated quickly. With a slow nod, she rose from her chair and followed Erik down the hall, stretching her arms as she did. She wanted to be rid of the dress she wore – sleeping in corsets and tightly bound outfits never did anything for Christine's nerves and patience, the same as anyone, and she welcomed the thought that she would soon be able to change.

Leaving the house, she vowed that she would be returning soon, and followed Erik down to the boat. For the most part, their journey was taken in silence. Halfway across the lake, though, Erik had begun to hum – some melody that Christine couldn't place, but she was happy to listen nonetheless. As the boat scrapped the shore of the other side he stopped, as though in check of his actions, and didn't continue the tune. For a few metres that they walked Christine went alone, following only the sound of his footsteps, but when she felt him turn around to watch and make sure she didn't trip on one of the stone steps that led up to the first of the winding corridors, she latched onto his arm, roping it around her own as though he were merely escorting her down a street in the city.

"Christine-" he tried to object, but Christine only squeezed tighter, a show of defiance to his desire to pull away. The darkness was a bad influence on her – it made her bold when she knew she shouldn't be. What would Raoul have thought of her then? Walking arm in arm with a man she'd condemned as a monster. When daylight came Christine wondered if she'd regret her action, as subtle as it was.

The corridors began to feel familiar as they reached the higher levels, and finally they arrived at the mirror that opened out to her dressing room. Christine let go of an unsteady breath, "Thank you, Erik."

"You shouldn't thank me."

She blinked, confused, "Why? You spent hours with me today, working on my voice, when you didn't have to. If anything, I should be more grateful."

Erik was silent as he pondered her words. Eventually, he reached up and popped the latch that opened the mirror, and it opened only a crack. Christine leaned her back against the stone behind her, a sign that she wasn't yet ready to leave, and Erik sighed in frustration, "Why are you acting like this now? I've resigned myself to the fact that you are marrying the Vicomte…"

"No you haven't, Erik…" She shouldn't speak like this, Christine knew, but something had snapped in her when she'd walked in on Erik cooking dinner for her. It was such an innocent duty – making someone's dinner for them. Coupled with the room she had been so privileged to see, her head was spinning in a million different directions. The ring around her neck seared her skin; cast an emotion within her that Christine didn't care to think about now. Now, she only wanted to know what Erik saw in her… what Erik wanted from her, aside from performing his opera. The thought of her life with Raoul, as set on it as she had been, seemed distant and… unfathomable… in comparison to having Erik in her life, no matter how small of a role he played. Christine couldn't live without him. Couldn't leave his presence without knowing that he'd return. "Will we meet for another lesson tomorrow, Ange?"

"Christine…" Erik wanted to stop her from using that name. It wasn't a name fit for the likes of him. "Yes, I would like to continue work on your voice. But don't you think that-"

"I don't want to think anymore, Erik." The admission was a shock to both of them, and Christine wanted to retract it as soon as she said it. It was true, that was for sure. She was sick of her doubts and thoughts and regrets… she wanted only to rely on what she felt, but couldn't even decide on that! She felt torn, that much she knew. Torn between two opposing forces that threatened to break her, leave her as nothing but a drooling mess.

As she thought this, she realized that Erik had stepped closer to her, so close that she could feel the warmth that emanated from his skin. He lowered his head so that his lips were only inches away from her ear, and in a hoarse whisper, said, "I think that would be a bad idea, don't you?" It was teasing, and Christine wanted to push him away. Instead, she let her hands rest on his chest, breathed in his scent, rested her forehead against his shoulder. He moaned in approval of the action, cupping her head delicately in his hand, tugging her still closer as one hand came to rest at her waist. Her hair was so soft in his fingers, curling and entwining around them….

"Erik…"

"Christine."

Sense struck her then, and Christine did pull back, eyes wide. How did he do that to her? How could he make her fall so quickly into his embrace? She truly had stopped thinking, and her cheeks felt hotter than ever as she stared up at him. Reality beckoned her, and Christine breathed out deeply, ignoring the look of shock and hurt that had found their way to Erik's expression. She swallowed, shaking a little, noticed that he was shaking too. She raised her hand and touched it lightly to his arm, "I'm… Erik, I can't."

He blinked, shaking his head, "No. I know. Go to bed, Christine. I'll see you tomorrow." His voice was strong and showed no hint of annoyance or sorrow, and Christine shut her mouth to stop herself from saying anything more. She nodded her head, stepped closer to the mirror and pushed it open a little wider.

"Goodnight, Erik," she said over her shoulder.

"Sleep well, Ange." He breathed, almost inaudible.

With one last glance at the man she was leaving behind, Christine fled into the world she should have been able to take comfort in. She shut the mirror and headed instantly to the door, ignoring the desire to go back. Comfort could only be found in this world, Christine told herself, and she would not yield to her sudden – or, discovered – desire to chase after the darkness. She practically slammed the dressing room door shut as she left it behind, heading up to the dormitories to change and ready for bed. She could worry about her actions tomorrow. For now, sleep once again seemed like the more inviting path to take.