Happy New Year! I just thought I'd let you all know, if you want to scream at me in real time, my writing blog on tumblr is donttouchthekeyboard

Just in case you need it.

Here we go, baby

~Donttouchthefigs


A month later saw it done.

"We must speak," was what started it.

"That's never good." Christine stopped on the stage, hugging her bag to her chest. Erik was not standing by the piano today, instead seated on the bench, fingers laced over the fall board. His mouth, visible by his black mask, was set in a resolute line. She felt a lecture coming on. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Oh good." She leaned against the piano. Creating music was euphoric, but she had to admit, she was missing her singing. She practised at home, like usual, but she missed the back and forth with her Maestro. It was more...intimate than constantly recording and editing. She tugged off her mittens, and wriggled her fingers, reaching for his folded ones.

"I showed you mine, show me yours." It was what she had fallen into saying before every lesson. His hands were healing well, and she didn't need to check them every other day. But their touch was electric, and guiltily, it was an excuse to touch him.

Erik sighed and pulled off his gloves, almost routine. She took his right hand and examined the stitches, gently ghosting her fingers over the stitching. He would be playing again, and he had promised to show her the organ he had tucked away somewhere. She was excited for that; it would add depth to much of their music.

"We must discuss your career."

Oh no. Christine forced a grin. "My repertoire has only a few songs, remember?"

"I do. But the stitches will dissolve soon, and we will build on it."

"I'm not ready to perform!" Christine stepped back, dropping his hand as if the touch burned her, her heart hammering in her chest. She had said she needed time...months ago. Yet still! She couldn't, oh she just couldn't sing in front of a crowd-or worse. Judges. "It's almost Christmas, the opera season is ending soon. There's nothing for me to audition for!"

"I am not asking you to audition. Stop fidgeting as if you were about to flee." He used his teacher voice, and God help her, it worked. Her spine straightened automatically, and she stood, waiting for his next words. "But there is a showcase being planned for the summer, here at the opera house. It is a perfect opportunity for you. It is not an audition, you'd only have to learn one piece, and it will give you the early exposure you'd need."

A showcase. She, in a line of other musicians, showing off their talent. She'd be all alone on stage, singing for a packed theater. Singing with the voice she'd given o Maestro to the cold, critical crowds. Her stomach squeezed and she felt a little queasy. "No."

"No?" Now Erik tilted his head. "No, she says. No."

"No I can't do it, I'm not ready."

"I decide when you are ready, Christine. I have given you the time you-"

"No you don't, it's not your voice!" Said voice was so high and shrill by now, it echoed around them. Erik went utterly still, and did not speak for a very long while. But ironically, her cowardice gave her the bravery not to crack first. She wasn't going to do this! She wasn't going to go on there, a college drop out and show them the voice they, together, had brought.

Indeed, despite the argument she had witnessed, Christine had quite put out of her mind the reason for her lessons. Supplanting Carlotta, becoming a diva, if only to prove they didn't need the celebrity. It had all fallen totally by the wayside. They had been creating-had been with each other for so long now that it seemed…

It seemed like they were together only to be together.

Christine, fool that she was, had come no longer to learn, but to be with Erik. And she had suspected-believed-the same about him. Her heart went into free fall at the thought: had he really only been kind? All these gentle smiles, and indulgent touches, had they only been to humor her and her over excited enthusiasm?

Had he only meant her for this purpose, and this alone?

"It was not your music to cultivate," he said softly, and her mouth fell open at the low blow. "But you did anyway, and you created something beautiful. No, it is not my voice, but I have worked beside you just as hard."

"That was cruel," she whispered.

"What is cruel is denying yourself, and me, the recognition you deserve," Erik snapped. "What have we been doing all this time Christine? What have we been working for? Devotion, do you not remember? Total devotion!"

She stamped her foot. Actually stamped her foot like a five year old. But the pain that radiated up her leg kept her from tearing up. Oh, she was so close to tears at all times now! Before returning to music, she was never this volatile! No, no this couldn't be happening. There was still so much to do and to say. If she started performing it would be the end of all they had created. He told her he would always teach her, but if he was planning on this showcase launching her into a career it would be different, they would be totally different. They would no longer have this precious secret time together. They'd change before she could even have him for her own…

"You told me that even if I never auditioned you'd be happy to teach me! Did you lie?"

Erik lowered his forehead to his hands, resting atop them on the fallboard. Christine wanted to shake him for the gesture. She wanted to know, did he lie? Was he just comforting her? Treating her like a child (not that she was helping that cause at the moment) and soothing her emotions at that moment with white lies?

"Erik did say that. Erik did not lie." When his head rose, his eyes blazed into her, skewering her where she stood. "But I cannot let my personal feelings interfere with what is best for you." He rapped a knuckle against the fall board, accentuating his point. She wondered for a flash of a second, who he was talking to. Him or her?

To that Christine had nothing. She only knew she couldn't do it, not yet. She couldn't let people see this beautiful thing she had, have them all staring at her, expecting her to be great. She didn't want the cruel harsh, critical world picking apart what they had done. It was precious to her. It was her home, and she felt protective of it. She didn't care about their opinions, their jeering thoughts invading the one bit of peace she had carved out for herself. "Please Erik, please don't make me do this."

She heard him gasp, sucking air quick into his lungs as if her were in pain at the sound of his name. She looked up, but his hand was on the piano, flat and unmoving. "Christine..."

"I don't feel so good. Maybe today is not good for a lesson," she said quickly, before he stared another round of reasons why she should obey. Surprisingly, he nodded, letting her go. Disappointment wracked through her. She had planned on sitting with him and choosing a rift for one of his faster pieces. She had simulated three for him to choose from, like an eager student ready for praise. Now she stepped off the stage too early, a failure to her Maestro.

"Wait."

She was almost to the door, and Erik was striding up the aisle towards her. "Christine. Your Erik would never ask more of you than you can do. I know you can dazzle the world. I know this." He held out a gloved hand, having already replaced the damn things. That touch, their only real touch conveyed so much. Understanding, hurt, happiness. She slid her fingers in his, wanting to know what he was conveying now, hoping perhaps to communicate her own heart to him. His hands clasped hers, covering it completely. "I've scared you, hurt you. May...may I make it better? The hurt?"

Christine tilted her head to the side, confused. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted her hand up. Eyes never leaving her, his lips pressed against her knuckles and the sickening poison of shame was banished in an instant. Suddenly, she was all aflame, every nerve alive as his thin lips touched. They were firm, barely any lips to speak of, but his flesh had that same marble smoothness she had suspected. It lasted only a second before he parroted, "All better?"

"A little," she breathed, her blue eyes wide and glassy. Had they always been this close? Her fingers tightened over his. How could she leave now? How could she go? We he coming closer? Her eyes lifted from her knuckles to his-and she saw they were no longer gold, but had darkened to a honey with...with...

I'm going to be kissed, she thought. Of course she had been wrong before, maybe she was just over romantic. Or maybe this was the only time she had really wanted someone to kiss her. But they were so close... The mask is going to be uncomfortable, but he's gonna kiss me. Oh God... His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she tilted up obligingly, instinctually. Should she close her eyes? What if they missed? Kiss me, please don't make me do this. Don't make me be the one to confess. Kiss me so I can accept you.

"Go. Please go. Think about it," he said softly. His breath fanned over her mouth, but he moved no closer. He was like stone to her now, unmoving, not daring to come any closer. "Think about it Christine. Please, for your Maestro?"

"Yes. For you," she swore.

He closed his eyes. "Go," he whispered, before his voice became stronger. Commanding. "Go, Christine."

Her heart was in her throat, and she could barely feel her limbs, having gone numb with anticipation. She left him standing there, slightly bent in the isle and hurried out into the street. The biting late November wind shocked her back into reality. She crunched through the blackish snow left on the sidewalk, hurrying to the bus stop, apprehension and...disappointment weighing in her stomach.

Erik almost kissed her, right there in the theater. He had kissed her hand, held it tenderly, leaned so close that had she lifted but an inch...

There was no mistaking it now. He did think of her the same way. He did want her like she wanted him. And he was unable to let go, like her. Oh what a pair they made! Sitting on the cold metal bench beneath the glass shelter of the bus stop, she pulled out her phone.

.

Me
Meg, tomorrow I need to talk to you after my shift. Don't let me weasel out of it, don't' let me go. Make me talk to you.

Megalicous
You can't just TEXT THAT. What's wrong? Are you safe? Are you hurt?

Me
No, not at all. But I need to talk, and I know I'll be afraid tomorrow.

Megalicous
ARE YOU STILL A VIRGIN?

.

She promptly ignored that message and shoved her phone away, willing her heart to slow. The fear over performing was far from her mind now. It wasn't even an afterthought. No, her next lesson wouldn't be about preparing anything. No, the next time she walked into that theater it was going to be her and Erik.

Maestro could wait.

It was only after sitting for a few minutes did she realize she had left her mittens on the stage.


Her instinct had been correct. In the cold light of morning when she dragged herself out of bed for her early shift, she wanted to talk about none of it. She'd go to her lesson the next day, and sing, and cajole Erik into pushing off a performance. She was already thinking of several good arguments to use against him, and wondered how pitiful she could make herself look. Maybe if she kissed his hand he would relent?

Christine almost wretched at her own manipulative thoughts.

But Meg Giry was not about to let that happen. The very minute Christine tapped the 'punch out' button, she dragged Christine onto the back patio snatching their coats off the hook. It was open to the public but almost no one went there; it was unofficially the staff's. "What the fuck, Christine," were her first words, shaking her friend by the shoulders. "What happened?"

Christine bluffed and weaseled her best, but Meg stood firmly, silent with arms folded. Finally, she dropped into a cold patio chair and repeated the whole episode to Meg. With each word, the blonde slowly melted, until she too sat across from Christine, hands covering her mouth.

"Why didn't you kiss him?"

"I don't know! I didn't-I wasn't thinking. He was so close and he told me to go. I just did, I didn't have the presence to stay and fight."

"Are you going to kiss him on Wednesday?"

"That's why I texted you. Do you think I should tell him?"

"I think you should kiss him," Meg practically shouted, Christine hushing her, and waving her hands, as if the motion would silence Meg's steel bending voice. "You just need to grab him and smooch him on the face!"

"You don't smooch Maestro," Christine said. "He's not a smooch person he's...he's a kiss kind of person."

"He's a you kinda person," Meg said nodding. "Kissing you on the hand? Like a gentleman, waistcoats and pocket watches? Totally up the Daae alley."

Christine blushed, cupping her flushed cheeks. It was so chilly out here, but she felt so warm! Thinking about his lips on her hand-his lips on hers. The way he said her name, like a prayer. "I have to tell him. Forget performing, I can't do anything unless this is settled...right?"

"Right!" Meg slapped her hands on the cold metal table. "Get your man! Perform later!"

"Who's performing?" Both girls jumped, seeing Raoul in his blue peacoat standing at the bottom of the patio stairs. "You, Christine?"

"Oh-uh, no. Well." Christine looked to Meg for help.

"She doesn't know if she will or not," Meg explained.

"One of your music pieces?"

"No, singing."

"Really?" He grinned and came up to their table. "I thought you said-nevermind. That'd be great, Chris! I bet you're really great now, and I'd love to hear your voice again."

"I'm not-"

Meg snorted. "You know that's a lie. I've heard you."

"You have," Raoul asked. "She wouldn't show me any of her stuff."

"She's fantastic! She's just scared."

"She's sitting right here," Christine interjected, glaring at Meg. That wasn't the point. This wasn't about performing. This was about her and Erik! And she couldn't keep talking about it in front of Raoul. Not when they were talking about the difference between kisses and what have you.

"Why don't you want to perform?"

"Because-despite what you all think, I'm not actually that good. I mean I'm better but we're talking in an opera house, with real seasoned professionals!"

"The only difference between you and them is maybe a paper degree," Meg said, shaking her finger. "You are just a scaredy cat. You always had butterflies when you were in choir, you'd pace and drive me freaking insane!"

"You should do it, Chris," Raoul said, coming up the stairs now. "You were great when we were kids-and that was as a baby! I can't even imagine what you sound like now!"

"She's wonderful," Meg continued. "Sing something, Christine!"

"No, no way." She waved her hands, standing and backing up.

Raoul smiled kindly. "I mean, no pressure. But-hey-if you sang a little right now, maybe it'll show you there's nothing to be afraid of?" He promptly turned Christine's abandoned chair and sat.

"That's a great idea! You're good for something DeChangy, who knew," Meg snickered. "Come on! Something quick! Just one song, after all you're supposed to practise everyday, right?"

Christine as wringing her hands, looking between them both. They wouldn't judge her, she knew. And they really didn't know music, they wouldn't catch her mistakes unlike a house full of music aficionados. If you perform, you won't need a teacher as much. But you'll need Erik, her mind whispered. Her first performance would indeed change them...but why did it have to seperate them? Perhaps, if she gave him what he wanted, it would give her the opportunity to shift their dynamic in her favor. Yes, it would change them from student and teacher. But perhaps...yes, perhaps it would give them the chance to simply be Christine and Erik. The chance to tell him she'd always need him, and not just to tell her to open her mouth wider. Explain to him why she acted so stupidly childish, that it wasn't just about the music. Now is the time. Live life, Christine.

Her spectacular performance as a spoiled child in front of Maestro had been a blip in her new life outlook. Children couldn't love men like Erik. She needed to grow up (she really needed to apologize for stomping on his stage, what a little fool!) And she was determined to get back on track. Especially if that meant she'd get Erik's kiss.

"...One song."

Immediately they both clapped chanting 'sing, sing, sing!'. Digging out her phone she searched for a karaoke version of In The Air Tonight. It was horrible accompaniment, but they were outside, with the wind of the cars speeding by to distort the cheesy music. It wasn't the best venue in anycase. And she was only doing it to see if she could.

She played the first few seconds, singing softly to find the right note. Then she started it at the beginning and placed her phone of the table. "Whenever you're ready."

Meg counted her in and pressed play. Closing her eyes, Christine began to sing. She focused on the technique, breathing, unlocking her knees, the round vowels and where to stop. But soon the song took her away, and she was able to open her eyes, focusing on a point above both of their heads, and singing to the patio railing. She no longer felt their eyes on her, no longer noticed the cars passing by, or even the cold nipping at her nose and cheeks.

And then, there was the last note, and it reigned. She chanced a look at them both. Meg had her face clasped between her hands, a grin stretching her pink cheeks. Raoul looked stunned, and if he wasn't in his chair she was sure he'd probably be on the floor. After a few more seconds Christine murmured, "Well...that's all."

They clapped enthusiastically, and thought it was muffled by their gloves, the sound still filled her with pride. She had performed, in the public! She had done it and her voice hadn't cracked, she hadn't faltered halfway through because they were watching. I can do this. That wasn't scary at all.

"Oh...Angel." Meg looked stricken, staring at someone behind Christine.

Time slowed, and Christine could have fainted. She turned to look behind, to the other side of the patio. There was a second set of stairs, and there stood Erik, holding her mittens, a black stain against the white piles of snow surrounding them. Her eyes darted from the gloves, to his face-and his eyes that burned. If the mask was gone-well even then she was sure she couldn't imagine the rage that twisted his features.

"E-"

"Delilah," he shouted. The insult shocked her, her mouth dropping, body paralyzed. "You lying Delilah!" He turned, racing down the steps.

"Who the hell is that," Raoul snapped, starting to stand. But Christine was already chasing after him.

"Wait! Wait, Maestro I-"

He rounded on her, and she had to skid to a stop. His face was inches from hers as he hissed. "You won't perform for me. You won't perform for your Erik, no matter what he tells you, eh? But they can convince you, hm? You will sing for them! You will sing for the wind and the stone and that...man! But not for Erik."

"I didn't-they're my friends! Listen to me. I just thought-"

"Your friends! And what is Erik?"

"Maestro, you're-"

"Your teacher! Ah, of course! Just your teacher! A free teacher, whose music is free to butcher. Of course, I have been so naive!"

Christine clapped her hands over her mouth. She felt tears prick her eyes, but this time they were tears of rage. "Oh dare you," she screamed. It made him jerk, backing up towards his jaguar as she advanced. "How dare you accuse me of that, a second time! After what I've given you, after the sacrifices I made for you! After I sang my heart out for you!"

"It seems your heart is freely given," he sneered.

"How dare you!" It was all she could think to say, the only response her brain formulated from the stinging hurt his words left. Freely given? This breaking thing that now beat for him? That she had protected and kept caged for so long, and now bleeding with each second? "When you know that is not true!"

"Erik knows nothing of you. You have proven that point quite nicely!" He grabbed her wrist and shoved her knit mittens into her hand. She didn't need to wonder what this touch conveyed. Then he was sliding into his jaguar, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street. Christine stood there, watching the red headlights disappear out of sight.

"Chris!" She stumbled as Meg nearly knocked into her. "Chris, are you okay? What happened?"

"Who as that?" Raoul was close behind, peering after the car. "What asshole yells at a girl like that in public? Was that your teacher?!"

"Chris, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Meg was whispering, ignoring Raoul's indignation. "I-I didn't realize he was there. I'm-"

"He's not hiding anymore!"

Both of her friends jerked back as Christine shouted. How dare he? All he'd given her? It didn't amount to anything but pretty noise! Not when they had each other. Not when they had shared their souls, when they were carrying each other's hearts so carefully, and now he would leave her after...after what? Doing what he wished her to do? His way or the highway? "No fucking way," she snapped again. She grabbed her purse from the patio table and stormed to her car, Raoul and Meg following.

"Chris-Chris!"

Christine hopped into her car, slamming the door shut, fumbling with the keys in the ignition. Meg was knocking on the glass of her window. "Christine, don't drive mad!"

She waved for Meg to get out of the way as she backed up. She wasn't mad, she was seething. She didn't know how she made it to Jersey City, and was sure that any cop would have had a field day with her blatant disregard of the speed limit. But she was running on righteous anger and hurt. She barely made it in the lines of a spot in the garage, and only just managed to turn the car off before she was storming into the opera house.

"Where is he," she growled to poor Jules. He looked as if he had just seen Erik himself, for he was leaning against the ticket booth, white as a sheet. He could only point to the theater. Of course, she could hear the piano. "Clear out, Jules," she ordered, and he was more than happy to oblige.

The door to the theater rebounded off the wall with the force of Christine's push. Erik was there, pounding mercilessly at the keys of the piano. The sound stopped him immediately, and he stood, knocking the stool over in his haste. She was sure he was opening his mouth to say something else cutting, but she was quicker.

"Fuck you!" She ripped off her coat, flinging it into the seats as she stormed up the stage. "Fuck you Erik! You come to my work and make a scene like that? You scream at me, and call me a Delilah? A Delilah?! And then accuse me of butchering our music?!"

He kicked the stopper on the wheels of the piano and pushed it out of the way. It bounced off the wing wall with a sickening snap of wood and clang of notes. "You lied to me! You said you were afraid to perform! You did not seem afraid then! Was it that young man? Yes, you'll sing for him, your friend, and all he has to do is ask!"

"Is that what this is about?! Raoul?" She threw her hands in the air. "He is a friend! Oh my God, I've known him since I was two, I told you this! I barely even know him anymore!"

"So even your casual friends have more say than Erik," he sneered.

"That's not true, and you know it's not! You know that I care for you!" She didn't realize when she was crying, but suddenly it was hard to breathe. Her rage didn't stop, but tears splashed down her cheeks as she shouted. "You know I care for you! You know it's more than as a student! You know this!"

"You could never care for Erik," he said, his arms wrapped around himself tightly, as if shielding himself from her words. "Lies! You must not-no-it is impossible! You could never care for me as I-" His teeth clicked as his mouth shut. Now his shoulders hunched, and he backed away. His eyes were wide, and he shook his head, hands fisting in his hair. "No, no!"

"As what? As you do?" She stepped forward. "Tell me! Tell me, dammit! I am sick of guessing what you think! Of wondering if what I'm seeing is real! Tell me Erik!" But he did not speak, merely shook his head, his back hitting the wall of the wings, sliding down to crouch on the floor.

"You must not, you cannot know. No, you can't know me!"

Pity should have stayed her tongue, seeing him curled and frightened, so unlike the man she'd come to adore. But blind rage was still coursing through her veins, pride stung from his vicious words. "I don't know you! I know nothing about you, and I still love you! It's not fair! It's not fair that you know about me, my heart, my soul and I don't know you! I don't even know what you look like!"

She had only gestured. She had come up to him and his bent position, and waved a hand at his face. He must not have thought so. Maybe he was used to careless people ripping of his mask, for his fingers were as fast as lightning to grab her wrist. She cried out, jerking, and in the scuffle, her hand knocked the black leather on his face. It skewed, showing her a pale forehead, white as a ghost, and almost translucent skin upon which she could see every vein and curve of his skull. Christine gasped, and jerked her hand again, trying to back away, to fix her mistake. But his hold was like iron on her arm.

Erik stood slowly, his thin chest heaving with each pant. "Know what I look like?"

Oh, she did not like this voice at all. She knew stern Maestro, soft Angel and even hesitantly teasing Erik. But this voice, so deep and foreboding, made all the color drain from her face.

"You wish to know what I look like." With his free hand, he reached behind and tugged the ribbon that held the mask on. It fell with a soft thunk that echoed in Christine's ears.

Now she was really afraid she was going to drop to the floor. His face-Erik's face was unspeakable. The skin pale and death-gray, bleached so white in areas she wondered if it was bone she was seeing and not flesh. She could have traced the veins like river maps across his temples and forehead. His brow would have been noble and strong had he been given eyebrows, but it only managed to make his eyes look sunken in it's shadow. His cheeks were so thin, and she could see the outline of the muscle of his jaw. And then, there in the center of his face, was the bisected gaping hole where there should have been a nose.

Fresh tears leaked out over her cheeks at the horror of it. It did not look like a face attached to a living person. No one could have such features and live, could they? But the proof of it stood before her, still panting-still glaring.

"Tears, Christine? Ah yes, tears. But you mustn't cry, child. You wanted this. Look...LOOK!" He grasped her chin, pulling her towards him until they were inches apart. One arm made a band of steel behind her back, almost bending her over double, his lips almost brushed hers as he commanded her, "Feast your eyes, little girl. See? Handsome, right? Right?! Love this! Care for this! Go on, little one. Want a kiss, eh? Shall we kiss, Christine? I'm sure you'd faint in my arms straight away! How romantic it will be! Like Don Juan! Ha! Your personal Don Juan!"

"Erik-"

"Erik," he mimicked cruelly. "Erik, Erik! This is Erik's face! Or shall I say this is Erik's burden. This is the face of the thing you have such tender feelings for. You care, hm? You care for me? Still want to sing for me? Still think I can create beauty? Come, Christine finish your thoughts! Declare your feelings so we may be together! That we may make beauty and love and be happy! Don't I inspire happiness? No? Oh, you're crying! No words now!"

"Maestro please," she whined, clawing at the hand that held her chin. "Please! You're hurting me!"

He let her go and she dropped to the floor, staring at his shined shoes. She clutched at her shirt, and couldn't look up. Oh God, that face- Erik bent over her, speaking low in her ear.

"Know this, my pretty girl. I am this from head to toe. You have seen, remember? Remember Christine?" He ripped off his gloves, shoving his hands into her line of vision. "Showed you mine, show me yours! How sweetly you held my hands! You kissed me! You kissed my dead hands!" His voice cracked and he spun away from her, pacing the floor.

Christine squeezed her eyes closed. He did look dead, like a corpse come to life. And he was so thin-dead from head to toe. She let out a little sob. Poor Erik! Poor deformed Erik!

"Yes cry! Weep Christine, men have before you. Many just about to die welcomed death once they saw my face! Anything to escape this creature! Oh now you are looking at me, so brave to look me in the eyes! Yes, Christine, death! I am made of death and I have brought death! I am death incarnate, and it is death and destruction that gave you your voice! It is death that loves you! That adores you! Oh Christine, Christine..."

Erik's turned away, covering his awful face with awful his hands, hunched over with the pain of it all. Christine shakily got to her feet. Brought death? What was he talking about? He wasn't making any sense, and she couldn't puzzle it out. But here was her teacher, the man she was beginning to love, weeping. And how he cried, great wracking sobs that shook his entire frame. "Oh no, Maestro, please..." Her voice was barely there, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He fell to his knees, just as she always feared he would turned to her, reaching out to clutch her shirt. "Oh Christine, please. Please you mustn't care for me. No, let me love you from afar. Let me watch over you and care for you and let us make beautiful music, but do not care for me. I am your willing servant, I swear, but do not care! It can only harm you. Please, please let me be your Maestro still. Please Christine!"

He ducked his head again, hands falling from her clothes as he continued to weep. Her stern elegant teacher reduced to a creature crawling on the floor before her. She stepped back, unable to take it. Had she done this? Had she reduced him to this? What had her confession, her love, done to him? "No, Erik, please. Please, Maestro, get up off the floor! Please!"

It only brought more sobs, and for a moment she couldn't tell what he was doing. Then with a sickening feeling of falling she realized he was kissing the floor where she had stood. "Don't, don't do that!" But instead of rushing forward, to pull him up straight, she could only back further and further away from the sight, aghast.

"Christine-No, Christine!"

Her foot hit nothing but air, and she fell. White hot pain blossomed from the back of her skull, and then the world was suddenly, blissfully silent.