I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

I awoke to silence, but I knew that I was not alone. The black curtains that usually surrounded the swan-shaped bed had been pulled away since last night. Broken glass littered the floor, and there was not a single mirror in the entire place that had not been shattered.

As I sat up, I desperately tried to remember what events had brought me here. It was all so unclear; the only image that I could bring to mind was Erik's gentle smile as he had lifted me into the bed before turning to leave. After that, it was all dreams of dancers and music and cymbal-playing monkeys.

Navigating my way through the glass shards, I stepped to the edge of the lake. The light from the multiple candles shimmered on the water's surface, and I could clearly see my own reflection before that of the monumental organ to my right.

The only mirror he could not destroy, I thought, turning to face the organ.

Erik's figure hunched over the keys, his upper body completely limp. I smiled and advanced. The composer had fallen asleep in the middle of his work.

No matter how hard I searched, however, I could not find the piece that he had been in the process of perfecting. I found no sheet music anywhere but for the blank pages scattered about the floor. With a sigh of defeat, I sat next to him.

As I watched Erik absentmindedly, it occurred to me that I had never seen him sleep before. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, I thought that it must be an uncommon event. It was comforting to see him so at-ease, unmasked and vulnerable.

I tried not to disturb him as I rested my fingers gently on the keys. I had never been given proper piano lessons, but my father had taught me some simple songs before his death.

My hands instantly retreated from the keys with the thought of him. What would my father think of me now? Not only had I chased after a false angel for years, but then I had left my childhood sweetheart to be with him. No longer was I his innocent little girl. I had grown into a deceitful, scarred adult. My only comfort was that my father would look past my misshapen face if he were here now. I had no doubts about that, at least.

Part of me hoped that my father would have approved of my actions. He had promised to send me the Angel of Music, after all. Reaching to stroke one of Erik's callused hands, I wondered if he was not truly more than human.

My touch must have startled him, because Erik's head sprang from the organ and he seized my arms with intensity. For a moment, the look in his eyes was almost terrifying, and a small cry escaped my lips.

Instantly, his expression turned from malicious to worried. He released me and backed away to the opposite end of the bench. "Christine!" he gasped. "I'm so sorry! You surprised me. Did I hurt you?"

I tried to calm my racing heart, and my breath slowly dropped to a normal pace. I shook my head, but did not speak. Turning from him and standing, I moved to sit at the edge of the lake. I lowered myself down onto the cold stone steps, remembering all the times that I had seen that face: when I had first removed his mask, in the graveyard, as Rauol was being strangled.

My heart dropped. "Erik?" I called. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon." I jumped when I heard his voice so close behind me. "Why do you ask?"

"Rauol will be realizing I've left soon," I choked. Guilt flooded my entire body, but I refused to break.

Erik sat next to me, but I did not look at him. I did not want to see his hurt expression. "It's not too late," he offered. "I could have you there in ten minutes."

I turned to him, my eyes pleading, his sincere. Did he want me to leave again? "Please, Erik, don't make me go back there. I don't want him, and he's so ashamed of me."

His brows furrowed. Hesitantly, he reached for my hands. I met them, eagerly, half-way.

"What do you mean?" he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"He didn't want to marry me," I cried, tears spilling. I rushed to be rid of the words filling my throat. "Then, he changed his mind, but he only wanted a private wedding. He didn't want anyone to see me like this."

Erik shook his head slowly, and I leapt into his embrace. He held me as I cried, rocking me and stroking my hair.

"I will build you the greatest stage in the world," he whispered, "and you will sing for everyone to hear. I will put you on exhibit, and they will know you are mine. They will look at you, bathed in lights and sprinkled with diamonds, and they will relish in you beauty."

I pulled away only far enough to see his face. His tender smile warmed the cold lair, and all my doubts about his character were forgotten. I had finally found the angel that my father had promised me.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" I asked.

Brushing away my tears, my angel, my Opera Ghost, whispered, "Yes, Christine. You are a masterpiece."

I know this chapter was short and pretty much uneventful, but I needed to show a little bit of Erik's darker side, even if it only lasted for a few lines. I'm working on the next chapter, but I'm kind of lost as to where I'm going with this. I would love some feedback! Thanks for reading!